Confessions of a Working Momma

Random Thoughts about SeaWorld

2009-08-20T18:26:00.000-07:00

About three months ago, I took Spark to SeaWorld for the first time. He loves all things associated with the sea from sharks to whales to dolphins to sting rays, so SeaWorld seemed like a logical place to take him. Buzz, who had injured a foot, would stay home with Flower (who I wasn't sure would enjoy the sea life as much as Spark).

It was my first trip, too, so I was actually kind of excited about maneuvering myself and a 4 year old through a jam-packed theme park in the middle of one of the hottest summers on record. Yeah. Fun.

I happened to take this trip with Spark about 3 weeks before my last day of work at my job. I had also just finished weaning my daughter from nursing. To put it lightly, June was turning out to be just a tad emotional...just a tad.

The day went pretty simply. On the advice of a friend who frequents SeaWorld, we hit up the water park first so that as we toured the huge inferno we could stay cool by dripping dry. Before I knew it, we had spent about an hour jumping waves in the wave pool and about three hours floating down the river in plastic tubes. Thinking we should at least justify the outrageous entrance fees by seeing at least one show, I convinced him to come along with me to see the sea lion show The Cannery Row Caper. We both laughed as we watched the crazy sea lions try to figure out who was eating all the fish at the cannery. (SPOILER: it was the walrus.)

We then spent some time (sweet, glorious air-conditioned time) looking at the tanks filled with sharks, sting rays, eels, and jellyfish. After that, we visited the penguin encounter (again glorious air conditioning!) and made plans to feed the dolphins. Although Spark wouldn't touch the dolphins, he picked up the dead fish and fed it to the playful sea mammals.

We decided to end our day with the summer show Shamu Rocks Texas, which turned out to be a lot of killer whale antics set to music, including some AC/DC. As we waited on Shamu to appear, I succumbed to buying a $6 light sword that I had to remind Spark was just for show, not for actually whacking people with.

Finally, to the tune of AC/DC's Thunderstruck, the DJ for the evening chanted "Shamu" in place of the "Thunder" and really had the crowd into it. The arena was completely packed; at least 50 people stood in the back of our section alone, wanting for Shamu.

Then, Shamu burst through the gates, sleekly gliding through the tank of saltwater. The trainer stood on the other end of the saltwater pool and suddenly dove into the water. A few moments passed, all was silent except some Toby Keith song. Then, Shamu leapt from the water, threw the trainer into the air, and they synchronized an Olympic figure-skating triple axel kind of move above the water before diving back into the pool. Applause exploded as Shamu rose just above the water with the trainer riding her. It was magic.

Spark was completely beside himself. To be honest, so was I. I hadn't seen anything like this ever in my life. I tried to wipe my tears off my face, but they just kept coming in torrents, running hot down my cheeks. It was so loud that I couldn't explain to Spark why I was crying. And how does one explain the emotional piles adults take on until final there is a proverbial straw? Shamu was my straw. She allowed me to release all that I felt inside about leaving work, weaning my daughter, spending a day in the hot sun with this wonderful 4 year old.

Why I Left One of the Best Jobs in the Country

2009-08-19T12:24:00.000-07:00

For 5.5 years, I worked at a one of the best jobs in the country. No, for real. Fortune Magazine has ranked this company as one of the Top 100 Employers to Work for at least for the past 10 years straight.

I took this job straight of grad school and enjoyed (nearly) every single minute of it. The culture there is great. The flexibility offered to me as I became a mother to first one, then two kids was beyond compare. My coworkers were wonderful, and I've never known a better manager. But, a couple years ago something started nagging me.

The first tug came when we decided to look for preschool for Spark (who was then 2 years ago). For a brief weekend, we considered me keeping him home instead of looking for preschool. But, after research and prayer and heart decisions, we decided on a great preschool for him.

The second tug came when I realized that I needed to write more, and not just technical documents. But, I dismissed these tugs in favor of financial security at one of the best jobs in the country.

After we had Flower, I reduced my work hours and started working about 50% of my time from home so that I could be with her. Soon, it became obvious that working from home with an increasingly mobile baby was adding more stress to my life. Buzz had taken on some additional responsibility at his job. Our lives were getting more and more hectic. I'm a reader and researcher, so I researched this issue.

My findings? Frenetic paces are expected these days. Two income families pay more for daycare, housekeeping, and convenience foods than the second income typically provides. A lot of folks with adult kids who had two-income families used daycare, preschools, nanny care and NOW regret those decisions. They wish they had taken life more slowly and enjoyed the path more. More and more kids are being diagnosed with learning disabilities and attention disabilities; studies link this to group care and hurried lives and insufficient cuddle/bonding time with parents.

Our typical day had become harried. I was getting crankier because I have "stuff" in me to write, but I'm not writing it because there is no time. I wanted more time with my kids and not divided time where I am sitting at a computer trying to fix typos in my documents and appease a needy 11-month old. I wanted to read Spark four bedtime stories and not worry that it was getting so late that I'd surely get behind if I didn't clean up the kitchen RIGHT NOW. I hated feeling rushed in the evenings, spending Saturdays catching up, and dreading the 5:00 bell on Sunday night. I had proven that I could do "it"--whatever "it" is goes something like "be a full-time working mom with a happy marriage and relatively clean home, homecooked meals, healthy kids," and do it all again tomorrow. I had done it; we were doing it. But, I didn't like where we were going. I felt a desire to slow the pace down to concentrate more on this all-important thing called family.

So, Buzz and I saw a financial advisor. We figured it would be impossible to maintain our current lifestyle AND knock off several grand a year. Surprisingly, when the advisor showed us a couple areas we could tweak, the difference turned out to be very little financially. (We haven't noticed the "tweaked" changes.)

Here I am, just two months after my final day at work. The view couldn't be better:

Time for a Vacation

2009-06-29T16:23:00.000-07:00

The other day I decided to clean out my pantry. You know, go through the whole thing, get rid of the expired stuff, make a plan for the soon to expire stuff, and clean up.

I started cleaning out some canisters, making piles, swirling stuff down my garbage disposal. Somehow, I became sidetracked. After about 20 minutes of doing whatever sidetracked me (Facebook, no doubt), I was thinking to myself that I couldn't believe some of those groceries had already expired. Then, I realized that I had forgotten what date it was. I had gotten it in my head that it is 2010 instead of 2009 and had wasted a whole lot of grains, cereals, and what not. (At least, I was sidetracked for a time or I might have relieved us of all our pantry items in a matter of minutes.)

That's when I realized that it's really time for me to take a vacation. Well, that and this image persistently appearing on the weather forecast:

Tomorrow, I'm flying to Denver with Spark and Flower. Buzz has a foot injury that will prevent him from going on this trip. We're sad he can't come with us, but I'm also happy that he'll have some quiet, "recharge" time to himself. And, hey, maybe HE will take the kids somewhere for three weeks one day and leave me at home or at a spa or a condo in Hawaii. Just maybe.

In Denver, my mom--Nana to those who matter--will meet us at the airport, and we'll load up to head off to Casper, Wyoming, to spend 3 weeks with Nana and Papa from camping in Yellowstone to seeing the wonders of that region. It's bound to be an adventure none of us (except maybe little Flower) will ever forget. To make sure, I've started a blog to chronicle our journey. I hope you will join me there some during the next three weeks.

Six Snippets about Mother's Day

2009-05-11T16:58:00.001-07:00

One
This past week, I spent a few minutes helping a coworker brainstorm some ideas of possible gifts to get his wife, the mother of his two sons, for Mother's Day. This guy is a good guy, nice and hardworking, and a great dad to his boys.

I don't know his wife very well, so it was hard to suggest something, but I could see that even though this guy doesn't think Mother's Day, and all those other "Hallmark" holidays are very important, the woman who carried, labored, delivered, nursed, and is raising his sons is very important, perhaps the most important thing in the universe to him.

While we talked about lotions and gadgets and man-friendly stores, I realized how much he loves his wife. What gift can speak of that kind of love?

Two
Buzz always wants to spend a lot of money and lavishly spoil me on Mother's Day. I have a nice watch courtesy of "Mother's Day" and other beautiful jewelry, too. So, I'm not totally knocking Mother's Day, that's for sure. But, I always tell him, "Please don't."

This year, I asked for a new clothesline in my backyard, something I can hang the linens on when we have a week like we did this past week: 4 nighttime "accidents" and two days of sickness in our house. Accidents that, with help from Buzz some mornings, I clean up. Sickness that leaves me useless for two days: the first, holding onto my sick boy; the second, sick myself.

Last night, I played with Flower in the front yard to keep her away from the "men" as they worked on my clothesline in the backyard. I could hear Spark's voice, filled with excitement, as he "worked" with Daddy.

Three
The first year that Buzz got me anything for Mother's Day was 2002. I was a senior in college, we were barely married, and I was pregnant. The gift was maternity clothes and one of the sweetest cards I have ever received.

The next day, a Monday, I heard the words, "I'm sorry, but there's no heartbeat," as the ultrasound sonographer held a "tampon-sized" wand inside me.

Four
May, 2005. I have a 6-month old son by the time Mother's Day rolls around. Life is crazy, but good. I'm finally learning what everyone meant by the words, "Having kids will change your life forever, but one day you'll forget what life was like before you had them."

Five
Last year I cried on Mother's Day because I had to clean the bathrooms. They were nasty, needed cleaning, and I was the only one around to clean them. And, I had myself a little pity party over the fact that I was the one doing the cleaning and not some magic fairy on Mother's Day of all days. I cried alone like I always do when I cry.

Six
Yesterday, I spent the day being my kids' mom all day. Buzz had to work, and that was ok. I fed our kids, clothed them, fed them again, took them to church, fed them again, bathed them, clothed them again. But, I also played with them, purposefully, something that I'm sad that I don't do more often.

I took Spark and Flower both into my arms, and we had an honest-to-goodness, all-out ticklefest. We all laughed and laughed. I cried as I watched them laugh. Spark looked at my tears for a second. I saw him looking at the tears, but he didn't say anything. Then, I realized that I was crying but I was not alone.

April 3

2009-04-03T06:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Flower,

Last night, I went for a walk. You were content in Daddy's lap, watching your favorite YouTube videos. I put Spark in the bath and told him to be sure to scrub behind his ears. I couldn't quite figure out why, but I felt drawn to the road and the air of the early evening. The sky rumbled a bit with some distant thunder, and I felt the clouds might release rain at any moment.

I walked and felt a few sprinkles of rain on my face. Something nagged at me, but I couldn't quite figure it out. There's a bookstore about a half mile from our house, and I decided to walk in that direction.

Suddenly as I made the final turn to head to the bookstore, I realized what was bothering me. Exactly a year ago, almost to the minute, I had done the exact same thing except I wasn't alone. Spark and you (in utero) were with me.

The night before you were born a year ago was a similar night. Some threatening sprinklings of rain, some distant thunder, and an umbrella accompanied Spark and me as we walked to the bookstore. I watched him trot ahead of me for a minute, and I thought about how soon we were going to met you, his baby sister. He dropped back some, reached for my hand, and looked at the sky. "It's raining, Mommy," he said. I realized it was raining, so I opened our umbrella and held it over our heads. As we kept walking in the rain towards the bookstore, I felt the first, smallest pains in my uterus.

Through the night, I slept fairly well, knowing I was in the earliest stages of labor, wishing that you would come on already and get out. By early the next morning, we were at the hospital, and I stripped down to the vaguely familiar, tie-in-the-back gown. A few hours later, you slithered into this world and onto my belly, into my arms, into my heart forever.

Happy first birthday, baby girl.

Love,

Momma

Two Bathrooms

2009-03-25T07:45:00.000-07:00

My family of five had one small bathroom. Well, "small" doesn't really do our bathroom justice. It was tiny. Itsy bitsy. Teeny weeny. I have closets bigger than that bathroom.

I remember many mornings waiting on my dad to finish his morning "business" while I paced in the living room. My brother had it easy. We lived in the country, and he could relieve himself on our rose bushes.

Our closet-sized bathroom had a microscopic closet. The closet was so small that my mom developed a new way of folding towels to get them to stack in there. To this day, I still fold my towels that way. They are compact, tight, and you can stack of lot of towels!

It's a grave injustice for a family to have only one bathroom for so many reasons. And for so many reasons, I'm so glad our curent home has two bathrooms.

Reason One: Defying all logic, it never fails that Spark has to use the facilities at the same time that someone else does. Buzz goes into bathroom. About 15 seconds pass. Then, Spark whines, "Mommy, I have to go poopy." To avoid a possibly nasty scenario or law-breaking deposit, I lead him to the grand place known as the "other bathroom."

Reason Two why I am so glad we have two bathrooms: an extra tub for cleaning up messes. If you're a parent or you've ever worked with young kids, you know the complete terror of having one poop in the tub. Flower, our almost one-year old has taken quite nicely to pooping in the tub. She's at the messy age where she requires at least one bath a day, and she's also at the age where most of those baths result in a pile of steaming turds in the water. It's even worse when the kids are sharing the tub.

Take two nights ago, for instance. Buzz is giving the kids a bath. We're on high alert with Flower, but she was having such a good time splashing with Spark in the tub that we let the bath go on a little too long. About two seconds before Buzz lifted her out of the tub, she squatted. And, well, that's the end of the toy bath. But, we quickly composed ourselves, taking the kids to the "other bathroom" for a quick hose down in the tub. How did we clean the poop out of the tub? Well, that's another story.

Reason Three: I can junk up my bathroom without worrying about guests seeing the clutter. I consider myself a pretty low-maintenance gal when it comes to cosmetics, bath products, and hair styling. But, it's amazing how much stuff it takes to keep a low-maintenance profile. It takes a lot of chemicals to look natural these days, indeed! It's so nice to have space to let that stuff pile up where no one who comes to my home can see it. Unless of course, the bathroom is occupied and someone needs to go to the "other bathroom." I'll deal with that when it happens.

I wonder how my family survived all those years with just one bathroom. One day, I might live in a house with one bathroom, and I'm sure that will result in a lengthy talk with my mom about managing counter space and microscopic linen closets. But two work so well for me that I hate to even think of that possibility!

Variations on a Potato

2009-03-23T18:58:00.000-07:00

Buzz and I are trying to be more responsible with our money, and my part of that involves saving money on groceries. I've found that making a menu plan saves me money and time. I have been planning our weekly menus on Sunday nights based on what's left in the pantry/fridge/freezer. Buzz had last week off for spring break, and we were still roaming around in a fog of disbelief come last night.

This afternoon, instead of knowing what I would fix for dinner, I reverted back to my "browse-the-fridge/pantry" stare. I saw a sack of potatoes on the counter that I had bought a few days ago. I peeked in the bag and realized that about 4.5 pounds of the 5-pound bag remained, and while they weren't spoiled, they weren't looking so hot. I decided that the responsible thing to do would be to cook something with potatoes...lots of potatoes.

So, that's what I did. While the kids ran around in their post back-to-the-real-world stupor, I washed, peeled, and cut 4.5 pounds of potatoes, wondering what I might do with them. My mind drifted to memories of potatoes, of how my parents planted a garden early on in their marriage. My mother didn't know that potatoes grew underground and she hoed them all up by accident.

I thought about how Momma used to stew potatoes for dinner on an all-too-regular basis. I hated most things involving potatoes when I was a kid, but I especially loathed stewed potatoes. Stewed potatoes, for those of you who don't know, are potatoes boiled in water until some of them break down and make kind of a creamy mush for the other pieces to swirl around in. It's kind of like potato soup without the cheese, bacon, and so on. It's just potatoes, stewed.

Potatoes are a poor man's friend, though. They are cheap, filling, easy to cook, and despite the bad rap the Atkins diet gave them, potatoes are fairly nutritious. Because I have had anemia, I know that potatoes are a great source of iron. One baked potato also has more potassium than a banana.

The cheap part is why we had so many stewed potatoes growing up, though. We were dirt poor, and potatoes made a hearty meal. Momma made more than just stewed potatoes, though. She fried them, mashed them, and baked them. And, I didn't enjoy any iteration of her potato skills. I found potatoes to be bland and uninteresting unless they were raw, and boy I would eat bites of raw potato as she sliced and diced them for our dinner.

I've studied the potato some, and one of the grocery stores here in town has an excellent selection of potatoes. They have purple potatoes, blue potatoes, red potatoes, more...All these make the Russet look pretty boring.

But, it's the Russet potato I was dealing with tonight. As I stood looking at the 4.5 pounds of cut up potatoes, I realized I better find some way to make them interesting enough to eat.

Tonight's recipe:

Twice-Baked Potato Casserole

Serves 6-12, depending on whether you use it for a side dish or an entree.

Ingredients:

4.5 pounds of potatoes (partially peeled, cut up into 2-inch pieces, thoroughly washed)
1/2 cup cream cheese (leftover from breakfast bagels from a couple week's ago)
8 ounces of Colby Jack cheese, shredded
1 medium onion, diced (also found wasting away on my counter)
2/3 cup buttermilk
salt and paprika to taste

Instructions:

Preheat oven to 350.
Boil the potatoes until very tender, mushy even.
Drain the potatoes well.
In large bowl, mash potatoes a bit. Mix in the cream cheese, half the Colby Jack cheese, the onion, and the buttermilk until fairly smooth. Do not mix too much A little texture is good.
Then, add some salt and paprika.
Taste.
Add more salt.
Taste.
Add more salt.
Pour the mixture into a deep-dish casserole pan and cover. (I used Pampered Chef's deep covered baker.)
Cook at 350 for about 35 minutes.
Remove. Uncover. Evenly sprinkle the other half of the shredded cheese on top.
Cook at 350 for 15 minutes or until cheese is slightly golden brown and bubbly.

Variations:

Use whatever you've got on hand. No cream cheese or buttermilk? Use sour cream and regular milk. No onion or Colby Jack cheese? Use some green chiles and cheddar. Have some extra garlic cloves? Mash them and add them in the mix.

Sewing 101, Part 2

2009-03-19T23:33:00.000-07:00

Tonight's sewing class ushered in some major successes for me. The first? The following words from the instructor were NOT directed at me:

"If you slam the presser foot down again, I will take you in the backyard and spank you."

Other successes?

I did not burn myself with the iron (though I did confess my latent fear of irons to the instructor).

I only pricked myself once with a pin.

I finally learned what the take-up lever really is.

This:

Cash Works for Me

2009-03-18T10:14:00.000-07:00

I have spent 9 days without my debit card. Other than the occasional twitch I get when a Google search turns up hits on Amazon.com, I feel much better.

For years, I've wandered around in the misconception that a debit card is the same as using cash. On the surface, it basically is the same as cash. A debit card represents what you have in the bank, though there might be a slight drag between purchases and the account updating. A debit card is definitely NOT a credit card. However, spending with a debit card is psychologically different than spending with cash. Studies show that people spend more when they use ANY type of plastic. There's something magical about holding a $20 bill in my hand and knowing that it's going away that makes me want to hold onto it a little more. I'm more frugal with cash.

For what it's worth, I don't want to be a tightwad. I've never been that way. In fact, I've been pretty much the opposite, not really one to have a budget or a plan for my money. Buzz and I have been financially blessed that despite our erratic spending, we haven't completely gone under. We still have shelter, food, and fun. But, we realize that we haven't been honorable in our spending patterns. The solution for us to move to a cash-only plan. Buzz and I have moved to a cash-only plan for almost all of our spending. We still pay our bills online, and when we do order something online, we have to use something other than cash.

But, how do you manage cash? Our budget allows for about $880 a month in spending for things like groceries, gas, household items, baby items, cosmetics, professional services, and so on. Do I just stuff $880 into my purse and carry on?

Our financial advisor, a wonderful woman named Sharee, swears by the old-fashioned envelope system. It's similar to what people of yesteryear used to do with coffee tins and mason jars. They'd keep money in them and take the money out only when the items were needed. Now, Buzz and I have a stack of envelopes where we divide the cash into the categories it's meant for and we take the cash out when we need it. We take to the store what we're committed to spending and no more. The goal is to actually have some money left over in the envelopes at the end of the month.

The result? I'm thinking more about our groceries. We're planning shopping trips instead of just heading off to Ikea or Sam's. Some unexpected benefits so far?Along with saving money, we're saving tons of time! I'm shocked at how much time I was really spending in stores. We're also wasting less. I read in a recent Reader's Digest article that the typical American wastes 12 percent of the food they buy at the grocery store. I'm sad to say that our family was probably way above that mark. But, we're making changes. I've started taking time to go through my freezer and fridge before settling on a menu plan for the week.

It hasn't been easy. We said just last night that we can't believe it's only been 9 days. It takes 90 days to change a habit, though, and we're working hard to make it through our 90 days. We want to spend less, and using cash works for us.

What Working Part-Time Has Taught Me

2009-03-17T18:53:00.000-07:00

For the first time in a long time, I do not have a full-time job (not counting being a mom because yeah, we all know parenting is more than a full-time job). I’ve spent nearly a year now working part-time, with a good portion of my hours from home. The perks? Obviously, I have fewer hours to report to "the man" which means more time for family and home responsibilities. Working from home is great, too. I can be with my baby while I work, allowing me to nurse pretty much full-time. I don’t feel guilty about going to the park for a jog with the kiddos in the afternoon. And, I have the great luxury of working in my jammies if I want to. (I usually don’t, though.)

Of course, part-time employment has its share of drawbacks, too. Knocking off some hours means that I took a pretty hefty paycut. I also locked myself into my current position (as far as status and money goes) because part-time at my employer means no raises and no promotions ever. Working from home is a little hairy at times. It’s not uncommon to find myself vexed with deciding whether to play with my infant who is wanting some attention or to discuss projects with a coworker who is also needing my attention. Doing both at the same time is a recipe for disaster. Putting either off for too long also equals disaster.

Working part-time, though, has taught me a great deal about time management that I never knew before. Here are my new rules for working efficiently:

Rule No. 1: Zoning Out Is for People with Office Jobs
My Past: It was my favorite thing to do in the morning: Get a cup of coffee, sit down at my desk, open my email/calendar program, and stare. I might zone out as much as 10 or 15 minutes, maybe even 20, mindlessly checking a few emails, or just staring at the calendar, thinking about the day.
My Present: If I have a few minutes in the morning before the children have awakened, it’s power work time. I log on to my company’s VPN, skip the email, and dive straight into the tasks I meticulously wrote down at the end of the previous day.
My Take: I have found that early in the morning I can get about an hour’s worth of work done in 20 minutes.

Rule No. 2: Lunch Breaks Are for Wimps
My Past: It’s not uncommon for folks at my company to take long, leisurely lunches as much as once a week. When I first started the job, I thought this was crazy. But, I soon learned it was part of our unique culture and settled myself down into it quite nicely.
My Present: Lunch is an opportunity for work. The kids are distracted with food. The laptop is portable, so I can work at the kitchen table while helping them with refills and spills. I eat my own lunch at the computer while the baby enjoys her post-lunch nap.
My Take: Lunch is the best time to check and respond to emails that do not require me to do much additional research.

Rule No. 3: Multitasking Is for the Unproductive
My Past: My desk rivaled the final rundown of a popular Christmas song: 12 computer apps running, 11 chat windows blinking, 10 edits I'm entering, 9 emails lingering, 8 webpages calling…
My Present: I do one thing at a time, and oh the glory! It’s easier to get something finished. It’s easier to come back to one task after something or someone interrupts me and remember what I was doing. It's easier to concentrate! I’d rather finish something and move on to another task than work on 12 tasks at the same time.
My Take: I’m actually getting more stuff done more quickly than before.

Rule No. 4: Get Rid of the Chaff
My Past: Anytime anyone asked me to help out with a project or do something at work, I would almost always say yes. The result was that I collected numerous extra projects that I had to keep up with and, well, do.
My Present: I’m getting rid of a lot of my extra projects, and I’m saying "no" more often. Recently, I had the awesome opportunity to chair a conference that my department produces. The old me would have climbed on that with spurs on. But I elected to say no. And, it felt great.
My Take: Taking two weeks to consider a project gives me more time to think through whether I want to add the responsibility and time commitment to my plate; it also lets the asking party know that I’m serious about checking out the offer before shouting “yes” or “no.”

Of course, being a full-time parent and primary caregiver for my children means that all bets are off very frequently. Even the best-planned day can turn into a whirlwind of inefficiency. That's when I break out my WCS kit: burn the midnight oil and pray.

Talk about Milestones

2009-03-16T07:08:00.000-07:00

Language Milestones

I'll never forget the morning Spark said his first word. Clear as a bell, he said "Mama" while looking straight at me one morning in August 2005. Soon after, other words followed. He spoke the typical baby words for many things. Milk was "gnak" and Daddy was "da da bop bop." We oohhed and aahhhed and laughed over the many words he tried to say.

Then, one day, he started speaking in sentences. Soon, he was answering questions and saying words we didn't understand, words we didn't know he knew like "octagon."

For the past year and half, I haven't paid a lot of attention to Spark's language. He has a few issues with pronunciation. For instance, his "L" sounds still come out a little like "W" sounds: "Wove" instead of "love." But, that's normal (or at least so says our pediatrician). He seems to be progressing normally for his age. I do notice when he says a new word in the appropriate context like "awesome" and I try to make him say multi-syllable words properly like "quesadilla" and "guacamole"--both important words in our home.

It kind of hit me a couple weeks ago that Spark's conversation skills have matured. We used to have pretty much one-way conversations. For instance, when I pick him up from school, I usually ask him how he's doing. Most of the conversations, until recently, worked like a question/answer trivia game:

Me: What did you eat for lunch today at school?
Spark: A cheeseburger and french fries.
Me: What did you drink?
Spark: Milk.
Me: What was your favorite part of school today?
Spark: Playing with the cars.
Me: Did you go to sleep at naptime?
Spark: No.
Me: Did you miss your Mommy?
Spark: A little.

Now, we're having conversations where he tells me things without being prompted and where he asks some of the questions, too.

Spark: Mommy, I peed in my pants today.
Me: Why did you do that, Spark?
Spark: Because I was taking a good nap. Mrs. Mackey said that I had to change my clothes. And I peed on my blankie, too. It's in my bag.
Me: Ok. It's ok. We'll wash them at home.
Spark: Can I get a snack? I'm very hungry. Can we stop at the gas station and get a snack?
Me: No, we're going home. I have you a snack there.

He's also interjecting movie lines into conversation, which I'm sure is a milestone. Last night, for instance, he was eating a special treat (Oreo cookies) with milk. He looked up after he finished all the cookies, and I told him to drink the rest of his milk. He said, "Everything's delicious, Mommy." Then, he looked at me and his eyes got a little wider. He took another exaggerated drink of his milk and again said, "Everything's delicious!"

It took me a minute because I don't watch as much Disney Pixar as he does. But, then I realized that line comes from The Incredibles. Spark said the line a few more times before running off to wash up. He seemed proud of himself.

Another big milestone we've hit recently is what I'm calling "boyspeak." Anytime anyone says any word relating to anything remotely taboo or gross, Spark has to comment.

So, if you happen to say butt, poop, or fart near my son, you'll likely hear: "Awwwwhhhhh.....You said poop! You said poop!" Likewise, if you happen to show or do any of those things, Spark will let the world know: "Look at that. It's a butt!!"

I wonder what great language milestone awaits around the corner...

Grocery Shopping 101

2009-03-14T20:13:00.000-07:00

I do enjoy grocery shopping. Those I love know this. But, I have realized that I have a problem: I spend way too much in grocery stores. Having taken a financial course through my church, I have been working to eliminate sources of wanton spending. Now, yes, groceries are a necessity. Everyone's gotta eat, right? But, overall, my five-times-a-week grocery shopping binges are eating a huge hole in both our pocketbook and Buzz's dreams of owning an 18-car garage full of classic Buicks, Cadillacs, and Bentleys.

I've nailed down a few reasons why grocery shopping is such a money trap for me.

I take too long in the store. Instead of going in with a purpose, I wander around. After examining the past few bank statements, I've come to the conclusion that the amount of time I spend in the grocery store affects the amount I spend proportionately. The longer I'm in there, the more I spend. I know, that's genius in the works right there, baby. But, still, it took me a while to figure that out. I calculate that I spend about $100 an hour on most trips. My average trip? About 95 minutes. Do that math.
I have kids. (Yes, a mom has every right to blame her kids for spending money.) It's easy to keep kids entertained, especially the four-year old, with a promise of a toy or treat at the end of the long grocery tunnel. (To be fair, my kids impress me. They are especially well-behaved in grocery stores. I'm sure it has NOTHING to do with the promise of a treat.)
I fall victim to the "set up." Have you read What to Eat? Oh, boy, did I ever read that book. I don't think I ate a single thing for about 2 weeks. So, I guess I'm an educated consumer, but I sure don't act like it. Grocery stores set up their shops, according to author Marion Nestle, not for the shopper's convenience but for the maximum profit. Go figure. So, that's why the more sugary cereals are at toddler eye level. Instead of being smart and going in and getting my stuff, I trot right along with the corruption, allowing myself to bask in the marketing ploys.
We have gourmet grocery stores in the Austin area. Oh, Central Market, how I love thee with your bounty of specialty foods, your wine and cheese to die for, your $20 a pound air chilled meats. Yeah. Stop. Gourmet is great...in moderation. I think my spending average goes up about 20% when I'm in a store with a wine section the size of Rhode Island.
I leave with items that are not groceries. NOT GROCERIES. Like a new muffin tin (that I don't need and could probably buy less expensively elsewhere) and a couple of magazines and a Matchbox Mega Rig Shuttle Mission.

It took me a while, but I've pinpointed these problems, and I'm making changes. Details soon!

Sewing 101

2009-03-12T22:12:00.001-07:00

I grew up with a mom who could sew anything. She made dresses for me, maternity clothes for herself, quilts, clothes for my Barbie dolls, doilies, afghans and more.

When I was in fourth grade, I decided to enter the 4-H apron contest. I can still remember the pain and torture I experienced as mom and I worked on that red and white apron. Every day I just wanted it to be over. The sewing machine and I were not friends. I finished my apron, entered the contest, came in dead last, and moved on with my life...right after taking a vow of abstinence when it comes to needles, thread, and sewing machines.

Well, I have broken my vow. Over the past year, I've become more and more intrigued by mixed media art (and no, that's NOT a fancy word for scrapbooking). Typically, I consider myself a minimalist when it comes to design and art preferences. I love white space. I crave a simple Picasso sketch. But, I also love collages. Combining textures, colors, and artifacts in unique ways thrills me.

In my pursuit of mixed media art creation, I realized that to fully embrace my new love, I must pick up a needle and thread. Funny how one mention of this, and on the next gift giving occasion my mom thrusts a Pixie into my lap. I played around with it some, and I must say I've enjoyed getting to know the machine. I've also learned that I can make nifty things to use for my aromatherapy and household cleaning. I even made a pillowcase in about 10 minutes one night.

But, when I do something, I gotta go all out. My mom lives in Wyoming right now, so I signed up for a class at a local sewing studio.

The first session was tonight. After three hours of fabric, snips, scissors, needles, thread, and bobbins, I've come up with a few basic rules for surviving a first sewing class.

Don't remove the screw that holds your needle in. Just loosen it. After I mistakenly removed mine, the instructor looked at me and said, "That is not God's will for your sewing machine."
The needle lives in its oval and cannot bite you. For some reason, I really think it will, even though I know it won't. I held my shoulders tense and watched that little booger go up and down and side to side and imagine it eating through one of my fingers. It did not. Instructor: "See that oval? That's where the needle lives."
You have to actually press down on the pedal to get the motor going. I suppose I'm a little afraid of the pedal, too. (Probably because it controls the needle.) I spent most of the night barely pressing the pedal, causing my machine to make a pained half-groan, half-whir sound. The woman sitting next to me kept looking at my machine. I'm sure she wondered if I had broken it. So, I decided to press down. Instructor, with her hand on my left shoulder: "These kinds of stitches require a slower speed. Easy on the pedal."
Bobbins aren't really that bad. Ok, yes they are.

I've Been Spanxed

2009-03-11T07:48:00.000-07:00

Growing up in a southern United Methodist Church means a lot of things. For one, I know a lot of old hymns by heart. Two, I have eaten a lot of chicken casseroles and chocolate pies in my day. And, three, I collected many, many dresses, skirts, stockings, and pumps.

Seven years ago, I gave away all my dresses, skirts, and pumps. I hate wearing dresses and skirts and all the baggage that comes with them: slips, weird bras, stockings, drafts. But, unfortunately, they are often a necessary evil in my life. The past year, for instance, has brought a host of reasons to wear some more formal attire than my jeans and a t-shirt routine: five weddings and three memorial services. The United Methodist in me just cannot wear pants to a funeral.

In the throes of shopping for these events, I seek help. Not from my friends or family. I prefer to shop alone, and when I have questions, I ask the women who work in the women's section at the department store of choice. After finding a dress on sale, I inquire about whether it fits me correctly, and the wonderful clerk eyes my bottom critically as I turn for her. She says, "It's very cute. It fits you great. But, you're going to need a slip. The dress is sticking to your bottom."

Oh, how I hate slips. I hate them so much. They itch and twist and make me feel like I belong in another century.

My dismay must show on my face because the helpful lady says, "Well, actually, you could get a Spanx. Most people are wearing those instead of slips these days."

Oh, now. I have heard of these items called Spanx. The thought of donning something akin to a girdle causes me great fear and grief. Suddenly, the slip sounds great.

My increased dismay must show on my face because the helpful lady says, "At least try it on. They work wonders." She says this as she eyes my bottom, again critically.

I head to the hosiery department, a place I thought I would never have to visit again until my 93rd birthday. I stare at the scads of Spanx items. They have Spanx for seemingly every part of your body from your neck down to your ankles. The hosiery lady helps me select the right size for my body, which involves disclosing my height, weight, blood type, and preferred 401k provider.

Then, the real fun begins. I'm to "try it on" first and model it for the hosiery crew to be sure it fits correctly. I'd rather just run out of the store with my new undergarment and spend a few hours contemplating its merits in the quiet of my own home. Instead, I go to the fitting room, and I open the bright package. Even in my panicked state, I notice the cute graphics on the package and the fact that celebrities wear these things. People like Jessica Alba, Gywneth Paltrow, Vanessa Williams, and Oprah swear by Spanx. And, heck, if Oprah wears it, you can count me in. (Two other pluses, and really serious ones at that: designed by a woman entrepreneur and made in the USA.)

But, I must figure out how to put the thing on first. I have selected the Higher Power model, a close relative of the Power Panties. The Higher Power and I become very well acquainted over the next 12 minutes or so, as I wrangle it onto my thighs. Then, I'm not sure what to do with the rest of it. For a moment, I wonder how I am even going to get this roll of nylon and spandex off myself. Because that's what it is, a roll across my hips. A very tight roll. I start smoothing it out, and within about 5 minutes, things shape up a bit.

Higher Power indeed. As I unfurl the whole deal, I realize it goes all the way up to just below my breasts. At first, I wonder how I will breathe with my ribs pressed into my spine. But, I smooth out the Spanx even more, stretching it from just under my breasts to just above my knees. Then, I put on the dress. I take a deep breath. Wow. I can breathe. Success.

I look at myself in the mirror, trying to catch a glimpse of my bottom. The dress is not sticking to it anymore as far as I can tell. Another success.

I also notice that my hips seem more shapely, more under control, less "I just delivered a baby." (Yes, yes, it has almost been a year, but "just" is relative.)

So, I walk out of the fitting room for the hosiery lady to eye me. She looks at my bottom critically. "Wow," she says. Is that a good "wow" or "oh my, you need to lay off the Twinkies 'wow,'" I wonder. Then, she says, "That looks amazing." I hope she's talking about my bottom. I really do.

After wearing my Spanx to several different events that have required dress pants or a dress, I must say they work for me. I am a total convert, a real believer. These doodads are a miracle in a nifty box, light years away from the slips and girdles of yesteryear. I haven't worn my Higher Power with my normal jeans and t-shirt routine, but the hosiery lady assured me that lots of people do. Maybe one day when I have an extra 17 minutes in the morning to unfurl my Spanx, I'll see.

Do you want a toy bath or a fast bath?

2009-03-03T20:33:00.000-08:00

In our home, we have degrees of bathing. I’ll explain.

First, we have the cat bath. This is usually performed with baby wipes, or maybe a damp cloth. Rarely is the child completely naked and rarely is the child thoroughly cleaned. This is usually done to get out the door quickly. Buzz and I often employ this type of bath before church on Sundays.

Next up is the waterfall bath. This involves lots of screaming from both kids because they both hate it. Who knew that water streaming down from the shower head could impose such torture on my two blue-eyed angels? In a nutshell, we put them in the tub, both naked, both standing at the same time, turn on the shower head, and spray them off. If we have time, we use a bit of hair/body wash. If not, no one really knows.

Ahh, a close cousin of the waterfall bath is the fast bath. The main difference is that instead of using the shower feature, we let the bath water run while the kids sit and/or stand (usually some of both). We quickly wash them down and instead of hosing them off with the shower. We use a cup to rinse them off. Spark doesn’t mind so much, but Flower has a screaming fit.

Finally, we have the spa deluxe bathing experience, aka toy bath. I fill the tub with warm water, often adding some California Baby aromatherapy bubble bath (which comes conveniently packaged with a bubble wand, so if I’m feeling especially loving and generous, I’ll blow a few bubbles and let them gently cascade down to my children’s noses). I get out the big bucket of bath toys and add them to the tub of water, bubbles, and children. I gently wash their hair, scrubbing behind the ears while they are distracted, and use a soft sponge to clean their 2000 parts. Even though Flower doesn’t care too much for a bath, Spark loves a toy bath, so he’s allowed to stay in the bath and play a while as long as he doesn’t splash water onto the floor or drink "butt water," which he tries to do over and over again. One night, in fact, we forgot he was in there for about 90 minutes. Talk about pruney fingers!

I have found the best thing about having these levels of bathing is that I can use it as a reward (bribe) or punishment (threat) for Spark because we’re all about bribes and threats in our household.

“Spark, you are doing so well at helping Mommy. You are going to get a toy bath tonight.”

“Spark, if you don’t clean your room, you won’t have time for a toy bath.”

“Spark, if you don’t stop dragging your sister down the hall, you will have to take a fast bath tonight.”

“Spark! You poured milk in the pencil cups on your art desk again??? I’m putting you in the waterfall bath NOW.”

You think I’m mad? Nah. These methods work surprisingly well for me. Spark loves his bath so much, generally, he’ll do anything to preserve it. Of course, I might have to explain why he has an irrational fear of showers when he’s older.

I'm participating in Works for Me Wednesday at We are THAT Family's blog carnival.

To Scrap or Not: A Good Question

2009-03-03T19:54:00.000-08:00

For the life of me, I can’t figure out the scrapbooking industry. It’s INSANELY huge. It’s also INSANELY expensive. The biggest lunacy to me is that this type of crafting is called “scrapbooking,” and instead of being true to the honest-to-goodness beauty of the term (the idea that one can take scraps, aka garbage, and make it into something beautiful), we have turned in into a bazillion-dollar industry. Americans alone are spending millions a year on SCRAPS, acid-free scraps at that!

The office manager at Spark’s school asked me the other day if I am a scrapper. Actually, she assumed I was and phrased it as a question.

“Oh, heavens, no,” I thought. But, then, I did make a book of photos for Spark’s paternal grandmother for Christmas, and I am putting together some books of photos from a trip to California. And, I am a packrat with boxes of scraps at my disposal for cropping and scrapping and booking. When gift bags are too disheveled to be reused, I cut the rope handles off and stuff them in a box. When someone wears out jeans too much to donate, I keep at least the pockets any cut off any denim that looks usable. But. I can’t be one of THEM.

You know those people. They have every puncher, every embellishment, every album, every pattern of every paper. They meet in groups and call themselves “scrappers.” And, their designs are immaculate. They have the perfect pictures with the perfectly handwritten note and perfect layout. You know what I’m talking about. (If you don’t, go here.) There’s a row of perfectly punched out daisies along the left side of the page. They are pink with yellow centers. Cute little 2x2 photos line the bottom of the page. They are closeups of hands, feet, belly buttons. Then, there’s a large photo of pretty 2 year old girl with her eyes wide open, her smile beaming off the page, her cheeks so cute and pinchable, her face framed with some vintage looking paper that has a daisy motif going on. Oh, and the photo is that vintage-looking black and white distressed type with elegantly penned pink journaling underneath, reading something like: “When you were two, your smile made me smile. Your laugh made me laugh. You complete me.”

(Yes, so, I threw that last bit in there for the closet Tom Cruise fans.)

Now, I’m standing here with this question hanging in the air, “You’re a scrapper, aren’t you?”

My answer is probably a secret code for getting invited to crop circle night or being shunned from all the real scrappers. I see two responses: Yes or No. Either one leaves me in a weird place.

“Yes, but I only use REAL scraps, scraps that I find, scraps that almost made it to the trash can until I reached out my hand and said, ‘Don’t put that in a landfill! Put it in my son’s baby book.’” This sounds self-righteous, like I’m some earth-friendly, the-environment-is-my-religion whacko.

“No, but I occasionally make photo books.” This sounds lame like I’m really part of the group, but I don’t want to admit it. Or, I’m not part of the group, but I want to be. Either way, it’s lame.

Because I sometimes just can’t live up to my high standard, I opt for the lame route: “Not really. Well, yes, sort of. I guess.”

Yes, My Organic-Fed, Breastfed Baby Eats Funyuns

2009-02-27T20:55:00.000-08:00

So does my organic Cliff Bar eating four year old. But only in desperate times.

I love grocery shopping. It's such fun to walk through a good produce section and feel the oranges, tap the melons, sniff the tomatoes. We're pretty fortunate in the Austin area to have some excellent grocery stores. Grocery stores with playscapes on the roof, parks out back, gelato bars, and a nice furniture section.

That's right. A local grocery store chain has added a "Plus" to its name, creating a massive superstore that smacks of something like Wal-Mart meets The Roomstore meets Babies 'R' Us. Excuse me while I puke. But, there's something wrong with strolling through a fabulous wine section, looking up and seeing bunk beds and mattresses on an endcap.

I rarely go to the "Plus" version of our dear grocery store. I tend to shop at the stores that offer the best produce selection and the best organic selection. Today, though, the "Plus" store was convenient (at least in location), and we are out of milk, eggs, grapes, and oranges (Spark's four food groups these days). I plan to stop in, grab the essentials and something to cook for dinner tomorrow night. Instead, I leave with a final bill of $113.82 and that's after I use my handful of in-store coupons. "Plus" indeed.

I should have known to back away from the store when Spark finds the car-carts. You know, those Godforsaken shopping carts that look like race cars. I admit at first I was infatuated with them. Spark has always loved anything with wheels, so it was such fun to put him in the car-cart when he was younger. Until I actually tried to push the thing and learned the first rule of car-carts: no power steering. The second rule? Very heavy. The final rule, and this one's a kicker: Lots of stuff stuck to it. Gross stuff too. I mean, nasty half-eaten lollipops, leftover sticker adhesive that has attracted gnats and dirt, some brown gunk that is surely a partially petrified stain from a former car-cart driver's diaper blowout. Those kinds of things.

So, I sigh when Spark screams, "I see a car! I see a car! Let's get it Mommy!"

As we pull into a parking spot, Spark is desperate to get out. He has spotted a car in the past and gosh darn it, someone else beat us to it. Well, today is a similar story. As we race toward the cart stash, another mom places her daughter in the car-cart. Inside, I'm singing some angelic chorus. But Spark has started his whine. Completely fed up with his whine, I just let him have it. He gets over it, and we head into this mammoth store that is larger than the town I grew up in.

Suddenly, I'm sucked in. There are product demonstrators everywhere. The products, though, are HEB's own recipes. The demonstrators, aka chefs, have microphones as they attempt to sway customers in. Right next to the demo areas are stacks of all the necessary ingredients. That way, if you like the recipe, you can just pick up the things you need to recreate it at home right away! Genius!!

And the samples. Oh the samples! Spark has a hey-day at the Pop-Tart station, what with their high-fructose corn syrup and partially hydrogenated oils, rarely make an appearance at our breakfast table. But, he's taken in by them. "Oh, Mommy, I like the strawberry." The demoer of the Pop-Tart mentions they have a coupon for their "new" Pop-Tart, one with more fiber. With the $1.00 off, the WHOLE BOX is JUST 68 measely cents! My!

I've started to itch all over. I can't find the canned tomato products aisle because I'm lost somewhere in the batteries and flashlights. Then, I get twisted around and wind up in Party City. But I haven't left the grocery store. It's just that in the center of the store, there is an entire party store, completely with a balloon/banner station. Mercy! Why would I EVER leave this place?

I turn down the "picante sauce" aisle to grab a jar of salsa. And we see her. The girl who stole Spark's car-cart. Her mom is trying to push the cart. It's hard. I tell her how happy I am that she got to that cart before us because I hate those things and their despicable diaper blowout leftovers stringing from the seat. Well, I don't say it out loud, but I'm thinking that. Spark, on the other hand, is more vocal. In the saddest voice, he murmurs, "That's the cart I saw. The one I wanted. It was mine." He's quickly consoled because the driver of the cart is a cute blonde girl about his age, and she brightly greets him. He's in love.

Soon, though, we're back in Party City, and I've got to get out of there before I start buying Disney Princess streamers and Incredible Hulk kazoos. So, I turn out of there, and realize I've been going in circles for a while. I see a line. It's people waiting on cake samples. "Oh, I want some chocolate cake," sighs Spark. And Flower starts to do her "I want food now" dance when she sees the stuff. In a trance, I move our cart to the line. We get our cake and eat it, too.

We walk by two other "demos." One is a spinach-strawberry salad. I know people like that kind of stuff, but I just don't like fruit with my veggies. The other is some fish concoction. And, for some reason, probably because I'm in my trance, I tell the lovely lady who offers me a bite of Tilapia that "we don't eat dead animals." She just looks at me. Spark looks at me. It's not really true, but we have given up animal flesh for Lent. I move on, tranced.

Then, we make our way to the checkout line. I don't know it, but this store is so huge that there are two sections of checkout lines. A friendly checkout guide tells me that the other side of checkout lines has little or no waiting. Compared to the four carts loaded down in front of me, I readily agree to move over to the "other" side. I didn't realize that it was approximately 2.6 miles across town to get there with my 92.8 pound cart and kids. Spark, meanwhile, is yelling, "No dead animals! No dead animals!" as he makes crazy Star Wars moves in the direction of people toting their defeathered chickens to the checkout lines. I wonder when we became hardcore PETA vegans.

Finally, we can exit the building. I step outside, and the 88-degree day greets me like a plastic bag over the head. It's so freaking hot. And the sun is so bright. I'm disoriented, like I just left a matinee and forgot I wasn't seeing the evening show. I have no idea where our car is. So, I stop just outside the door, blinking. I'm sure others thing I'm some crazed one with two kids and $100+ worth of items aboard.

I forget for a moment that the kids bought the Funyuns. But, Spark doesn't. He wants them, and I mumble something about waiting until we get in the car. Then, I change my mind. They're getting antsy, and God knows where the car is. Might as well let them have an overly processed puff of some kind of refined grain with a sprinkling of artificial onion powder, right?

Good Grammar Works for Me

2009-02-25T17:48:00.001-08:00

I got a message through Facebook a while ago from a character from my past. We'll call him JB. JB and I dated in high school. We were good friends, then high-school sweethearts. Then, I went off to college and ended our relationship because, well, I had grown up. So had he.

Unfortunately, as breakups tend to be nasty, this one was a bit gnarly. I've always had trouble ending things, whether it be caffeine or nail-biting or work committees or boyfriends. The end to this relationship dragged out for about a semester of my college career. I finally packed up every last morsel that I could find that either belonged to him or he had given me or had anything to do with our relationship. I took the package to him, said, "Here's your stuff," spun around, and left. Finally it was over.

It felt so nasty. And, I haven't really given much thought to him since. Two days after the "here's your stuff" conversation, he joined the armed forces. I heard through the usual grapevine that he had married a gal from our hometown. I finished college, married, moved away, went to grad school, got a job, moved again, had kids. But, then, suddenly comes the wonder that is Facebook. And there he is. In. My. Inbox.

If I'm being honest when I say I have trouble ending things, I'm even more honest when I say that I hate going back where I've been. I get goosebumps (the creepy kind--not the good kind) when I drive near my old high school. Thinking about going to old places of employment "to say hi" makes me feel queasy. I just hate going back.

But there I was, sitting in my chair, looking at the Facebook inbox. Sender: JB. It was a simple message:

just wanted to say hi and see how everything is going these days. I saw you at the game. Wish I had taken time to meet your children. My little girl and I was
there. How is your mom and dad and brother and sister doing? Well I hope.

The first thing I noticed about this message was not the fact that he had been watching me at the hometown football game I attended as part of my 10-year high school reunion festivities. I didn't even notice all the finer rhetorical things going on. Even though Welby and I did discuss the rhetoric of his message at length, burning at least a half hour of time, instead, I noticed the horrible grammar. Because grammar is my weapon of choice.

I should mention here that I am not a grammar snob entirely. Plenty of folks in my life don't use impeccable grammar, and that's fine. I understand. Seriously, I do not go around judging folks based on their grammatical choices...all the time. But, I do reserve that power for desperate times.

I started typing my response, and I just couldn't help myself. I had to bring out the high horse. I used a semicolon.

I'm doing well. I just got back from my ten-year reunion. I can't believe the time has slipped by that quickly. We didn't stay at the game very long. Spark and Flower were both getting tired, so I took them back to their grandma's
house. You have one daughter? And a son? My parents are great. They love being grandparents. My sister married a guy this summer; they just bought a house here
in Austin. My brother has two kids and works construction with Daddy. Right now, they work somewhere near Texarkana.

And I felt much better.

Check out the other Works for Me Wednesday posts at We are THAT family.

Snakes Don't Die Until Sundown

2009-02-21T20:39:00.000-08:00

Papa came into town this past week. He's about to leave on a 10-month job in Wyoming (where it snows every month of the year), and he's making his rounds, spending some time with his kids and grandkids (mostly the grandkids) and getting prepared for the trip.

I've always seen my dad as about 28 years old. I don't know if those are some of the happiest, most vivid memories I have of him, but that's how he usually looks in my memories. But, now that my brother and I have kids and he is called "Papa" more than he's called "Daddy," I've started to notice the traces of age. The fine lines on his face have become real wrinkles. He misses a lot of what we say because his hearing is not as good as it used to be. He's not 28 anymore, and he hasn't been in some time.

I've learned a lot from my father over the years, though, and I hope to learn more. When my mom brought a dead snake to my door a couple weeks ago, I remembered one good lesson that my father taught me: Snakes don't die until sundown.

She had found the snake in our yard. It was just a baby, something harmless like a garden snake. I'm not afraid of snakes, but when Momma waved that limp fellow under my nose, I wanted to take a step back.

When I was about 12, Daddy killed a snake in our yard. He told me to take the snake "to the end of the road," which was the area on our property where we put dead snakes and other such items. He scooped the snake, which had to be still warm, onto a piece of cardboard. As he handed me the cardboard, he said, "Watch him closely. Snakes don't die until sundown, you know."

Every step I took to the end of the road crunched into my ears as I cautiously carried the snake to his final resting place. I could see the snake twitching, just waiting to spring back to life, pounce on me, and inject some lethal venom into the right side of my neck. Wanting to run, but afraid I might jostle him awake, I walked slowly on the gravel. I finally reached very close to the end of the road, and I tossed that snake, cardboard and all onto the pile and ran like hell back to the house.

Flash forward about 18 years, and here I am watching my own son poke this dead snake with a stick. If it were possible to torture a creature that has already passed from this life to the next, Spark did it to that little snake. He finally discarded the fellow on the road by our mailbox.

The next day after school, Spark jumped out of the car as soon as we got home, ran over to the mailbox, and asked, "Where's the snake?" It had dried to the pavement, not much fun anymore. Spark ran off to play with a plastic shark in the mud, but I eyed the snake warily. I wondered what he had done just before sundown.

Long Way Down

2009-02-18T08:25:00.000-08:00

The city I live in has way too many flyovers. Spark loves them because he can see on top of the red store. He thinks that’s cool. I, on the other hand, think they’re sick. Really.

I have an irrational fear of heights, and I have a recurring nightmare about flyovers. I’m driving along on the flyover, clutching the steering wheel of my car until my knuckles are whiter than rice, and suddenly two of my tires fly off my car. I careen to certain cemented death below.

So, if you see a blue Mazda moving at the pace of a slow sloth along any of the major freeways in the Austin area, please be patient. I’m bracing myself for the loss of two tires.

A similar recurring nightmare involves the stairwells in the parking garage where I work. I park on the third floor often. I start down the stairs, and all is fine. Then, out the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the little part between the stairwells where I can see all the way down. Bad. I nearly lock up. I breathe deeply. But, I still move into my nightmare where I see ghastly images of me falling down, twisting into a strange-looking pile on the ground below. Or, I see myself falling but catching onto a slippery, cold rail and slowly my fingers slide off the rail as I, once again, careen to a certain cemented death below.

This is usually when I’m knocked out of my nightmare by the type of stairwell people I like to call “bounders.” They indeed bound down the stairs, seemingly taking them two or three stairs at a time. Surely, they must be having their own dream: they’re running a marathon or they’ve morphed into a horse in the Kentucky Derby. As a bounder gets closer to me, I become more nervous. The acrophobia gets stronger, and I almost lock up. The bounder stops right at my heels. I can feel the bounder’s breath on my neck. I want to turn around and vomit on this person’s shoes. But, I do not. I keep going, counting in my head for each stair to try to focus.

Not one of my nightmares is pretty.

Acrophobia has plagued me since birth. I do all right until I look down or think about it. Like the time I climbed up on my great-grandmother’s counter to help her get her fine china out of her highest cabinets. I looked back to hand her a dish, and I felt faint. I had to sit down. She laughed harder than I’d ever heard her laugh.

Then, there was the lighthouse trip. My family was spending the summer in Savannah, Georgia. We took a day trip to Tybee Island and decided to tour a lighthouse. Because so many books I’d read involved lighthouses, I could not wait. All the way up the long winding stairway, I was fine. After arriving at the top, though, and looking out at the great expanse of Atlantic ocean, sand, and cars the size of micro Hot Wheels, I nearly fainted and vomited at the same time. It took a lot longer for me to get back down that winding staircase than it did to climb up.

I was 12, and on the way down, my family met another family, including a grandmotherly type. I clutched the handrail so tightly with both hands that I couldn’t move to let the grandmother pass by. She had to let go and pass by me. Else I would have died right then and there. Or puked on someone’s shoes.

Men do get better with age.

2009-02-17T08:12:00.000-08:00

Not that I've ever for a day thought that Buzz wasn't a wonderful man, but I've known him for 10 years of his life, and I've seen him become a better man than he was when I met him.

1999: We meet, he tutors me in chemistry, and we become friends. He’s nice.

2000: He sends an embarrassingly beautiful display of flowers to the photo lab where I work. I take him rollerskating. He falls and breaks his back. Two days later, he tells me he loves me. He claims his painkillers were the ones doing the talking.

2001: We go to Las Cruces, New Mexico for a spring break trip. We’re standing in the Organ Mountains and he hands me a diamond ring. A couple months later, he marries me, a 21-year-old, barely-knows-what-she’s-doing-still-in-college girl. We’re crazy in love, though, so we do it. I stand barefoot by a lake in Mississippi as he looks me in the eye and says, “I do.”

2002: Less than a year later, we are shocked to find out I’m pregnant. A few weeks later, we learn the baby has died in the womb. I see him cry for the first time. Then, two weeks later, I graduate college and we move from Alabama to Texas.

2003: I finish grad school, and we try to plan the rest of our lives. We decide to move to the Austin area for my job.

2004: I move without him so that he can finish his teaching contract. Six-weeks later, I’m shocked to find out I’m pregnant. I tell him on the telephone. Despite his queasy, weak stomach, he stands by me through 24+ hours of labor and childbirth, with all its gross stuff. We welcome Spark into our lives in November.

2005: We go to New Orleans, and he saves my life. We celebrate with an insanely expensive steak dinner.

2006: He grows into a wonderful dad, showing our son how to pray, how to be a man, and how to buy Mommy flowers.

2007: We decide to have another baby. Our first planned pregnancy comes with one try. Without blinking, he goes to Taco Bell in his pajamas at 11 p.m. when I say I’m craving a Nachos Bell Grande.

2008: Again, he stands by me through labor and childbirth. We welcome Flower into our lives in April.

2009: I watch him fight tears as he delivers an amazing eulogy for his grandmother. Today, I celebrate the beginning of his 37th year of life.

Happy Birthday, darling.

Guess what Mommy is packin' now?

2009-02-11T16:28:00.000-08:00

Oh yeah, after what happened earlier this week, I bought a port-a-potty, the portablest of potties, actually. How about another view of this fella?

Isn't it lovely? It kind of reminds me of some of the equipment we used in the chemistry lab in college. Nevertheless, I'm really hoping it works for me, or at least for Spark. After buying it this afternoon, I wanted to put it to immediate use. Well, not really to use, but I wanted to get it packed up with the other gear that we haul around with us "just in case." I get the team ready for a walk to a local middle school where we often get our daily exercise. There's a sand pit there, so Spark spends a lot of his time, digging. Today was no different. As soon as we arrive, he grabs his shovel and heads off to the pit. When it's time to go, I swing by the pit, and this is what I see:

After the week I've had, a picture is worth at least a thousand words. And, I've got three. So, I'll leave it at that.

A Letter to My Heart

2009-02-10T19:46:00.000-08:00

Dear Heart,

Why is Valentine’s Day so unappealing to me? Why won’t you let me love the day of chocolate, red, love, wine, romance? Is it because I broke up with him right after Valentine’s Day? I know. It was cruel to do it so close to a “love” holiday, but I had to. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I waited after the day because I thought doing it before Valentine’s would be worse. I promise I wasn’t waiting on the gift. A new white teddy bear like every Valentine before that one. Trust me, it wasn’t the gift. But you know that.

I rarely spend a Valentine’s Day that I don’t think of him and our last Valentine’s Day together. I had a lump in my throat. I wouldn’t stay at his apartment. I gave him a knife and a dry kiss. It wasn’t pretty. He called me by the time I got home. I forgot the teddy bear at his place. I had tried to end it several times, but wavered back and forth, back and forth. I was shifty, cold, not nice our last months together. Not usually a mean person, I must have been trying to brace myself, build some kind of barrier around you. I’m sorry I did it over the phone, but I did. I’m a wimp sometimes, thanks to you. But, I couldn’t face him when I delivered the news.

Perhaps that’s why I’m cursed from enjoying Valentine’s Day. I felt you break for the very first time many years ago a few days after. But, I want to punish myself, so I live every Valentine’s Day with a lump in my throat, a lump that presses down on you. The lump leaves by March, and you’re free again.

Love,
Martia

Not Exactly a Walk in the Park

2009-02-09T15:58:00.000-08:00

I'm so geeky the only claims to law breaking I can make are lame. For instance, one time, when the owners were out of town, my best friend from high school, Lauren, and I broke into their house. The house was supposed to be haunted, so we finagled around the property until we found a door we could jimmy open. With a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and stakes of liquor boxes half draped with sheets, the room had an eerie glow to it. As we talked in whispers, we spooked ourselves into leaving and running through the woods back to her house.

As far as breaking other laws go, I once stole an item from Target. It wasn't on purpose, and it wasn't even something I wanted (a tube of pearlescent taupe lip gloss) but I didn't take it back. My friends and I skipped school, but I'm not sure truancy is a real law, either.

So, you can see, my law breaking is pretty lame-o.

Today, thought, I broke the law, perhaps two laws. I go for a walk/jog/run in my neighborhood quite often. One time, a while back, I happened to walk/jog/run into a neighboring 'hood and stumbled upon a small park. I jogged past it and thought how convenient it was. In the 5 years we've lived here, I had never noticed it. Then, I noticed a sign: "Residents of Booger Row Neighborhood and their invited guests only allowed in the park."

Oh, well, never-break-the-law me sighed. I guess I wouldn't be taking Spark there after all. But, on several subsequent walk/jog/runs by the forbidden playscape, I couldn't help but notice that no one was ever playing there. And, I went by at prime kiddie play times on prime weather days.

Today was an early-release day at Spark's school, which meant I would have him at my usual time for the walk/jog/run. After we got home, Spark was begging to go to a park. And, I caved. I did it. I told him about a new park I had found, told him how it had cool tires to play on, and after a short walk (not quite a mile), he could play a while before we headed back home. He seemed very excited about our adventure.

We pack up the stroller with Flower and some snacks to eat at the park (a tangelo, cheesey puffs, and a bottle of water), and we head off. About 30 minutes later, we see the park just ahead in the distance. Spark is so excited, "I see it! I see it! It's blue, Momma, your favorite color." I tell him he can run on ahead of us, and he takes off.

Evidence of our law-breaking afternoon.

I arrive, get Flower's stroller situated (she's napping) and sit myself down on a park bench. I notice Spark is running around in circles. He's excited about the park, but he's also uncomfortable looking. Sure enough, he comes over to me, "I have to go potty. I got to pee-pee."
A quick inspection shows that while the playscape is not gate-protected, the restrooms are. And, being that we are vandals, using this off-limits playground equipment, there's no way I have a membership key. I tell Spark that he's going to have to urinate on the ground. "Pee over there." We tried this a couple weeks ago, when we had walked to a local middle school track in our neighborhood. He wouldn't do it. He totally freezes up.

He looks at me terrified, "I can't go potty on the grass, Momma. I have to poopy, too."

Oh, this makes things interesting. I'm thinking, even if Spark and I run all the way home, it will likely take us 15 minutes, so I tell him, "Spark, it's a long way to get home. You're going to have to poop on the ground."

He's running in circles, completely freaking out. "I'm about to go poopy in my pants," he's yelling over and over again. "I want to go home and poopy."

I know we can't make it. There's no way. So, I just tell him, matter-of-factly, "Spark, you have to decide: either poop on the ground or poop in your pants."

He runs away from me. There's a hill with a ditch. He runs down into the ditch, screams at me, "Don't watch me, Momma." And he takes care of business.

I do have baby wipes handy, so he can clean up things. As we walk back to the playscape, he looks up at me, dejected, "Momma, birds go poopy on the grass, don't they?" He seems forlorn that he might have a similar status as a bird because of what he's done. Birds, are apparently, not the king of the beasts.

I look at him. "Spark, yes they do. But you know what else goes poopy on the grass?"

He looks at me. "What, Mommy?"

"Puppies go poopy on the grass," I tell him. He's quite fond of puppies, sleeps with a puppy every night, even pretends to be one fairly often. As he beams up at me, I'm hoping that I don't have to call a cleanup crew in the grocery store the next time he wants to "be a puppy."

Some Things You Just Shouldn't Buy in Bulk

2009-02-06T19:21:00.001-08:00

I haven’t bought paper towels in almost a year. One reason is because I despise them. I hate that when I’m using them to wipe up liquids my hand almost instantly gets wet with whatever I’m wiping. Also, I find them disgustingly gross for cleaning counters as they start to shrivel.

They also fall short on many jobs, leaving lint on my mirrors and windows or ripping in half right in the middle of scrubbing the stove. Another reason I decided to ditch them? They are wasteful. To clean up an average 4-year old spill, it takes 4-5 paper towels. And, they aren’t reusable or recyclable, so those pups go straight to the trash.

What, then, to use in their place for maximum efficiency, environmental friendliness, and ease of use? I mean, come on, paper towels haven’t been around forever. What did folks use back in the day? A simple Google search on “before paper towels” lead me to an old standby that I already hand on hand but didn’t use very often: flour sack towels. Genius! I love flour sack towels. I can cut and hem them to various sizes and use them for just about anything: cleaning, drying dishes, wiping up spills.

The flour sack towel has helped me to completely rid my home of paper towels.
But, then, I saw a recipe for homemade baby wipes that I just had to try. Unfortunately, I thought about this homemade baby wipe recipe while in Sam’s, the world’s most massive big box store.

I hate Sam’s.

Oh yeah, it’s nice to get an ultra-mega-jumbo pack of diapers and not have to worry about buying diapers for the next century, but I hate that when I go to Sam’s if I remember that I need, say, an ink pen, I have to buy 25 ink pens or plan to make another stop. For a pen afficionade as myself, committing to using the same pen for the next 25 pen usages is hard to stomach. Sure, making another stop on the way is not a big deal if you don't have to load up two kids in the car, get two kids from point A to point B, unload kids, go into store, suffer through "I'm hungry" wails and "Can I have a surprise?" choruses, then reload, and head home.

Sam's has also lead me down the slippery slope of buying things in bulk that I likely won't use all of like canned asparagus. I have several cans of asparagus in my pantry. I love asparagus, but I really prefer it fresh and cooked tender crisp. This canned asparagus is limp. I can't think of much worse than limp asparagus. I tried grilling it to see if it would crispen it up a bit. That was indeed a small culinary disaster. So, I have several cans of asparagus, waiting for their season in our diets.

Oh, and there was the time I bought a bulk pack of packing tape. It happened around Christmas time about three years ago. We were furiously trying to get all our packages mailed on time for once, and while in Sam's, I remembered the packing tape. Last time I counted, we still have about 12 rolls of packing tape. And don't get me started on the bubble mailers, chewing gum, shampoo, and CD cases.

On my last visit to Sam’s to get the ultra-mega-jumbo pack of Pampers, I remember the baby wipe recipe. I push the ultra-mega-jumbo cart with my two kids and the diapers over to the paper goods aisle. Into the cart goes the ultra-mega-jumbo pack of Bounty. The baby wipe recipe calls for a thick, good brand of paper towel. I’d go for Brawny because I like the guy in their logo. He epitomizes brawn and he’s not afraid of a makeover! What more could a woman want in a paper towel logo man? But, alas, Sam’s carries Bounty and Member’s Mark (which is the store brand, so I’ve got a sneaky suspicion it’s not going to qualify for the “thick, good” in the baby wipe recipe).

Now, we have 15 rolls of white Bounty paper towels. I better get cracking on those baby wipes.

Top o' the Morning

2009-02-04T20:52:00.000-08:00

Mornings with Spark have become something of a challenge. He is not a morning person, which is the first big hurdle, but he’s also very needy in the mornings. He makes strange demands. An example: Buzz goes into his room to wake him up. He turns on the light and says, “Spark, it’s time to wake up.”

Instead of opening his eyes and smiling sweetly like an angel, Spark gets ill, cantankerous, and rude. “I don’t want you to wake me up, Daddy! I want Mommy.”

Where is Mommy? Cuddled up in the bed, getting some last few minutes of precious slumber before the day begins? Hardly. I’m usually nursing Flower, who has grown very demanding in that area, especially in the mornings. So, while I’ve almost got Flower back to sleep, I have to go into Spark’s room, jarring Flower back awake just so that I can be the one who wakes up our dear son. Occasionally, though, like this morning, Flower is still asleep and Spark is in the bed with me and Buzz while we're waking up. So, Flower begins to wail and I instruct Spark to get on up. Even though, I am the one waking him up (as he prefers), he is not pleased with the sudden awakening. He starts to wail, too. With both yelping, I feel chaotic at best.

Of course, it doesn’t stop there. Spark wants me to get his clothes out of his dresser, and even though he is perfectly capable of dressing himself, he whines around, asking me to put his clothes on. Meanwhile, Flower is clawing at my shirt, looking for breakfast. When I insist that Spark must dress himself as every big boy does, he responds with: “Ok, but I want to sit in your lap while I do it.” Then, he plops his naked butt in my lap, wraps his long, skinny arms around me while he wiggles into a pair of Shrek underwear. It’s an interesting site with Flower on the other side, nursing away. It gets even more interesting when Spark turns to me and says sweetly, "I peed on your bed again, Mommy. I'm very sorry."

Breakfast introduces another struggle, to say the least. We have some standards for week-day breakfasts. Weekends, we often have a bigger breakfast, such as homemade biscuits and sausage or pancakes with maple syrup and fresh fruit. But, during the week, our standbys are Cheerios and milk, frozen waffles, scrambled eggs, and occasional cereal bars.

In the spirit of spurring independence, I try to give Spark a couple choices, which sometimes works well, but other times, like this morning, all the poo-poo hits the fan. It went something like this:

“Spark, do you want a bowl of Cheerios and milk, or do you want a cereal bar and some milk?”

“How about pancakes and eggs, Mommy?” Spark LOVES pancakes. But, today, when he was already running late for school, and I had a busy day ahead at work, pancakes were not going to happen.

“Spark, do you want a bowl of Cheerios or a cereal bar? Pick one.”

“Do we have any eggs?”

“Yes, we have eggs, but we are not having them for breakfast. You must pick Cheerios or a cereal bar."

“Mommy, I want both.” Though at times I feel like a short order cook, the last time I checked, we were not offering a breakfast buffet in our dining area. Martia's kitchen is not the new Comfort Suites continental breakfast bar.

So, I give Spark a strawberry cereal bar, pour him a glass of milk, and tell him to eat up while I shower.

My wonderful Mom is in town this week, and she was missing this entire exchange, hiding out in the guest room. She emerges to watch Flower for me while I shower, and she reports that Spark had a breakdown when she walked into the kitchen where he was eating breakfast.

He pointed at the table and whimpered.

She said, “What is it?”

He whimpered again, adding a high pitched whine to his dramatics.

She said, “Spark, tell me what is wrong.”

He said, “It’s …. gooooonnnne,” in the creakiest, whimpering voice he could muster.

Mom, who had been in the guest room, still had no idea what he was talking about. “What’s gone?”

Spark replied, still whining, “My cereal bar. I ate it. Now it’s gone.”

Pee on the Mattress

2009-02-04T13:52:00.000-08:00

Too many mornings start with Spark coming into my room, saying, "Mommy, I peed on the bed again. I'm very sorry." It's KILLING me. The laundry. The sheets. The blankets. The pajamas. The mattress pad. Did I mention the laundry?

Buzz and I are not sure where he gets all this pee. It's insane quantities. More often than not, the pee seeps through the mattress pad onto the mattress. Having tried several different methods of cleaning urine out of Spark's mattress, I've concluded that Borax works for me. It's simple and extremely effective.

Sprinkle about 1/4 of a cup of Borax on the offensive spot on the mattress.
Rub it in with a rag.
Allow to dry for a while (even all day if you're headed out the door soon).
Vaccuum the Borax from the mattress.

Done! No more pee! SERIOUSLY!

For extra freshness, add a couple drops of your favorite soothing essential oil, such as lavender, to the mattress.

Those We Didn't Know

2009-01-19T08:28:00.000-08:00

We got a phone call this morning. Buzz's maternal grandmother is dying. She's 99 and has had Alzheimer's for many years, so in a way this is a blessing. She will finally get to rest and enjoy a perfect body and mind again. But, it's difficult to say goodbye. We'll be making a trip back home to rural Alabama soon.

I'm sad that I never really knew Buzz's grandmother, Gann. By the time I joined the family, she already had full-blown Alzheimer's. So, she never really knew me either. But, she taught school in the area for nearly four decades. One of her students was my father, so I like to that the she passed on something, even some tiny character lesson, that he in turn passed on to me. Legacy.

My great-grandmother, Mama, died in 1999, the same year I met Buzz. She died with full mental clarity at the age of 83. I miss her dearly. She was a very special person to my family, having raised my mother. Rarely a week went by that we didn't drive the few miles to her house to see her and spend time with her. This month is the ten-year anniversary of her death. But, still, sometimes things will happen or I'll see a news story, and I'll think, "I need to tell Mama about that." But, then, I remember.

I wish that Buzz could have known her. She would have loved him, and his extroverted ways, his kindness and generosity. All things I love about him, too. She would have been so proud that I married such a wonderful man. Buzz and I named our daughter Flower after Mama. I think of how tickled she would have been and how she would have laughed and said, "Oh, sister, couldn't find a better name than that?" And, we would have laughed together. One day, I will tell Flower all about her namesake, and I hope we'll laugh together about some of the stories I have to share about Mama. Legacy.

I'm happy that Spark and Flower have wonderful grandparents who love them. But, I am sad that they never knew these remarkable women, Gann and Mama, and I want to somehow pass on even more of their legacy, something that years from now, when the kids are old enough to understand, will make the stories of these women come alive for them.

Foodie Friday: Favorite Frozen Pizzas

2009-01-16T09:38:00.000-08:00

My family loves pizza. It's one thing that everyone will eat. It might very well be the only thing that everyone will eat. I try to keep some frozen pizzas in the freezer for quick lunches and for times when I am not around to cook dinner for the family. Buzz, even in his limited culinary skills, can definitely cook up a great frozen pizza.

So, the convenience is great, but I don't love all the bad ingredients found in a lot of frozen pizzas, such as preservatives, hydrogenated oils, and high fat meats, such as extra-greasy sausage and pepperoni. I also prefer to use as many all-natural and organic ingredients as possible.

I'm also experimenting with ways I can cook pizzas myself, thus having total control of the ingredients, and freeze them. Doing so should also shave some serious bucks off the cost of the pizza because most of the organic pizzas are around $5 each, even for the store brands. But, meanwhile, we have been testing several brands that offer healthier options. The verdict:

Whole Foods Market makes a great cheese pizza. It's about $5, and it would definitely take two of those to feed the entire family.

Amy's Kitchen has some tasty options as well. Their plain cheese pizzas are great, but I especially like the spinach pizza for the added "green" element. The spinach is not overwhelming, but it gives the pizza a little more depth. Amy's also makes a margherita pizza that is pretty good, too. It's a little slim on the cheese, but the basil was very flavorful. All the Amy's pizzas are about $5 each, too. Several of them are made with a whole wheat crust, for added grains and fiber. (One other note: It might be because I do not like soy "cheese," but their vegan pizzas with soy cheese don't do much for me. )

Finally, California Pizza Kitchen, while not "organic," has mostly decent ingredients on a lot of their pizzas. Particularly tasty is the white pizza. It also has a crust that is very flaky and crispy, which I love.

Who's Your Best Friend?

2009-01-15T21:45:00.000-08:00

I grew up in a small town. In elementary school, I spent hours with my best friend Rebecca. We slept over at each other's homes on a regular basis. She moved far away to Texas in sixth grade. Although we had started to grow apart some as we had gotten older, I'll never forget sitting in sixth grade English when Rebecca walked into the room on her last day of school in that small town in Alabama. She gave me a hug, and we said goodbye. I haven't seen her since. Oh, we said we'd write, and we did send a letter or two for the first year after she moved. But we lost touch. Heck, we were only 11 years old!

In fifth grade, I had become closer to Lauren, who I had known since we were 4 year olds at the Baptist Church Vacation Bible School. We had always played well together, but in fifth grade, we really connected. I didn't know then but she would become my "bosom buddy," the one I would share laughs, tears, dreams, and antics with forever. We were BFFs through some of the toughest days of life: high school. Simply saying the words "Crooked Oak" can leave both of us in hysterical tears; it can also bring an eyeroll. No one understands that but us. It's sacred. She still lives in rural Alabama, and the one thing I miss most about "home" is her company. We keep in touch through email and occasional phone calls, but I wish I could see her and share more with her. Would someone please build a high-speed train from my house to hers?

I made a miraculous friend in grad school. I never intended to make a lot of (any?) friends in grad school. A self-professed bookworm/loner/school-geek, I planned foremost to get in, get my education, and get out. But, I met Welby. In the bitter hottest Texas sun, she offered me a ride home from class. I must have had a sign on my forehead that read "I've only lived in Texas for a week, so I thought I could walk the 1.5 miles home from class. In flip flops. In 120 degree weather. With no water." Welby rolled to a stop in a big white Chevy truck. Yes, she had lived in Texas all her life. After that one ride home, another "best friendship" was born into my life. We moved together from West Texas to south-central Texas where we work together and dream up schemes together.

I've had other friends along the way, some very near, close, and dear friends, but none have reached the best friend status (except for my sister, but I discuss her in another post) that Rebecca, Lauren, and Welby hold. Now, I'm watching with interest as my oldest explores friendship. Spark has been in preschool for a couple years now. He has gone through a few "best friends." But, he's still young enough that he doesn't quite understand what a "bosom buddy" is, despite the fact that I have begun indoctrinating him into the ways of Anne.

He has come up with his own system of friendship. The rules are simple:

If the sun is out, Daddy is his best friend.
If the moon is out, Momma is his best friend.
Baby sister can be his friend sometimes.
If he wants to change the rules, he can do so at anytime without any warning.

It's fun to play the game with him. And, he's very persistent about when someone is his best friend, they get to share more things with him and sit next to each other. Dinnertime is especially interesting because often at the beginning of the meal, Daddy is his best friend, but as the sun sinks into the horizon and the moon rises near the end of our meal, Momma becomes his best friend. We play along throughout the day, asking, "Who is your best friend?" Spark points to the sun or moon and informs us of the rules of his game again.

Right now, friendship is just that with him, though: a game. Someday, he'll understand more of what friendship is. As he grows and develops true friends, I hope he is as blessed as I have been, that he finds "bosom friends" to walk through the stages of life with him.

What a Feeling!

2009-01-14T10:54:00.000-08:00

It could be that I'm channeling my inner Jennifer Beals through Flower, or it could be that I totally think that leg warmers didn't go out of style two decades ago. At any rate, I've found a great solution for the carpet burns that Flower gets on her legs as she crawls around our house. I bought these adorable strawberry leg warmers from Beany Bling, owned by a stay-at-home Texas mom.

Aside from their obvious fashionista points, other reasons these leg warmers work for me:

Easy on/easy off
Frugal ($5 a pair) and "green" in the sense that they last a long time (girls can wear them until they are about 10 years old)
Keep legs warm under dresses in cold weather
No tights to wrangle off and on at diaper changing time

Naming Conventions

2009-01-13T16:01:00.000-08:00

Spark has decided that everyone and everything must have a name. He's become so obssessed with names that I have started to run out of on-the-spot answers. Yes, despite my quick creativeness, I have run dry.

He has named Daddy's truck. Yes, that would be Rex. Mommy's blue van is Tessa. Each member of his huge collection of puppies now has a name, from Brownie to Waterboy to Cutie Girl. As we were digging through a pile of clearance plush items at a local bookstore yesterday, he picked up each one and asked me their names. Fortunately, some had a name on the tag. Others did not. This afternoon as we walked by a Hanes cutout of a life-size 8ish year old boy, Spark wanted to know, "What his name?"

To respond, "I don't know," is not sufficient. Spark demands to know the names of these creatures. So, I feel like I'm constantly pulling names out of a hat.

The other day, though, we're pulling into our driveway where Buzz's truck is parked when Spark screams, "WATCH OUT! WATCH OUT!" I hit the brake, "What, Spark?"

He shakes his head, like I'm crazy (and I very well may be). "I'm not talking to you, Mommy. I'm talking to Tessa. Tessa, be careful. Don't hit Rex."

Favorite Puppy

2009-01-12T16:12:00.000-08:00

Soon after Spark was born, he developed a severe case of jaundice. His doctor prescribed a "billi blankie," which basically looks like an electric blanket that glows an eerie shade of flourescent teal. He had to remain wrapped in this blanket for 22 hours a day for about a week. He couldn't sleep in the blanket very well, so my wonderful mother stayed with us for that week, and we took turns rocking him and holding him while he slept.

I know, the experts say you can't spoil a child, but I think that week of being held for 22 hours a day pretty much spoiled any chance of Spark falling asleep on his own or sleeping on his own.

For his first Valentine's Day, I stopped by the grocery store on the way home. I had held out, planning to not submit myself to the commercialization of this "holiday." But, then I caved. I suddenly felt the need to get my three-and-a-half-month old baby boy a Valentine. So, I stopped at the grocery store. It was crowded with all manner of creation. I went straight for the cutesy, candied aisle, weaving my way through countless last-minute men.

I saw some plush animals, picked up a $5 fluffy little gray-and-white puppy with a pink heart embroideried on his ear and took him home for Spark. Spark chewed on it for a second and then the pup was cast aside. I sat it on a shelf in his room, and he was forgotten for about a year.

Then, when Spark was almost 18 months old, I decided it was time for him to try falling asleep on his own in his own bed. So, I tucked him in, we said prayers together, and Spark looked at me with scared little eyes. I reached up on his shelf and said, "Here, hold on to this puppy while you go to sleep."

The two have been inseparable ever since. I wish I had a before shot of "Favorite Puppy" as we all call this guy, but I don't. He's been to countless doctor appointments with us, across the country and back again, and each night before bed, the question of the hour is "Where is Favorite Puppy?" as everyone searches frantically for the ragged dog.

Resolution

2009-01-06T10:37:00.000-08:00

I have only made one resolution this year. I planned to make none because I think resolutions are doomed to fail, but then I thought better of it. I needed to put down on paper at least one thing that I am going to do differently.

As a kid, I used to get lost in books all the time. That's not an exaggeration. I spent hours with books. Some nights, I would stay up long past my bedtime, just trying to finish one more chapter until I had read the entire book. Stories captivated me, and I had little interest in stretching a book out over several days. I grew up in a very small town in rural Alabama. Our public library had less square footage than some closets I've had. It took me about half a summer to tear through the library, reading every single age-appropriate book. This was the summer I read the Little House on the Prairie books, the Trixie Belden mystery books, biography after biography (if a First Lady has a biography for kids, I savored it), a lot of historical fiction books, and just about every series ever created. I even read some Westerns meant for adults. Louis Lamour passed my mom's strict requirements (no sexual scenes and no really bad profanity). I would leave with a sack full of books. When the librarian told me the limit was 14 books in as many days, I'd complain to my mother, "But that's only one book a day."

Running out of books scared me. I'd get on my last book and force Momma to schedule a library trip. Then, the inevitable happened. I'd read all the books they had that a young girl could possibly read. So, my mom loaded us (me and my two younger siblings) into our Bonneville one day that summer and headed to a nearby town that had a bigger library. This library was HUGE. It had more books that I even knew existed. I toured the shelves, salivating in particular over the display of young adult historical fiction. Oh how I loved to get completely lost in the Alaskan wilderness, the Kansas prairie, the Oregon trail. These books had strong female main characters, each of them with pioneering hearts. As I read these books, my imagination let me travel to places I'd never been.

Over the years, I have always loved read. That summer, by far, was my biggest reading adventure, though. That's not to say I stopped reading after that summer. I just got busier with the things of life. Junior high brought more sports obligations with volleyball and basketball practice every afternoon in their seasons. I joined the newspaper and yearbook staff in high school and got a job at a local newspaper writing an occasional article. I still played sports and started working at various fast food joints to pay for my car insurance. Maintaining my grades meant a lot of time spent on homework and studying, and I had little time left to read more than the required texts for class. I relished even those, though. In ninth grade, we all complained to our teacher, Mrs. Hayworth, about having to read 13 books in addition to several short story collections, a couple plays, and some poetry in literature class. Secretly, though, I thrilled at the thought of reading these books. I can't remember all the books we read that year but suddenly I entered a world of more "adult" books like The Great Gatsby, The Good Earth, and Romeo and Juliet. We also read The Outsiders and Jacob, Have I Loved, more contemporary books, easier to digest by the "non-readers." But, I loved them all.

Sadly, I have seen my reading decline ever since ninth grade ended. My other literature class required reading, but none as much as ninth grade. Whether that's part of the Alabama school curriculum, or if the rumors are true and Mrs. Hayworth really did take English steroids, I may never know. But, my reading habit declined through high school. Even though, I continued to love reading all the literature we read from Fahrenheit 451 to Jane Eyre to Farewell to Arms to Wuthering Heights to Our Town. (Thornton Wilder, I still LOVE you.) But, I missed the summer days of climbing a tree and reading a book while leaning back on a branch. I missed staying up until I couldn't keep my eyes open to see if the family could recover from a prairie fire. I decided to spend more of the summer time with friends, gallvanting around with my boyfriend.

Then, college came. Then, marriage came. Then, grad school came. Books became almost an enemy as I had to immerse myself in philosophical texts on my quest for higher knowledge. I missed consuming myself with a work of fiction until I had become a character in the novel.

Then, kids came. I read Goodnight Moon so many times that I memorized every line. The Bendon Bear series traveled across the nation with us. But those don't really count. Deep inside, I've longed for books. Reading has always been such a part of my identity, and for the past ten to twelve years, I've slowly cast it aside.

When Flower was born this past April, we had recently decided to make our living room TV free. While at home with the new baby, I spent a lot of time rocking and nursing her. And, I realized it was the perfect time to read a good book. Suddenly, with that first book I read, my cravings surfaced. I leapt at books like a hungry lion devouring an antelope in the African safari. As I read, I wanted to read more and more and more. So I did. And suddenly, I felt that part of myself coming back.

So, I've decided that my resolution for 2009 is to read more books, books that I want to read, books that inspire me, books that I can wrap myself around until I disappear inside them. I'm not making any charts or graphs or big lofty goals (Crime and Punishment one week, War and Peace the next), but I am cataloging the books I am reading this year so that I can easily look back at the end of the year.

The Strangest Gifts of All

2008-12-23T11:35:00.000-08:00

The Christmas season never goes by that I don't receive a really strange gift. Now, I should say that I am always happy to receive any gift, and I'm thankful and grateful for even the strange ones. But, these strange gifts somehow find their way to me.

Take for instance, the year I received a silver Southwest medallion. I wear very little jewelry. And, the jewelry I do wear, I try to keep pretty simple. Occasionally, I bust out the pearls. But most days, I call it good with a simple pendant, my wedding rings, and two other band-style rings. My watch, if you call it jewelry, I wear almost every day as well.

So the Southwest medallion, in all its sunbursting, two-inch diamater beauty was strange enough on its own, but the fact that it was supposed to be worn as a choker notched it up into the upper realm of strange. Add to that fact that it also had three interchangeable "chains." One "chain" each of silver, amethyst, and jade allowed for customizing the medallion to any wardrobe.

This year, in the same "Native American"/Southwest vein, I received a box of incense made from natural wood. My boss ordered it from New Mexico, complete with an incense burner. I'm wondering if I'm channeling a "western" vibe to my friends and family.

However, some of the strangest Christmas gifts I've ever received involved, of all things, teeth.

Last year, for instance, Buzz and I received a package in the mail. We opened the box, and inside was a beautifully wrapped box. The gift tag said, "To Buzz and Martia," and included a little Merry Christmas note. We opened the box and it was a electric toothbrush. Albeit, a really nice electric toothbrush, but still just ONE electric toothbrush. We had a great laugh and wondered if the couple who blessed us with this toothbrush shared a toothbrush on a regular basis.

But, the strange "tooth" gift that takes the total cake came years ago when I was working a one-hour photo lab in Alabama. It was a very small one-hour photo lab, independently owned until one of the huge conglommerates bought it. We had four employees, and we were all women, which made us a fairly tight-knit group. So, every year, we had Christmas Eve breakfast together before we opened the doors for the big day's shopping rushes. (I still can't believe how many people buy cameras on Christmas Eve!)

As we had breakfast and exchange gifts with each other, I noticed that our boss, Becky, gave everyone an identical little box in addition to another gift. I opened my little box and inside was a tiny trinket box with a little hummingbird on top. It had a hinged lid and looked like the perfect size to store a ring or two. I tucked the trinket back into the box and opened the rest of my goodies.

I woke up on Christmas morning at my parents' house and had a great time exchanging gifts with them. Just before breakfast, the phone rang and Momma told me that Becky was on the line. My thoughts raced from, "Oh no, we ARE open on Christmas and everyone is wondering where I am" to "Holy crap, did I forget to drop off the bank deposit on the way home?"

But, no. Nothing quite like that had happened. Instead, Becky casually but very nervously says, "Merry Christmas, Martia." I could tell, though, that she had something else to say. "Hi, Becky! Merry Christmas."

"So, that little trinket box I gave you. Did it have anything inside it?" she asked.
"Hmmmm... I don't think so," I said. But I was trying to remember if I had even opened it yet.
"Can you just take a look and see for me?" she asked again, very, very nervously.
"Ok, hang on a second." I ran to look through my stuff, hoping that I had it handy. I found it, opened it and lo and behold there WAS something inside it.
"Uhhh... Becky, I think there's a tooth in it."
"Oh, thank God," Becky positively squealed into the phone. "It's the first tooth my daughter pulled. I'm giving all my kids their first tooth back this year for Christmas in little trinket boxes. We just opened gifts, and Sherry's tooth wasn't in hers, so I realized I must have mixed up the boxes."

So, I received someone else's baby tooth for Christmas.

Jesus loves the little penguins...

2008-12-18T22:13:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is Spark's "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" party at school. Anytime the words "preschool" and "party" arrive in the same sentence, I get a little antsy.

First, let me just say that I am so thankful that Spark's school has a new party policy. Instead of posting a signup sheet to the door of the classroom and having the parents sign up to bring something for parties, this year they decided to have everyone contribute a set amount at the beginning of the year for a party fund. Then, for each party, one mom is assigned to acquire all the items for the party. This seems like a much simpler solution than several people scavenging for strange requests from teachers. I speak from experience, of course.

It seems every year, the "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" party sneaks up on me. I mean, yeah, I know Christmas is when we celebrate the birth of our Savior, but December has to be the most incredibly fast month in the world. So, I get sort of blind-sided by the "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" party.

Last year, I signed up to bring one small item for the party: the cupcakes. More specifically, the "Happy Birthday, Jesus!" cupcakes. Just a teensy little thing, right? WRONG. Cupcakes are the magical centerpiece of a birthday. Even if kids don't like them and won't eat them or just lick on the frosting a bit, the cupcakes are what matters most. Because I was about two-thirds of the way through my gestational period with Flower (aka, fat and bloated), I decided to order the cupcakes from a local bakery. I checked with the bakery, and they only needed about 48 hours notice. Well, guess who forgot to order the cupcakes? Guess who totally forgot about the cupcakes?

That's right! I forgot Jesus' cupcakes. I realize this when I am sitting at my desk at work. It's 11:45, and I'm looking at my calendar. I had plans to go to the party all along. I open the calendar notice, and there in the description it says, "Bring 14 cupcakes." Ohhhhh, yeah, that was smart. Put the cupcake reminder in the calendar entry for the DAY OF the party.

At this point, of course, there is no way or time to make any homemade cupcakes, hand-decorated with little Happy Birthday Jesus messages or little baby Jesus figures. There's barely time to make a backup plan. Instead, I found myself cruising around town during one of the most hectic times of the year, looking for cupcakes, anything, I could turn into Happy Birthday Jesus cupcakes by 1:00.

The first two places I went were out of cupcakes. That's right! Can you believe it? Out of cupcakes? What bakery just runs out of cupcakes??

In these kinds of self-induced stressful situations, I find myself calling my mom. I'm on my cell phone, tearing out of the local grocery store's parking lot, wondering where I'm gonna go next to find some cupcakes. She has the brilliant idea of trying Target. So, still on my cell phone, trying to avoid hyperventilating, I swerve around and into the Target parking lot. I raced into the store, hoping to find cupcakes as it was now 12:38. Lo and behold, I found some mini-cupcakes there, a pack of 16, with bright blue icing and little penguin ring toppers. Not exactly Happy Birthday, Jesus, but I have a feeling that Jesus loves some penguins. They're cute, festive and the kids loved them.

Hallelujah, thank you, Jesus!

When the Easter party rolled around, I decided to do something very sane and signed up for egg-shaped cookies...

All-Natural Deodorizer

2008-12-17T07:15:00.000-08:00

I love a good-smelling house, but I don't like all the chemicals in most commercial deodorizers. Here are some recipes that work for me.

Simple Room Sprays
In a small (3 - 4oz) mister bottle, combine water and about 10 drops of peppermint essential oil.
Then, shake and spray.

Herbal Citrust Carpet Deodorizer
1 box baking soda (or about 2 cups)
4 drops of lavender essential oil
4 drops of sweet orange essential oil
2 drops of lemon essential oil

Either add the drops right to the box, or use a shaker.

Sprinkle on top of carpet. Wait 5-10 minutes. Vacuum. Breathe deeply!

Tip: This deodorizer works great in trash cans, too. Just sprinkle some in the bottom of the can the next time you change the liner.

Vaccum Filter Scent
Put 3 drops of lavender essential oil on the filter in your vacuum cleaner. Then, every time you vacuum, you get a fresh scent. Do this every time you clean/change the filter.

Ka-Boom!

2008-12-16T12:31:00.000-08:00

When my parents got married, they had very little to their name. At their wedding, my dad borrowed $10 to pay the minister. So, by the time they were expecting me, they used a lot of government programs to put food on the table. We had a wonderful garden full of vegetables, but food stamps, WIC vouchers, and government cheese and peanut butter handouts kept other items on our table, like meat, milk, and cereal. Most of the time, we scored. In fact, the government cheese tasted much better than the wimpy Kraft singles wrapped in plastic. The cheese was a huge brick of cheese, which we had to slice ourselves.

But when it came to the cereals, man oh man, life was bad. I still have a beef about the WIC-approved cereal. These cereals were not "normal" cereals by any stretch of the imagination. They served as yet one more way to separate the rich from the poor. The wealthy (and by wealthy, I mean not on food stamps) kids got Lucky Charms. We got Kaboom.

Have you ever heard of Kaboom? Probably not because no one in his or her right mind actually eats Kaboom by choice. We ate Kaboom because we had a WIC voucher that meant my family did not have to pay for the box of Kaboom cereal. Of all the WIC-approved cereals, it was the closest to Lucky Charms. But, Kaboom had some serious differences.

Instead of a leprechaun, Kaboom had a demented looking clown on the box. Instead of fun-shaped marshmallows the size of pencil erasers, Kaboom had marshmallows the size of baby amoebas. Instead of simple frosted cereal pieces, Kaboom had dark multicolored, scary smiley-shaped cereal pieces. Some of the cereal pieces were a deep shade of eggplant; others were about the color of a dark forest at night.

Even though I really wanted Lucky Charms, and we could have used the food stamps to buy Lucky Charms, my frugal mom made us eat the WIC cereals first. She never let a voucher expire, and I swear we ate our weight in Kaboom cereal. The stuff was dense, not light and fluffy like Lucky Charms. And, you could really taste the added vitamins and minerals that all poor people's kids surely need more of. I wonder if they sprayed the iron right on top of the marshmallow bits because those things always had a mysterious sheen to them.

I found myself wondering if Kaboom cereal still exists. Not that I plan to buy a box for my own personal enjoyment, but Buzz (who grew up in a much more privileged, Lucky Charm type of cereal eating household) has never heard of Kaboom, much less tried it. I kind of want him to experience it. Just once.

So, I did a little research (Googling) about Kaboom cereal and found some interesting facts:

Kaboom cereal is indeed available, for $4.30 per 10 oz box.
In Kill Bill, a Kaboom cereal box makes a cameo.
Kaboom is also the name of a toilet cleaner.
Kaboom cereal is part of the General Mills family. And so is Lucky Charms.

Foodie Friday: Two Quiche Recipes

2008-12-12T10:35:00.000-08:00

I love quiche. It's one of those things I never had while growing up, but like guacamole has become a favorite in my adulthood. Here are two of my favorite quiches to make.

Hash Brown Quiche
This recipe is fairly hands on, but it's very easy to double. The quiche freezes and reheats very nicely.

About 12 ounces frozen hash browns
1/3 cup melted butter
2 cups of shredded cheese
1 cup of either diced ham, diced turkey, diced veggies, or a mix
1/2 cup cream (half & half)
2 eggs
1/4 t. seasoned salt

Grease 9" pie pan with butter or shortening. Pressed thawed hash browns between paper towels to remove moisture. Fit hash browns into greased pie pan, cutting and trimming to make a solid crust. Brush with melted butter—top edges, too.

Bake at 425 for 25 min.

Remove from oven and fill with layers of cheese and ham. Beat cream with eggs and seasoned salt. Pour over. Reduce heat to 350 and bake for 35 to 40 minutes. Insert knife near edges to test until it comes out clean.

Vegetable Quiche

These quiches freeze well and make easy breakfasts for during the week. Depending on the kind of cheese you use, these quiches can have as few as 85 calories each!

10 ounce package frozen chopped spinach
2 Tbsp. olive oil
1/4 cup diced onions
1/4 cup chopped bell peppers
3 large eggs
3/4 cup grated swiss cheese
1/2 cup half-and-half
salt and pepper to taste

Preheat oven to 350
Cook spinach according to package directions drain excess liquid
Line a 12 cup muffin pan with foil baking cups. Brush each with oil using 1 Tbsp
In a skillet saute onions and peppers in remaining 1 Tbsp oil until tender
Whisk the eggs in a bowl, add the cheese ann half-and-half and salt and pepper. Stir.
Divide the mixture evenly among the muffin cups bake for 20 minutes or until knife inserted in the center comes out clean

Find more yummy recipes at The Grocery Cart Challenge.

My Love for Dictionaries

2008-12-11T07:02:00.000-08:00

I love a good dictionary.

Perhaps because I grew up with a father who would never tell me what a word meant, I fell in love with the big book of words. Instead of defining a word for me, Daddy's pat answer was "Go look it up." I looked up many words because I wanted to know what everything meant. Sometimes, a lookup turned into another lookup and into another lookup as I came across other unknown words in the definitions. Before I knew it, I had spent a good half hour with the dictionary. For a 12-year old girl, this had to be strange at best.

One year, Daddy asked what I wanted for Christmas. I told him I wanted a dictionary, one of my very own. And, if possible, I wanted the biggest dictionary he could find. That year, the heaviest box under the tree on Christmas morning was Webster's Third New International Dictionary, which I have dragged across the country for college, grad school, and work. My husband affectionately refers to it as the 86-pound dictionary.

I still have a penchant for dictionaries. At a yard sale, I cannot pass by a 50-cent dictionary without buying it. If someone is cleaning out his or her office, I cannot allow a dictionary to slip through the cracks.

I'm trying to come up with some creative ways to use these dictionaries. It almost seems sacrilegious to do anything that would involve removing, cutting, or otherwise destroying a page out of a dictionary. But some of these dictionaries are old, coffee-stained, already torn, crinkly (ok, VERY crinkly), and I have been on a quest to get rid of about 60% of our stuff. So, I am ready to consider what I can do with pages of an old dictionary other than apply for a spot at the Smithsonian.

Wrapping Gifts
It's Christmas time, and I have blogged about ways to avoid using gift wrap this year. I don't know why I didn't think of using some dictionary pages until just now. How beautiful would a gift wrapped in dictionary pages with red ribbon be?

Scrapbooking
Borders, embellishments, the list goes on. I don't really scrapbook, but it seems like a good idea. Maybe there are reasons not to, though, for arhival purposes?

Wallpaper
Ok, so maybe not. But wouldn't it be awesome to have dictionary wallpaper?

Origami
Cute little swans out of dictionary paper? Ohhhhh, yeah!!

Something else?
What ideas do you have? All serious inquiries that preserve the integrity of the dictionary will be considered...

Gift Tags

2008-12-10T07:26:00.001-08:00

To add to my gift wrap post from a few weeks back, I saw a really cute way to make gift tags in one of my cooking magazines. Using leftover and/or received Christmas cards from years past, cut the front of the card into gift tag sizes. You can use scissors, or if you have some shape punchers, you can use those, too.

Then, simply use a regular hole punch to punch a hole in the top, run some ribbon/string through it, and you're done. Write your note on the blank side and attach it to your gift.

This is so easy it works for me. Other gift wrap tips abound at today's Works for Me Wednesday over at Rocks in My Dryer.

The Prayer of a Preschooler

2008-12-09T07:43:00.000-08:00

Spark has recently acquired a Frosty the Snowman DVD, courtesy of his grandma. He LOVES this movie. A couple days ago, he looks at me and says very seriously, "I want it to snow so that I can make a snowman with my Daddy."

I looked at Buzz; Buzz looked at me. Oh, boy. As parents, we want our kids to have what they want within reason. And what is the harm in playing in the snow with Daddy?

The problem with this request is that we live in south-central Texas, a place where it has snowed barely one inch in the almost 5 years that we have lived here. It's December 9, and we finally broke down and turned on our air conditioner last night. Yes, after Flower woke up for the second time with a sweaty head, I said, "Buzz, go ahead, turn it on." He very willingly obliged.

So, I couldn't tell Spark with any certainty that it would snow. The weather here is unpredictable. And, if it does snow a few flakes, it's highly unlikely enough will accumulate to provide what's necessary to build our very own Frosty. How do you explain this to a four-year old? Instead of trying to discuss climate patterns, I told him, "Spark, you're going to have to pray and ask Jesus to send you some snow."

He and Buzz prayed right then for some snow so that they could make a snowman.

Later that night, I tucked Spark into bed and told him as I always do, "Don't forget to pray." A little while later, I walked past his room, and I heard him praying, "Dear Jesus, please let it snow so I can make a snowman with my Daddy." He paused. "And please let it be on Christmas Day."

My first thought was, "Gee, Spark, you're already asking for snow in a snowless land, and you want to be specific about the day?" But then, I realized how completely innocent his request is. He's asking God for what he wants, but more than that, he's sweetly trusting that he will get some snow to make a snowman with his Daddy. We've been talking a lot about Christmas, and he's very excited about this special day. (He's also learned about the magic of Christmas snow from Frosty, and I think he might think his snowman will come to life if he is made from Christmas snow.)

It would surely take a miracle for it to snow here at all, but I have added this request to my prayers as well. I'm also praying that I will have the sincerity of my preschooler in my own prayer life.

Foodie Friday: Food Blogs

2008-12-05T08:56:00.000-08:00

I have confessed to having a tiny little cooking magazine addiction. My recipe-a-day emails are handy, too. But some of my best recipes come from friends and family. My famous chicken and rice tacos (recipe at the end of this post) originally came from a high school friend of my mom's. THE FUDGE I make every Christmas has been handed down in my family for years.

The overflowing magazine racks in my house and the bulging recipe folder in my email program often get neglected as I tend to favor the "tried and true" recipes from "real" people. Food blogs, written by real parents with real kids, have brought to me some wonderful recipes here lately.

One of my favorites is Lynn's Kitchen Adventures. I stumbled upon this site through Rocks in My Dryer, and now I totally am hooked on Lynn's great recipes. The two I have tried in the last week or so have both been winners: nut clusters and granola bake.

I made the nut clusters very quickly for a last-minute party at my house. Everyone loved them. And, the granola bake was a fantastic way to warm up the house in the morning without having to turn on our heater... not to mention it smelled heavenly while it baked.

Another favorite is The Grocery Cart Challenge. I don't know how she does it, but this woman feeds her family of 6 on $60 a week. Gayle's Goulash reminds me of a dish my mom used to make fairly regularly when I was a kid. Gayle uses soy sauce and tomato sauce. My mom used ketchup and Worcestershire sauce. But everything else was pretty much the same.

Famous Chicken and Rice Tacos
They're famous because Welby and I lived off these through grad school.
1 lb boneless, skinless chicken breast, cut into 1-inch pieces
2 cans 15 oz cans tomato sauce
1 can Mexicorn
1 onion (optional)
1 can of diced green chiles
1 packet of taco seasoning
1.5 cups of instant rice

Heat a large pot to medium-high.
Add a little olive oil.
Cook chicken for about 5 minutes, stirring frequently.
If using onions, add them.
Cook until chicken is completely done and onions are tender.
Pour in the cans of tomato sauce, corn, green chiles, and taco seasoning.
Stir until seasoning is well blended.
Bring to a boil.
Add rice.
Cover and reduce heat.
Allow to simmer for 15-20 minutes, stirring occasionally.
Serve over tortilla chips with cheddar cheese melted on top. Garnish with shredded lettuce and diced tomatoes.
**You can also serve inside flour tortillas as burritos.

TV or not TV

2008-12-04T17:47:00.000-08:00

About a year ago, a typical afternoon/evening included Spark watching about 30 minutes to an hour of TV. Then, after Spark was in bed, Buzz and I would watch up to 4 or 5 hours of TV. I didn't even realize how much TV we were watching until I started paying attention. If we were in the house, Spark or Buzz would turn the TV on.

Buzz and I decided to remove the TV from the family room. He claims that I had nagged him about it for years and he finally just caved. And maybe I did mention it a few times, but I think "nag" is a strong term. I suggested we might try it.

A few weeks before Flower was born, we were rearranging our home. We currently had two offices (one for me, one for Buzz), and we had to move all the items from one of those offices into other locations in the house, either in the one remaining office or the family room. Our house is not too terribly large (~1300 square feet, 4 bedrooms). In the throes of trying to arrange the family room to accommodate our monster of a TV, I again mentioned that we might just get rid of the darn thing. Buzz thought I had lost my mind. Why in the world would we get rid of the TV? We rarely fight, but we came close on this one. He couldn't imagine life without TV. I was getting tired of living life with it.

When he asked why we should get rid of it, I of course, I had an arsenal of answers.

More time together as a family.
It would make arranging the family room a whole heck of a lot easier without having to think about the TV being the center of the room.
We would be different.
Less noise. (I hate background noise.)
We would save about $65 a month with no cable bill.
The void would open up time for more fulfilling activities, such as playing music together.

It was the last point that made Buzz soften a bit and consider the request. We would put a small one in Spark's room so that he could still watch an occasional DVD. I offered a trial run of a couple weeks or so. If we decided that we just couldn't bear life without the TV, we could just bring it back in the family room. No big deal. It wouldn't mean we had miserably failed or that we were suckers to the biggest lie in culture. Buzz accepted the challenge.

It's been about 9 months now, and we haven't missed it. In fact, we put the big monster in our bedroom in case Buzz and I ever wanted to watch a movie together, but we still haven't watched a movie together. Sometimes, I put a movie in and let Spark get on my bed and watch it. He thinks that's so special. And, I can get a lot of laundry done while he's watching a movie.

Our time together in the family room is filled with music, toys, wrestling on the floor, tickle contests, and (now that Flower is crawling) crawling races. We enjoy a circle of furniture without a TV being the center of family room or our family life.

Green Wednesday: Saving Baby Food Jars

2008-12-03T07:08:00.000-08:00

While I make most of Flower's baby food from fresh produce, I do keep some jars of fruit on hand for emergencies, dining out, and convenience. For some reason, I find baby food jars especially intriguing. I never throw them away. I know there have to be a gazillion good uses for them. But the majority of the time, I find that I only save them and pile them in boxes. I still have some baby food jars that I used with Spark years ago! My city recycles glass, but I just can't bring myself to throw these jars out. It's hard enough to throw out the other glass jars (pickles, pasta, applesauce, jams, the list is long). In fact, I rarely throw them out either! Glass jars are taking over my house!! (Feel free to send me great ideas for reusing glass jars, especially baby food jars!)

Finally, I have found a way to offload some of my jars. Spark's teacher needs some baby food jars for a project she is having her class of 14 four year olds do. I offered to save Flower's jars for her.

I have tried a few different methods for removing the sticky labels from the jars, and of all of them, the following method works the best for me:

Rinse the baby food jars and lids.
Place them in a large bowl in the sink or right in your sink.
Squirt 1-2 tablespoons of liquid castile soap (such as Dr. Bronner's) over the jars.
Turn on the hot water and add water until all the jars are completely covered.
Leave the jars in the water for at least 3 hours. Letting them sit overnight is best.
After at least 3 hours, take the baby food jars out of the water. The labels should rub right off.
If any adhesive still sticks to the jars, dab a drop or two of Eucalyptus essential oil on a cloth or cotton swab and rub on the adhesive.
Rinse and let the jars air dry, or run them through your dishwasher.

Go to Works for Me Wednesday on Rocks in My Dryer for all kinds of tips and tricks.

The Morning After

2008-12-01T07:04:00.001-08:00

The morning after a holiday usually starts with grunts, groans, and growls, not to mention the gnashing of teeth. So, last night, I talked with Spark (our chief grunter, groaner, and growler) and told him he had to be nice this morning when Momma or Daddy woke him up. We talked about how he should act in the morning (smile and say "Good morning") for about a minute, and I asked him if he understood. He said yes.

This morning, I got off to a slightly late start. But, I nursed Flower and then flipped on Spark's light. After about 10 minutes, I went back into his room to begin the prodding. "Spark, it's time to get up and go to school," I said as I started trying to wake him up gently but firmly. I removed one of his blankets, and he stretched all fours out like a cat. Then, a miracle occurred. THE BOY SMILED AT ME. Granted, he did not say "Good morning, Momma" or anything angelic, but he SMILED!!

I had planned out his clothes for today, which was easy because it's school t-shirt day at his school. He whined some about having to get dressed, but didn't grunt, groan, growl, or gnash. He also ate his cereal in record time. Some mornings, Spark labors over his Cheerios like he's painting the Sistine Chapel ceiling. But this morning, he noshed one-and-a-half bowls in less than 15 minutes.

I had planned for the worse last night, thinking that Buzz would have to leave before I even had Spark halfway ready. When I have to take Spark to school, it throws my whole day off. I have to get Flower bundled up because, yes, even though it's in the upper 40s here, that's still very cold to us. Then, I have to walk him into school because they don't allow drop offs after 8:10 a.m. After we get into the school, he has to get a tardy slip. Then, we sometimes have to search high and low for his class. After I finally deposit him, I often start talking with the office manager, which puts me out another 30 minutes because I enjoy talking with her.

But, I got Spark out the door with his dad by 8:55, enough time for Buzz to drop him off and get to work on time. And time for me to get Flower settled in for her two-hour nap without interruption. Today, I celebrate this morning after miracle for so many reasons.

Foodie Friday: A "Green" Thanksgiving

2008-11-28T08:05:00.000-08:00

This year for Thanksgiving, I decided to attempt a "greener" event. I'd use more local and organic products. We also decided to scale back the dinner a bit. We'd have a turkey breast instead of a whole bird, two desserts instead of four, and each person chose one side to go with the bird.

Buzz, of course, selected cornbread dressing.
I wanted green beans.
Spark chose rolls.
Lily got macaroni (she loves noodles). (I added a generous amount of pureed carrots and sweet potatoes to the macaroni and cheese to make it a healthier dish for all of us, but also to add the traditional sweet potatoes to the menu!)

I also made some gravy from scratch, using the turkey drippings in the pan and a recipe from Real Simple as a guide.

I made a batch of brownies the night before, using The Sneaky Chef's quick fix for boxed brownies. Our other dessert was a pecan pie from Tootie.

So, here's the breakdown of our menu and how "green" or local it was:

Thanksgiving Dinner Menu
Free-Range Turkey Breast
Cornbread Dressing, made with almost 100% organic ingredients
Macaroni and Cheese, enhanced with locally grown sweet potatoes and carrots
Green Beans, packaged but prepared in our city
Yeast Rolls, made by a company in Alabama where Buzz and I are from
Brownies, enhanced with organic spinach and blueberries
Tootie Pecan Pie, a company that uses handpicked Texas pecans

At first, we were a bit nervous about changing the dressing, but Buzz said that yesterday's dressing is some of the best he's eaten, so here's the recipe:

Free-Range Dressing
1 whole chicken (preferably free-range), cut up
double batch of cornbread (made with as many organic, whole grain ingredients as possible)
1 medium organic onion, diced
organic dried sage (2-4 tablespoons, to taste)
sea salt
organic black pepper
milk (optional)

Put the chicken in a large pot. Cover with water. Boil the chicken until it's done.
When the chicken is done, remove the pieces with tongs.
Place a strainer over a bowl and pour the chicken broth into the bowl. The strainer will catch any little pieces of bone that might have boiled off the chicken.
Tear the chicken meat from the bones of all the pieces.

Crumble the cornbread into a large bowl.
Add the diced onion.
Add the pieces of chicken.
Pour in all of the chicken broth.
Add about 1-2 tablespoons of the dried sage. Add some salt and pepper.
Stir ingredients together. If the dressing seems a little dry, add milk until it's nice and moist. During baking, it will dry out some, so don't skimp too much.
Taste. Add more sage, salt, and/or pepper, if desired. Repeat until it tastes just like you like it.

This recipe makes enough for one 9x13 pan and one 8x8 or 9x9 pan. Fill both pans with dressing, cover with foil, and cook for about an hour.

Remove foil and cook for another 30-45 minutes or until top is golden.

Almost Perfect Thanksgiving

2008-11-27T18:23:00.001-08:00

Flower has Croup, but otherwise today teetered as close to perfect as Thanksgiving can get. We didn't go anywhere or do anything. We had no house guests, no phone calls, and no schedule. It was bliss!

Buzz said I should write about all the things that have made this Thanksgiving better than any other we've had, so I asked Spark, Buzz, to help me make a list.

We didn't have to be around inlaws.
We cleaned the house for ourselves for a change.
We had time to reflect.
We had time to enjoy each other.
We just played all day (from Spark).
We had nap time after dinner.
No TV. At all. (Yes, that's right. No Macy's parade. No football. No loud noisy commercials. Bliss.)

Gift Wrap, Be Gone!

2008-11-26T12:42:00.000-08:00

My family has been working on getting greener and greener, starting with setting up a recycling center in our kitchen a few years ago.

One green goal I have for this year: I'm trying to avoid buying any wrapping paper this holiday season. I do have a couple rolls I bought on sale after Christmas last year, so I'm saving that for some of the gifts for Spark under the tree and for a couple of the kids he'll exchange gifts with.

So far, what has worked for me? Using old maps! Crazy but true. I saw this idea in a magazine while waiting at the doctor's office the other day, and I LOVE LOVE LOVE some maps, so I decided to try it. The results are amazingly chic!

Here are some other alternatives I'm coming up with wrapping up gifts:

pillowcases (These work great with oddly shaped items, like plush animals. Just put the gift inside and tie it up with string.)
reusable bags and containers (So nice to get a gift wrapped inside a gift!)
newspapers, posters, anything that you might be about to toss in the paper recycling bin (I've even seen gifts wrapped in user manuals.)
patchwork wrap-up (Do you have a lot of scraps of this and that wrapping papers? If so, create a patchwork wrap-up out of them. The result can be very shabby chic if your patterns are just right. If you sew, you can do the same with fabric scraps. Hem the edges and you have a cool gift in itself.)
buy gifts that come in cute (and hopefully reusable and/or recyclable) containers so that you don't have to wrap them at all.
decorate plain boxes you have stacked in your garage. Instead of wrapping them, let your kids paint handprints on the boxes or stamp them with cute images.

Get even greener by

tying things up with ribbon or yarn (If you're like me, you have a drawer of ribbon and yarn just waiting to be used. This option uses no potentially toxic adhesive.)
using recycled products to create to/from labels, writing your to/from message directly on the package or gift, or

Fun (and useful) embellishments (instead of throwaway bows):

cookie cutters
bandanas
whistles (Spark got a gift at his birthday party and the wrapping was done in the shape of a old fashioned piece of candy, with the sides twisted. The package was tied up on those ends with the strings of two whistles. )
real hairbows on packages for girls
something that matches the gift (Think fishing lure on a fisherman's gift, pens to go with a journal, a spool of thread on a sewer's gift...)

Some other tips:

wrap fragile items in fabric scraps or napkins/hand towels instead of tissue paper
start a wrap box where you drop items that you think might come in handy for wrapping later on

**This post is first in a series of Green Wednesday Tips. I decided to add it to Shannon's Works for me Wednesday link list. Check out all the other WFMW links on RocksInMyDryer's Works for Me Wednesday post.

Dead Beat Dads Suck

2008-11-24T12:13:00.000-08:00

My kids are blessed to have a wonderful father. Two of my first cousins Alyse and Marci are not so blessed. Their biological father, for lack of a better way of saying it, is the scum of the earth.

He and my aunt got pregnant with Marci while they were dating. They married. Then, a couple years later, they had Alyse. The girls are now 11 and 13. About a year and a half ago, my aunt discovered her husband was cheating on her with a younger woman. He decided to have a child with this other woman and moved in with her. He stopped giving any money to my aunt (or his two daughters) and basically disappeared. So, my aunt met with a divorce lawyer, borrowing money to pay for the lawyer's initial fees.

They've been tied up in court ever since then, mostly fighting over the house, which is paid for. Temporarily, my aunt can continue living in the house with the girls. During her marriage to this jerk, my aunt never worked. Instead, she took care of the kids, cleaned the house, and that's about it. The judged ordered her husband to pay for the power bill, the phone bill, and a measly $200 a month for other necessities until the divorce is final. Then, child support will kick in... theoretically. My aunt managed to find a job, but it's not a high paying job, and the bills still don't get fully paid. Oh, and the cad doesn't even send in what he's supposed to. When she has something come up, it's a struggle to make ends meet. Like recently, the heater stopped working on her car. It's in the 20s and 30s where she lives. They have to drive a good 15-30 minutes to get almost everywhere they go. She has no way of paying for car repairs, no recourse at all. Does he help? No.

All my aunt can do is file a complaint with the judge that he didn't pay his required amounts. She has filed these reports over and over again. Did I mention this man is the scum of the earth?!? Well, it gets worse. On a special occasion, his youngest daughter called him. She wanted a new outfit to wear at a special event. He used profanity to refuse her plea. SCUM OF THE EARTH.

Having grown up in a loving family with a wonderful father and seeing the love my own husband has for our kids, I do not understand what in the world makes a man treat his children this way.

November 23

2008-11-23T23:22:00.000-08:00

November 23 always brings a strange sense of weirdness. It's the one day of the year that is the longest time away from my birthday. It feels kind of like that deflated moment after you realize that you have opened the very last Christmas gift. The celebration has ended. It's going to be a long time before it comes again.

As a kid, I used to think the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas lasted FOREVER. We went to my great-grandmother's house on Thanksgiving to have dinner with my mother's brothers and their families. We'd eat, talk, play, and usually had a great time. Then, right before everyone started leaving, we would draw names for the Christmas gifts. It was exciting to see who drew my name and would buy my gift when we'd all meet at the same place again for Christmas dinner and opening presents.

Usually, the present I opened at my great-grandmother's house was the first present of the season. Occasionally, my class at school would have a gift exchange on the last day of school, but usually this was the first. I remember being so excited. The hours stretched out. The uncles arrived with their families. People ate, and ate, ate, ate. The kids took turns asking if the time to open gifts had arrived. All this probably happened over the course of about four hours, but it seemed as if we were there for weeks, waiting on time to open the gifts.

Then, the wrapping paper flew. Suddenly, it was over. And there was that moment. Almost like, "Is that all?" Not in an ungrateful way, but in a disbelieving way.

As I get older, I find the years mark on more quickly than they ever have. I watched Spark open his Christmas gifts last year, the first year he really got into it, and I saw the excitement in his eyes. But, I also saw the flash of "is it really over," that slightly deflated moment. But, it didn't last long as he reached for his new toys and started playing.

The pace picks up each year. I find myself thinking ahead too much, or contemplating the past too much. For my 29th year, I want to focus on the present, the current moment I'm in, this place of wonder. I'm looking back today at the past year, and I'm enjoying where I am. Yes, there are things about myself and the world I want to change, and I'm making those changes slowly. I want to look back on the day after I turn 30 and see how I've made some changes.

A friend told me the other day that she doesn't even want to acknowledge her birthday anymore. She's in her early 40s, and that depresses her. I don't know what I'll feel when I'm 40, but right I still look forward to my birthday. Even though I am winding down my 20s, even though I do see the small signs of aging. I have had a great decade. I expect to my 30s to be even better.

Age-Appropriate Gifts

2008-11-22T22:06:00.000-08:00

According to my baby book, where my mother documented every happening of my life until I was about five years old, I got some cool gifts on my fourth birthday. Topping the list were Barbie and Ken, a paper doll set, and a gum ball bank. My parents gave me a Care Bear room makeover, complete with a sheet set, bedspread, and drapes.

Today, 25 years later, I celebrate 29. Topping my list of gifts were a citrus juicer and stainless steel colander. Oh, and some beautiful lilies from my best friend Welby. Aren't they gorgeous?

A citrus juicer, a colander, and vase of fragrant lilies make for quite the age-appropriate gift for an almost-30 mom who loves to cook and enjoys nature and natural essences. Much more practical than gum ball banks and Care Bear linens. But I have to confess. I still have one of the pillowcases from the Care Bear set. The years have made it soft and worn, and I feel special when I use it on my pillow at night. Some gifts break the age barrier.

Foodie Friday: Conquering the Smoothie Dilemma

2008-11-21T12:51:00.001-08:00

For years, I've wanted to make smoothies. My first attempt failed miserably. MISERABLY.

This event happened many years ago. My first mistake in this process involved the equipment. Not knowing the ins and outs of blender technology, I bought the cheapest blender at the local Wal-Mart. Not a good idea at all.

I browsed online for smoothie recipes. I envisioned creating something akin to a Strawberry Orange Julius. I searched for Orange Julius smoothie recipes online. I found various recipes and made my second mistake. Instead of selecting one recipe and going with it, I decided to combine the ideas in a few and create my own Julius. The result of my strawberry, milk, orange juice, and ice concoction? Something very weird tasting, and nothing smooth at all. Trying to salvage the ingredients, I added sugar and more milk. Blend. Still bad. I add more strawberries. Blend. Worse. I had to just toss it.

Fast forward a few years. I move to Texas. I almost left the blender behind, but I thought I might need it at some point. It's stashed away until one night a friend and I decide to do a liver flush. I like to think my friend Welby and I are intelligent women, but when I think back on the liver flush days, I'm not so sure. Just how strung out on grad school were we?!?

We met every morning for 7 days straight, mixed up the flush, drank it down, brushed our teeth, and didn't eat or drink for 30 minutes after. Not the kind of smoothie I had in mind when I bought my blender, but at least I was getting some use out of it. Also, Welby and I could smell the garlic as it oozed out of each other's pores in class later in the day.

A few years later, I move across the state. We leave the blender behind. Buzz and I have Spark, and I decide to make my own baby food for him. And, I'm interested in the smoothie option again. We need a blender. Third mistake: I buy the most expensive blender I can find thinking that it will improve my odds of smoothie-ing with success.

I do manage to make some great baby food, but the blender I bought (KitchenAid's most expensive one that converts to a food processor) had way too many buttons to know how to use, had a tricky sensor on it that would prevent the motor from starting if everything wasn't lined up perfectly, had so many parts and pieces, and I couldn't keep up with which ones were dishwasher safe and which ones weren't, and it was such a pain to hand wash the parts that weren't, that I abandoned the cause soon after Spark was no longer eating purees. The blender/processor beast took up so much counter space that it was relocated to the utility room: that is the kiss of death for my appliances. Go the way of the bread machine, the Wok, the electric skillet, and likely you shall not return.

So, no breakfast smoothies for me.

I confessed to Welby that I had these smoothie catastrophes going on. She mentioned that her blender was simple: two buttons (on and off), just a few basic parts (all dishwasher safe), and blended things up like a charm.

So, after Flower was born, and I started thinking about making baby food again, I bought a new Osterizer blender and life has been sweet. I started whipping up some fabulous smoothies, experimenting with different combinations of fruit, yogurt, protein powders, and more. Now that Flower is eating solid foods, I'm a baby food making machine on the weekends. We stock up on veggie baby foods in the freezer, and I buy jarred fruits. I'm considering, though, tackling the fruits soon. I tried applesauce once, even in the new blender, and it did not go so well. Baby steps.

This morning, though, I made a terrific smoothie. It was nothing like an Orange Julius. I had my first Orange Julius in years a couple weeks ago, and I realized how sweet it tasted. I could barely taste the orange for all the sugar! This morning, I poured some Odwalla orange juice into my blender and opened a bag of frozen strawberries and dumped them in. The result: a perfect smoothie that actually tastes like fruit!

Road Trip

2008-11-20T15:28:00.001-08:00

I just kissed the boys goodbye: Buzz and Spark are off on their first ever guys-only road trip. They are taking a four-day weekend to a wedding. Buzz's brother is getting hitched.

At first, we planned on the whole family making the trek to Alabama for this wedding, but the closer it got, the more I realized that I was still too tired from our last Alabama trip (in late September) to make another one so soon with two young kids. I don't think it's sitting too well with the in-laws that Buzz and I decided that just he and Spark would make the trip. Flower, who is still nursing, will stay in Texas with me. But, we decided to do it this way for a lot of reasons:

1. I have two health conditions that cause fatigue: anemia and an underactive thyroid. We've been on two long trips already this year with both kids, and when Mommy's around, they both want me to do everything for them. It's tiring.
2. Flower has just started crawling and is at the very curious, exploring, won't-sit-still stage right now. 15 hours in a car does not sound like a good time for Martia.
3. Thanksgiving is in one week. I need some time to prepare for a wonderful vacation at home with the family.
4. Spark and Buzz have never gone on an extended trip alone, and with Buzz's crazy work schedule, this will give them some time to really connect with each other for a while--without any womenfolk interfering.

Spark is so incredibly excited about going on a trip with Daddy, though. And, Mommy is so incredibly excited, too. I'll definitely miss them, and already look forward to seeing them again. But, a few days without so much testosterone around? Oh, yeah!

Momma Told Me Not To Multitask

2008-11-18T07:32:00.000-08:00

I turn on the computer. While checking my gmail, I log into my bank account to check on transactions, pay a bill, and transfer money to my sister. At the same time, I start working on some writing projects, respond to a couple emails on my work email, and call the pediatrician's office to schedule the kids' next round of checkups. While I'm holding with the doctor's office and responding to emails, I plug in the digital camera to start transferring the weekend's photos.

I switch back the bank account site to pay another bill I just remembered and to transfer that money to my sister, and the site has timed out after 10 minutes of inactivity, so I log back on. Right after entering my password, I open my gmail tab and see an interesting recipe in the subject line from one of my many recipe-a-day subscriptions. So, I click on the recipe. I decide to try it, so I grab a piece of paper and start jotting down a quick grocery list. Suddenly, I hear "Dr. Carlty's Office, this is Joan, may I help you."

I talk with Joan, while switching to my calendar view. I schedule two appointments. By now, though, Flower is needing attention so instead of entering the appointments into my calendar, I jot them down on a piece of paper while I wrangle her. After nursing Flower and getting her settled in her crib for a nap, I come back to the computer. I have about 4 writing project tasks that are half done, 3 emails half written, 2 appointments scheduled but not entered into the calendar, and my bank account site has timed out again.

This scenario was my life until I recently decided to try something new. I gave up multitasking.

Previously, I multitasked every time I did anything, including housework, errands, work tasks, family life, and more. When I did housework, I skittered around from one room to another, doing a little here and there but not really getting anything done. Now, I focus on one room, setting a time limit. To deep clean the kitchen from top to bottom might take a full 90 minutes. But, I don't have 90 minutes a day to spend in my kitchen; my kitchen does not need deep cleaned every day anyway! In about 20 minutes, though, I can get the dishes in the dishwasher and wipe down the counters. It might take a full hour to correctly put up all of Spark's toys, but in about 10 minutes, we can get the bulk of the mess controlled. It might not be perfectly organized, but it's controlled. Another 30 minutes of housework, and we can have the family room straightened up and vaccuumed and the bathroom wiped down. So, in one hour, our house can be reasonably together. Previously in one hour, nothing would be done. I would have stacks here and there and so on.

There's nothing wrong with multitasking, if it makes sense. For instance, I know that a call to my pediatrician's office is going to put me on hold for 10 minutes. That doesn't mean I have to sit with the phone to my ear while I lose 10 minutes of life to their public service announcements. Instead of trying to do real work while I'm on hold, though, I open my calendar, put the phone on speaker phone, get in the floor and play and giggle with Flower while we listen to the PSAs. Then, I schedule whatever appointment needs to be scheduled.

Instead of checking my gmail and doing my bank business at the same time, switching back and forth from tab to tab (a habit I'm sure increases eye strain and fatigue), I give 15 minutes of focused time to each task. In just a half hour, my gmail is under control, my bills are paid, my transactions checked, and my sister has that money I promised to transfer.

When I'm trying to get work tasks done, instead of working on three different tasks for an hour, I divide the tasks into chunks of time. I estimate that updating the status report will take 15 minutes, entering edits into documents will take 30, and responding to emails will take about 15 minutes. An hour later, I find those three big tasks are done, and I'm ready to move on to do something else!

When I first tried this technique, I hated it. I felt unproductive, like I wasn't really getting as much done. But after comparing two days: I see the difference. Giving up multitasking is incredibly freeing! Now, I focus on one task at a time, setting reasonable time limits and goals. A focus-driven life is the life for me.

When Plans Fail Us

2008-11-17T12:42:00.000-08:00

One word strikes fear in the heart of any work-from-home mom: INSERVICE.

Ahh, yes, it never fails. On Sunday night after preparing for the week, thinking through the lunches I'll pack, the fruit we have on hand for snacks, and making sure the backpack is handy, I suddenly realize about 10 minutes before bedtime that Spark has Monday off from preschool because it's inservice. I reaize this fact after I've thought through my Monday to achieve the best possible productivity, after I have devised a hard schedule for me and Flower.

5:30-Martia wakes up, nurses Flower, showers, checks email/work schedule
6:30-Martia does yoga for one hour
7:45-Buzz takes Spark to school
8:00-Martia feeds Flower breakfast cereal and fruit
8:30-Flower takes a nap while Martia works
10:30-Flower plays in floor while Martia continues to work
Noon-Martia and Flower eat lunch, go for a walk
1:00-Flower takes a nap while Martia works
2:45-Martia and Flower to get Spark from school

Everything must be reconfigured at this point because we have thrown a full day of Spark into the mix. Also, today is the day when I host the lunchtime Bible study, so the house needs to be straightened up a bit (including sweeping, vacuuming, mopping, and wiping down the toilet).

Here's what today's Inservice schedule looks like:

6:00 - Martia nurses Flower
7:00 - Spark jumps in bed with Martia and Flower while Buzz showers
7:25 - Martia feeds the kids breakfast and races to shower before Buzz has to leave for work
8:15 - Buzz leaves
9:00 - Martia tries to get Spark to clean his room, resorting to bribes and threats
10:00 - Martia's panic sets in as she realizes she will have visitors in one hour
11:00 - Visitors arrive, Bible study commences, Spark eats lunch vittles from Maddie
12:15 - Visitors leave
12:20 - Flower eats lunch, nurses, falls asleep
1:00 - Martia reads Spark a story and he falls asleep
1:15 - Martia glories in the simultaneous nap and works
2:55 - Flower wakes up
3:00 - Martia awaits the return of Buzz and makes plans to work late into the evening

Foodie Friday: Martia's Miracle Pancakes

2008-11-14T18:39:00.000-08:00

Two recent additions to my humongous cookbook library have started moving my family into a better nutritional direction.

First, I acquired Deceptively Delicious, which I bought before realizing the author is married to Jerry Seinfeld the comedian. I read through the book, thought the ideas were great, and promptly placed the book on my cookbook shelf and let it begin collecting dust.

Then, after a long talk with the pediatrician about Spark's completely off-white diet of peanut butter sandwiches, hot dogs, and chips, I also acquired The Sneaky Chef. Buzz and I constantly struggle with getting Spark to eat anything much less anything new. I take solace in the fact that his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches are made on 100% whole grain bread, with organic sugar-free blackberry jelly (sweetened with grape juice instead of sugar!), and all-natural, organic peanut butter. But yeah, his diet really sucks otherwise.

The Sneaky Chef arrived sooner than I thought it would, so I had an unexpected new cookbook to entertain me one afternoon. I read through the book, thought the ideas were great, and promptly set it aside.

Both books are based on the same general idea: you can make food healthy and trick your children (and/or spouses) into eating vegetables if you conceal the vegetable enough so that they do not know they are eating it. In Deceptively Delicious, Jessica Seinfeld bases her sneak attacks on single-item purees for the most part. Missy Chase Lapine (author of The Sneaky Chef) recommends multi-item purees.

On a whim, I threw The Sneaky Chef in my backpack as I headed to the grocery store. While in the grocery store, I looked up the Orange Puree recipe. It's simple, just carrots and sweet potatoes. Knowing I already had some sweet potatoes at home from my recent organic grocery delivery service, I bought a bunch of carrots.

We'd try these ideas along with Dr. Carlty's recommended plan of not being a short-order chef and see how it goes. The results: not perfection, but we're definitely getting better. I felt like I have developed new superpowers as I dumped carrot and sweet potato puree into the mac n cheese and watched Buzz and Spark lap it up like hungry hounds. (Truthfully, Spark only ate about 1/4 cup of mac n cheese, but that's 1/4 cup more mac n cheese than he's had in the last 9 months and more carrots and sweet potatoes than he's had in 2 years.)

So, being one to enjoy a little kitchen experimentation, I played around with our pancake recipe and came up with the following, which both Buzz and Spark did lap up like hungry hounds.

2 cups self-rising flour (Lapine recommends a mix of 1 part white flour and 1 part whole grain flour, but I was out of whole wheat flour, so we'll try that next time)
1/2 cup ground pecans (Put about 1 cup pecans in a blender and pulse into finely ground.)
1/2 cup to 1 cup pumpkin puree (Use what you think your people will tolerate)
1 to 3 teaspoons raw sugar
2 eggs
2 or 3 cups of lowfat or nonfat milk

Martia's Miracle Pancakes
Mix the flour, ground pecans, and raw sugar.
Add about 2 cups of milk. Stir until well blended.
Add pumpkin puree slowly, stirring as you add it. If your people are funny about color, be careful not to make the batter too orange.
Add more milk to thin the batter to your preference. (Thin batter produces lighter, thinner pancakes. Thicker batter produces thicker, denser pancakes.)

Grease your griddle with some oil and heat it to medium/medium low heat.
Cook each pancake for a couple minutes on each side, or until cooked through.

Enjoy with some hot maple syrup or fruit.
Smile with pride as the family takes in the nutritious pumpkin and pecans unknowingly.

Foodie Friday: Real Simple's Recipes

2008-11-07T10:17:00.000-08:00

Real Simple magazine's website has a recipe section. Not all of the recipes sound like something I'd enjoy, but they all seem easy to make, have relatively inexpensive ingredients (as if ANY food item is inexpensive in this economy), and a lot are kid-friendly, which in my case means they are husband-friendly, too. Even better, though, the Real Simple recipes aren't just the ho-hum, same-old dish. I like a little adventure in my kitchen.

Take this Slow-Cooker Lasagna, for instance. It's a vegetarian friendly, new take on a classic dish. The chard and fresh herbs give it an edge that a lot of veggie lasagnas lack. It's also a slow- cooker meal, so put that baby in the Crock-Pot while you do other tasks. I actually made it in the oven, too, when I didn't have time for a slow-cooker meal, and it turned out beautifully. Best of all, this dish makes a lot. I froze the leftovers in individual containers and had them two-three weeks later for lunches.

A convenience about Real Simple's recipes is that you can sign up to have them email you a recipe daily. I've tried a few (ok many, many, many) of these "recipe-a-day" types of emails, but Real Simple's is more useful than any other I've found because the recipes actually appeal to me, and the layout of the email is nice and snappy.

Foodie Friday: My Addiction

2008-11-01T19:45:00.000-07:00

I am addicted to recipes. If I hear of a new recipe email newsletter, I sign up for it. While reading magazines, if I notice there is a recipe in it, I will keep the magazine. Forever. The magazines grew to be so many, that all the family members became concerned that these periodicals soon would take over the family. We were overrun with cooking magazines. So, I sat down one night with scissors, page protectors, and a binder and began the process of looking through each magazine and cutting out one recipe that I wanted to keep. (Ok, so one just wasn't cutting it, so I sometimes cut out two or three or four or...you get the picture.)

I went through every last Cooking Light, Gourmet, Bon Appetit, Every Day with Rachael Ray, Vegetarian Times, and so on, until I had thinned the herd substantially. The leftovers I stacked to donate to Spark's school, give to a friend, or recycle (in the case where almost every page had some nugget that deserved a page protector).

Now, I have a beautiful binder full of recipe clippings that I removed from various magazines. This binder sits with the rest of my cookbooks in the dedicated space in the kitchen. I inherited a beautiful, antique hutch from my great-grandmother. This hutch has the perfect spot for cookbooks, the other key component to my recipe addiction.

I have a hard time resisting the urge to buy new cookbooks. My hutch bulges with cookbooks so much that visitors swear it's moving under their weight. need more cookbook space. Don't mention that I could give away or sell some of the cookbooks. They are part of of my innermost self. Parting with me would be like giving away a finger or something.

When I tried using the local public library for cookbook browsing, it just wasn't the same. Oh, it was ok for perusing. Reading through a good cookbook while curled up on the couch is favorite hobby of mine. But, sitting a cookbook next to my stove and splattering random ingredients onto it? That's priceless.

Come Join the Joyride

2008-10-30T18:02:00.000-07:00

We decided to try carpooling today. It's better for the environment, better for traffic, just better, right? Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. At least in my case, it's just the wrongest wrong.

It usually takes me about 10 minutes to make it from the couch to the cube. I work about 3 miles from home. So, unless traffic has gone from bad to worse, my commute is gentle. But, all of our destinations are nearby, so we thought we'd do the carpool thing.

We made a quick plan the night before. We'd drop Spark at preschool, circle around to drop Buzz at work, I'd take Flower to my sister's house, and then I'd arrive at work. (I, the mom, would be last? Really?)

The optimum time to leave is 7:45. Leaving then gives a little breathing room to get Spark to school before he has to get a tardy slip. Nothing short of a miracle must occur to get everyone in my family ready and out the door by 7:45 a.m. Miracles do happen, but today was not the day for miracles.

We started out doing all right, but as 7:45 drew nearer, we realized we should have packed some things up the night before. Because I work from home a lot, I don't have a ready plan for taking Flower to my sister's house. I scrambled around grabbing some extra clothes, frozen food cubes, some toys, and the like while Buzz spread peanut butter on bread for Spark's lunch.

Then, I grabbed a bag and started stuffing it full of the kids' Halloween costumes and accessories. The whole reason we decided to carpool today was because we planned on attending a Halloween event in the afternoon, and Buzz's work schedule made it next to impossible for him to get there and back if I didn't pick him up for it. So, another bag stuffed full of items to take on our trek.

Meanwhile, Spark is standing in the middle of the living room wearing only his underwear and refusing to dress himself. I know we're supposed to wait on him and make him go ahead and dress himself. But, I just did it. Threw the clothes on, the socks on, the shoes on, brushed his teeth, combed his hair. Hey, I did it all in about 3 minutes, and it would have taken him much longer and many more yells than I'd care to admit to.

Also, my sister had to run an errand, so she had asked me to bring the spare car seat. So, I'm hollering at Buzz to not to forget to load it up, too, while he's carrying out the many bags: there's his two work bags, my work backpack, Spark's backpack, two bags for Flower (one with breast milk and food, the other with "dry" supplies), the Halloween bag, and my purse. So add the spare carseat and the Bumbo, and we're good to go for a weekend trip somewhere far away.

Buzz loads the kids up next while I throw some frozen fruit and orange juice in the blender. I race to the bathroom to brush my own teeth and put on a smidgen of powder so I look like I care to the coworkers I rarely see face-to-face. After grabbing a tube of lip balm and pouring my smoothie into a cup, I head out the door where Buzz has the car running, waiting on me. As I open the hatch to put one last item in, he smiles at me in the rearview mirror. "We're ready to go cross-country."

In reality, though, we were just going across town. As I buckle in, I notice the clock on the car says 7:57. Not the original "optimum" goal but not bad, and if we book it, we might not have to get a tardy slip at the front office.

We arrive at Spark's school with a couple minutes to spare, pull into the dropoff line, and we realize his backpack was packed in under a few things, so Buzz parks the car while I dig it out. I race Spark into the classroom, just beating the tardy cutoff.

Next in line is Buzz. I have the brilliant idea to try a new way to get there from Spark's school, which puts us smack dab in a bottleneck of interstate traffic. Southbound in the morning is a slow sludge at best, and we wait about 15 minutes through that. Though the traffic where I live is terrible, we don't really have any carpool lanes. So, there was no extra incentive for having four bobbing heads in my car rather than just my own. We just stuck it out with everyone else who was driving south.

The longest leg of the trip is from Buzz's school to my sister's house. Traffic is fine, though, so I make it there in record time, efficiently getting all of Flower's items out of the car and into my sister's house.

Away I go again. As I make my way to my cube, I notice it's 9:03. After just a little more than an hour of carpooling, here I am all of 3 miles from home.

I Hate Playdates

2008-10-29T21:58:00.000-07:00

I'm not a huge fan of playdates. Most of the time, I hate them. This lack of interest in meeting up with another mom who has a kid close to my kid's age might spur from the fact that I am a loner to a fault. Maybe subconsciously, I'm trying to make my kids more like me than my spouse. Buzz is a 100% extrovert; I'm a 100% introvert. He LOVES meeting people and making small talk. I have no problem with conversation. When it's meaningful, I actually enjoy a good discussion.

The first playdate I attempted was with a former coworker who had quit work to become a stay-at-home mom to her daughter, who is about a year younger than Spark. We met at an indoor playscape at a mall. As a mom, a lot of my life revolves around my kids. Not all of it, mind you, but quite a bit of what I do is kid related: pediatrician appointments, waiting in line to ride cable cars in San Francisco, working a second job as a short-order cook.

Naturally when I get together with another adult who has kids, we should talk about our kids some. But, I would like to talk about other things. It's hard to discuss adult books with my almost 4-year-old son. It's even harder to discuss politics with my 6-month old daughter. So, I meet with my former coworker friend and her daughter. Every time I try to talk about something not kid-related, she would stare at me blankly. Then, she would change the subject back to the kids, something like:

Me: "Hey, have you read The Secret Life of Bees?"
Lisa: "No. Is Spark eating a lot of vegetables? I can't seem to get Mary to eat her vegetables anymore. I'm wondering if it is a phase."
Me: "Hmmm... Spark eats just about anything we give him. Do you like Barbara Kingsolver? I recently started reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and it's fascinating!"
Lisa: "We read a lot of the Baby Einstein books. Mary JUST LOVES THEM. Does Spark like those? What's he reading?"

Towards the end of the playdate, Lisa mentions that she has one afternoon left open for a playdate. She wants to know what my work schedule is like. Is that a day/time I can commit to? Suddenly, I realize she is trying to book her last open slot for a playdate with me and Spark. Fortunately, I'm a working momma, so I can blame it on the job. "Gee, you know, I just never know. I couldn't say right now that every single Wednesday at 3:15 will work for me..."

I am not a SAHM

2008-10-28T19:20:00.000-07:00

I'm a working momma.

When Spark was a baby, I had a flexible work arrangement, but I still worked full-time, and I worked the majority of my hours in the office. I am not a fan of daycares, and I was fortunate at that time to have a wonderful sister who lives in the same city as me and who happens to specialize in childcare. For Spark's first two years, she gave him tender loving care when I was working. Then, he started preschool, and I rearranged my schedule again so that I could pick him up most days, getting my sister to pick him up 1-2 days a week so that I could work later if necessary. But, it was a good setup, too. I got lots of time with Spark.

After we had Flower, Buzz and I decided that we needed to make our schedules even more flexible. So, we crunched some numbers, talked about options, and I approached my supervisor with our plan: I would reduce my workload (and also my paycheck) by 25% and work about 50% of my time from home. My boss thought it was a great plan, so she pitched it to the higher-ups for me, and they were on board, too, provided we have 90-day checkins to be sure that everything is going well.

I recently had my first 90-day checkin, and according to my supervisor, everything seems to be working out fine. I'm happy, the boss is happy, and Flower is happy. My mom comes into town twice a month so that I can work in the office for three days every other week. It's a sweet setup. I get the benefit of a good job with good benefits, flexible hours, and time with my baby girl. This schedule also allows me to pick Spark up from his preschool and to volunteer more at his preschool. Yay! Everbody wins!

Except that we all have to remember that Martia is not a stay-at-home mom. No, she is not. She is a working momma who has deadlines, projects, schedules, and planning to do in addition to all the "mommying." 30 hours a week of it.

The big difference is that instead of adults stopping by my cube to chat for 5 minutes and breaking my concentration after a good 20-minute focused drive, I have a nearly crawling baby to track down after a good 15-minute push. Instead of walking to the cafeteria with a work pal, I set up the Bumbo and feed Flower sweet potatoes. When I'd rather just zone out for a few minutes or stare into space, I can't. Because Flower is sleeping, and that's when I have to work the hardest.