It’s been so sad to hear about all the tornados in Oklahoma and Texas. Growing up in Michigan, which is part of the Midwest, we had tornadoes pretty often. We were thoroughly familiar with tornado drills and hiding in the basement. I remember tornado warnings to be more of a pain than actually being scary; you know how kids are, never believing that bad things will ever happen to them. My nightmares, though, often featured tornadoes. They still do occasionally.
We have tornadoes from time to time here in Central Texas. Nothing like northeastern Texas, though, which is flatter and wetter. We have some tornadoes brewing today, though. Golfball-sized hail too. Naturally there’s hail forecasted; we just had a bunch of our roof fixed due to a windstorm. Still, there’s not nearly the risk of something happening like happened in Oklahoma.
Not to sound petty, but I was planning to buy a new harp from a lady that lives about seven hours away. We were supposed to meet up halfway on Thursday. I just realized that she lives in Moore, Oklahoma. I hope the lady (and her harp!) are ok.
Every time I hear the word “Oklahoma” I can’t help but think of one of the most awesome scenes in movie history. Gather your children around to watch one of our family’s most beloved movie clips (Steve Martin has never been funnier than in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels).
Arabella loves to read my cookbooks and pick out things for me to make. My kids are all sugar addicts like their mother so her recipes are usually in the dessert category. A couple of weeks ago she picked out this beauty from my Cooks Country magazine that she wanted me to make as her birthday cake; it’s a S’mores Ice Cream Pie:
I seriously love s’mores. Not the biggest fan of ice cream, but it was a hot day yesterday, so I was OK with it. Birthdays are always a huge deal around our house and require a massive amount of work: make the requested breakfast, take the child lunch at school, make a birthday cake, make the requested dinner (or hope they want dinner out) and usually buy/wrap a bunch of presents.
I figured an ice cream cake means no baking or icing so it would be a lot less work. Uuuuggggh. This dessert was so much trouble! The graham cracker crust needs to be baked, so the oven does have to be turned on. Then there is a layer where chocolate is melted and combined with heavy cream and corn syrup. But because I was making this when the babies were walking in the door from school I forgot everything but the chocolate which, when frozen, became hard as a sheet of metal. Then a layer of marshamallow fluff was spread over that. Do you know what a pain it is to spread marshamllow fluff? A horrendous pain, not to mention incredible messy and sticky. It tasted super yum, though, so everyone ate their ice cream off the top and then held the crust like a sloppy chcolatey cookie to eat at the end.
Also, when the pie is ready to serve, the ice cream is covered with marshmallows and broiled quickly to brown them. It was a delicious step and one that really made the dessert taste like s’mores. Unfortunately it also made the pie start to melt and by the time the graham crackers were affixed to the outside and candles were lit, the whole thing was melting like crazy. I ended up throwing the dripping pie onto the table and screaming at everyone to hurry up and sing, for Pete’s sake the stupid dessert is getting chocolate everywhere.
So if you have all day with nothing going on and really feel like undertaking an arduous task (and you like s’mores a lot), this might be a good dessert to try. Also, make sure that there are a lot of people who will eat this instantly because an ice cream dessert in a springform pan with the sides removed is probably not the best idea. It was super delicious, though. I mean, it tasted really good and was very smore-y.
Arabella was extremely happy with this, even though I put the leftover pie in the freezer, slammed the door and yelled, “I hate everything!” (good thing Arabella had scurried off to look at her presents). Not my finest cooking moment but the birthday girl felt loved and that’s the whole point.
This is where I park my minivan, Betsy, every day. Right here in the driveway. Yesterday afternoon I walked out to get in my car to pick up my kids from Middle School. Only, this is what greeted me. No car. Before you ask if it was stolen let me assure you that it wasn’t.
I met my friend, Anna, at the Middle School in the morning after we dropped off our kids. Anna and I go to an exercise class together most mornings and it’s better to take one car instead of two, right? After the class we played hookey from our motherly cares and saw Ironman 3 in all our sweaty, stinky glory. We were so busy talking afterwards that she drove me home and I completely forgot about my car.
Until the afternoon when I went outside and there it wasn’t. Mister’s old truck was in the driveway so I jumped in with the babies and made it over to pick up the middles in time. I drove up and found them milling around Betsy peering in the windows and trying to open the doors. They were thoroughly perplexed. “What happened? Where were you? Is the car broken?” Finn asked.
No, Finn, the only thing broken around here is my brain.
I dearly love birds. To me there is nothing more cheerful than listening to the sound of them; throw in a lovely sunny morning and a tidy house and there is nothing more delightful. Mockingbirds have one of the most beautiful songs around, particularly since it’s varied; they have a whole repertoire that they sing out–something like 20 different sounds. Jasper, in particular, loves mockingbirds. So much so that he insists that I sing the song “Mockingbird Hill” to him when I tuck him in every night.
We have a mockingbird that lives in our yard and sings his sweet little heart out all day long. He sings from the highest point in our yard which is on our chimney. You may or may not know that when a bird sits on your chimney, his song carries down into your fireplace and into your house, sounding like he’s got a big old megaphone. It is quite charming except when it goes on all day long for weeks at a time. I don’t know if he’s just not managing to get a girlfriend but the mockingbird will not shut up.
In other words this little mockingbird is driving us crazy. Finn, who is 14, came downstairs yesterday with his BB gun offering to get rid of our noisy pal. “No way,” I said, “You are not allowed to shoot the mockingbird.” He couldn’t understand why, especially since the bird has been annoying us for a while. “Because the bird is completely harmless. All he’s doing is singing.” I replied. This conversation was starting to sound a smidge familiar.
Next thing you know, my daughter’s going to pay a black man to bust up her chifferobe.
There are different levels of things that I’m afraid of. On the most superficial level there are escalators. They really freak me out. Especially if there are several levels of escalators all criss-crossing each other. If you’ve been to Pioneer Place in Portland, Oregon you know what I’m talking about. By the time I reach the 4th floor I’m sweating badly, my heart is racing and I’m holding in a giant scream. And there is the escalators evil twin, the glass elevator. Suffice it to say that all my worst nightmares involve glass elevators. They are much scarier than escalators. The pinnacle of terror being a glass elevator on the outside of a building. There is nothing–and I mean nothing–that would make it worth riding to the top of a building in a glass elevator.
Also, I am slightly afraid of calling repair people on the phone. It takes me at least a day to psyche myself up for the phone call. Please don’t ask me to explain this one to you. It makes no sense, not even to me. I have zero problems with repair people in person, but ask me to call them and I start to sweat.
There is a secondary level of things that I’m afraid of. Things like my kids getting addicted to drugs or leaving the Church. These are things that could definitely happen but I guess wouldn’t be the end of the world if they did. Also, I have a fear of going to prison (wrongfully of course. I would never do anything to warrant a sentence!). I really don’t like mean people at all and prison seems like nothing but mean people. Plus I feel the need to chit-chat with most people and I don’t think that would go over well in the Pen.
On the most Primal level the thing I’m most afraid of is my children being tortured/kidnapped/murdered. If I start thinking about this, like “what if we were Jews in WWII”, I can get thoroughly freaked out in less than a minute. It’s the kind of rabbit hole I try to avoid because it’s so horrifying I almost can’t breathe. Of course the only time I really think of these things is in the middle of the night when all bad thoughts flourish. I end up using my Hypnobirth breathing to quiet my mind and remind myself that the kids are snuggled in bed and the bad guys are all someplace else.
This topic is kind of depressing me. Let me tell you what I’m not afraid of: speaking in public. Doesn’t bother me in the least. OK, I get a tiny bit nervous if it’s a big crowd. Bugs and Snakes. Bugs are itty-bitty so who cares and I really, really think snakes are cool. Somewhere there is a picture of me holding about 15 snakes that I found on the beach on Lake Superior when I was seven or eight. I really wish I could find that picture but I haven’t seen it in years. Traveling with kids. Having seen everything and had every bad traveling experience with kids, nothing phases me anymore. Especially now that I don’t have toddlers.
For Fess-Up Friday I want to tell you about something that is kind of embarrassing and makes me completely not cool: going someplace new and different always makes me feel anxious and slightly worried. It doesn’t matter what it is: a restaurant, a museum, a flea market. If I don’t know what to expect I kind of wig out. Not on the outside; on the outside I’m perfectly calm and self-assured. On the inside I’m a ball of worries: How do I get there? Where will I park? Do I need to pay? Where is the entrance? Will I know what to do? I can get pretty worked up.
The internet is absolutely the best thing that could happen to someone like me. Before I go anywhere I can get directions, see pictures, find out prices and hours, read menus and generally avoid all unpleasant surprises. This might sound lame to you but to me it calms me and helps to make sure I have a good time.
Every summer we do Texas Tuesday. I take the kids on an outing or a day trip someplace around our fair state. We started doing this because in every state we’ve lived in we have seen almost none of the local sights. Mostly because the idea of going to new places or having new experiences is super freaky to me. Theoretically I want to go to new places, but it’s intimidating and sometimes I’m not very courageous. I felt sad about missing out on so many wonderful opportunities so I finally decided to be a big girl and change my behavior. I don’t want to set the example for my kids of being a chicken.
Now that I know that every Tuesday during the summer we will be going someplace different, I can plan ahead and do my research. Websites, Blogs and Yelp help me feel confident and prepared. Knowing what to expect helps me relax and enjoy the experience knowing that there won’t be any weird surprises along the way (What do you mean it’s cash only? You have to arrive by 10 am to get a place in line? We’re supposed to wear water shoes?)
When Mister and I had been married for two years we decided to go to Europe for a couple of months. This was back in the early 90′s when there was no internet, no cell phones and no GPS. If you wanted information about a destination or a hotel, your only option was a guidebook. You know how erratic things in Europe can be: hotels close down, museums change their hours, roads are unmarked. Every day featured at least one internal mini panic-attack. Mister would tell me to close my eyes, recline my car seat, and breathe deeply for ten minutes. Although we had loads of fun on the trip and had so many cool experiences, I was worn out by the end. All those new experiences that I couldn’t plan for very well exhausted me emotionally. I feel like the most lame and boring person by admitting that, but it’s the truth. I only like an adventure when I know what to expect. Which makes it not an adventure at all. I guess that means I like the opposite of adventure.
But the funny thing is that I really like trying different restaurants or visiting a new city. I just have to be prepared and do my research first. If I feel like I know what’s going on, I have all the confidence in the world.
Arabella broke her arm shortly after the new year and just got her cast off. It’s really odd to me how this one child, the one who is probably the most sedentary of all, is the one who has broken her arm(s) three times. Nobody else has broken anything ever.
Lest you think I’m some sort of child abuser, I would like to point out that not once was I around when these arms were broken. The first time was when Arabella was a toddler and my mom was staying with the kids while Mister and I were in Las Vegas. Poor Arabella fell off the slide in the backyard. My mom insisted it wasn’t swollen and didn’t seem broken so I didn’t bother taking her to the hospital for several days after I got home. By that point it had already started healing. Whoopsie.
The second break was on her other arm a couple of years ago. She was running on the playground at school and tripped. She caught her fall with her left arm and broke the radius and the ulna. We took her in right away for that one. The sobbing and bulging gave the broken bones away. Plus the school nurse said that when kids brace their falls that way they almost always break their bones. File that tidbit of information away for later use, everyone.
In January I sent Arabella out to get some exercise. She was bored and complainy and it was Christmas Break so she went out to ride her bike. I ran over to the grocery store to pick something up and while I was gone she hit a rock with her bike, fell over and landed on her left arm. Again.
She cried a lot, according to Mister. I didn’t make it home for another hour and she said it didnt hurt that much. So I made her wait a few days to see of the pain went away. Of course it didn’t. So off we went AGAIN to the orthopedist. It was broken and Arabella got her third cast.
What a pain.
I don’t want to suggest that Arabella is in any way klutzy, but the evidence points to the contrary. “It’s your fault for making me get some exercise,” she pointed out as they were wrapping up her cast. “I told you to ride your bike, not fall off of it,” I reminded her.
She’s supposed to be riding her bike to school now that her cast is off but I’m a little wary, seeing as how she is accident-prone. But I can’t very well not let her ride her bike ever again. Chances are, though, that she’ll find a way to injure herself no matter what she does.
*Yes, she’s wearing the same shirt both times. And yes, it’s the same nurse.
It’s currently 9 am and I have been up for four hours already. Instead of finishing India’s pioneer skirt way ahead of time like a good girl, I was up hemming it at 5:00 this morning. But I made good time and got the apron done too. I even had time to add pockets. Everything was finished on time and we made it out of the house at the appointed time at 6:45. I really would have liked to sleep in today. I have ward council at 7:30 am tomorrow so no sleeping in for another week. Blech. It’s my own fault, I guess.
Honestly I don’t know why I didn’t make the skirt months ago. Or even a week ago. Why do I always wait until the last second? The same thing happened on Valentine’s Day. I planned the kids valentines and ordered the supplies a whole month in advance. But I waited to make them until the night before. And of course I was so tired that I figured I’d finish them the next morning–forgetting that the kids hand out Valentine’s first thing.
Sometimes doing things early does backfire. I finished a few Valentines and Ada put them in a box on the table (each one had a homemade chocolate chip cookie. Texas is totally cool with homemade food being brought to school. I really like the idea of the kids getting at least one treat that isn’t chock full o’ chemicals.) Of course Margaret, my dog frenemy, pushed a chair out so she could climb up and ate several cookies. So sometimes doing things early is not so great. But I should know better than to keep edible things where the dog can reach them.
Here I am 41 years old and I swear I’m still as bad a procrastinator as I was when I was 21. When will I learn? Are you a procrastinator? Were you ever? I seriously need to learn how to motivate myself not to put things off. I’m driving myself batty!
Here are the valentines. They turned out really cute even though I waited til the last minute to put them together. I am, as ever, a Valentine’s Day overachiever.
Well, looky here, it’s Valentine’s Day. When I was younger Valentine’s Day was so incredibly important. Only a naïve young thing would really base the feelings of the person she likes and/or loves on how he behaves on a certain day. But then, that’s who Valentine’s Day is really for–people who are unsure of their partners. Either that or for men who are so lackadaisical about being thoughtful that they must have one day each calendar year to make up for it.
This day has become so contrived and ridiculous. Everyone is encouraged to buy red roses (yawn!) or worse–balloons (how are balloons romantic? Maybe in the same way that Chuck E. Cheese is?) You must go out to eat at some place “romantic”, knowing that the staff are panting to get you out of there so they can seat yet another couple. And that’s if you found someplace that takes reservations. Heaven help you if you show up at the Olive Garden tonight.
Not to brag or anything but I pretty much won the lottery when it comes to thoughtful men. I get flowers ever few weeks, a date every Friday night and a husband who always does the kindest things for holidays. Even when we’ve been broke he comes up with fantastic, sweet ideas. And he is a great present-picker-outer as well. So I don’t really feel the need for Valentine’s Day. I know my man loves me because of the things he does the other 364 days of the year.
No, I will probably not get flowers today. I am thoroughly ok with that. Don’t get me wrong, though; I love, love, love presents and if I happen to get one today I’ll be thrilled (Mister, if you’re reading this there’s a serger I’ve had my eye on.….).
If you’re freaking out that you husband or boyfriend didn’t spend $80 on a dozen roses, ask yourself why it’s so important that he gives those to you. Maybe you need to relax on the holiday stuff and demand that he pamper you all the rest of the year. (And yes, sometimes you do have to demand it until he gets with the program. Much the way you demand your kids to put away their shoes or do their homework; not to be bratty but to get them to form a habit. See also: how to get your husband to bring you breakfast in bed on the weekends.)
Mister will be firing up the grill tonight (it’s 70°. Lovely.) and making us some superb ribeyes (on my tombstone it will say, “Can’t go wrong with a ribeye”. By far my favorite cut of steak.) and we will have a romantic candlight dinner with all the kiddos. Seriously. They get so jazzed to eat by candlelight. By then the crowds will have thinned out and we’ll go have dessert at my favorite dessert spot in Austin, Chez Zee. Their butterscotch pudding is my favorite dessert on the entire planet. (Don’t think jell-o butterscotch pudding; imagine the most heavenly dish of smooth, creamy, caramelly goodness sprinkled with sea salt. Oh my goodness, I can hardly wait. After that, well, we’ll play it by ear.
Whatever your partner situation, I hope Valentine’s Day makes you happy this year. But remember, it’s not the thing to gauge your entire relationship on.
Mister owns a truck. It’s not the hugest truck but it’s big. Big trucks are fine for the country or even the suburbs but notsogreat in downtown areas. He’s cursed it when he’s worked downtown because it’s rather like being an elephant in a movie theatre. It’s simply too big. Parking is a nightmare and driving on skinny one-way streets is almost as bad.
Mister found out that his company will be relocating from just-outside-downtown Austin (where parking and traffic are reasonable) to downtown Austin in the next couple of months. The time has come, we have decided, to move away from a truck and onto something more manageable.
While he doesn’t want something small (he carries equipment pretty often due to his job as a video producer), he does want something with good gas mileage. And it has to be reliable.
Mister has been wanting a Prius since they first came out and has taken me to test drive them probably a dozen times (all I really care about are cupholders and how easy it is to listen to my songs). But last week we went to test drive a Prius–again–and I told him I wanted to drive it. While Mister and the lady selling the car were talking, I took the key and tried to start the car; “tried” to start the car. These newfangled cars! They’ve changed a lot! (Obviously we haven’t bought a new car in ages).
Now you don’t even need a key for the ignition. You just press a button. That seems utterly crazy to me but I guess that’s how it’s done these days. I tried and tried to start the stupid Prius. I could not get it to drive. I could start it but not get it to go into “D”. After then tenth time of turning it off and then on again, I got out of the car in a huff. As usual, it turns out I am just dense when it comes to all things technical. Nobody mentioned you have to press the brake before you even start the car! Picky, picky!
Here’s a weird thing about driving a hybrid car: every time you come to a stoplight or slow down to make a turn, the car engine turns off and the battery turns on. Meaning the car goes from sounding like a normal car to sounding like nothing. In other words, I kept thinking that the car had just died. I grew up driving absolute crap cars that regularly died at intersections. I suppose I have some sort of residual Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder regarding this. After the fourth time the Prius went quiet at an intersection I gave up. I was sweating and panicky and I made Mister drive the rest of the time. I like my cars quiet all the time or noisy all the time. None of this half and half business.
The lady showing us the car mentioned that Prius drivers are 35% more likely to get tickets and break the speed limits than other drivers. She wasn’t sure why. I think it’s because there are too many air bags and seat belts. I think if there were a giant dagger in the middle of everyone’s steering wheels that we’d all be much more cautious drivers. Instead we have these airbags and sensors that make us feel all cuddly and safe inside our cars. We need something to make us feel edgy and unsafe all the time. That’s how to improve people’s driving.
Perhaps I’ll jot a note:
Dear Toyota,
Please make your cars noisier, more unsafe and more understandable for technologically idiotic people.
My name is Hildie. I'm smart, I'm sassy, I'm sarcastic. Sometimes I'm nice, too. I'm a mom of six and wife of one.
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Mormon Glossary
Since I'm Mormon and church stuff comes up frequently, I thought I would provide a little glossary for terms you may not know:
First of all church is three hours long on Sunday. Whew! It's divided into three meetings:
Sacrament Meeting-the main church meeting, like Mass. The speakers are almost always members of the congregation. Anyone over the age of 12 can be asked to speak.
Sunday School-divided up by age (adults all go together) about 45 min long.
Relief Society-women's meeting, about 45 min.(the kids go to Primary, Men go to Priesthood meeting, teenage girls go to Young Womens). I'm the President of this group of women.
Celestial Kingdom-Heaven
Bishop-the leader of the congregation
Visiting teachers-all Mormon women are given a partner and assigned 2-4 women that they visit, call, give baked goods to every month.
Ward-the local congregation. It's all arranged geographically, so where you live determines where (and when) you go to church.
