My kids have been bugging me for months to watch a bunch of YouTube videos by some German guy named Flula. Apparently he lives in America and has a bit of trouble figuring out the idiosyncrasies of our language. Finally I caved and watched some of these videos. They’re pretty funny, although he’s no Sweet Brown. This one was my favorite. These are a lot funnier if you have preteens to watch them with. (For some reason this guy alway tapes videos in his car. Kind of weird. And he is a DJ part time, hence the headphones.) If you want to see more of the German Guy his “Rock, Paper, Scissors“ and “Jennifer the Party Pooper” vids are also really good.
One of my very favorite things growing up was to come home and find my mother not there. She was very bossy and we fought a lot but that wasn’t the reason why; I loved to make baked goods while she wasn’t around to tell me I was doing things wrong. She also would make me share anything I baked and that was entirely distressing to a sugar-crazed glutton like me.
The year I turned 11 I learned how to make pie crust. I suppose my mother taught me or maybe I just went through her recipe files and taught myself. Either way I figured it out. At first I stuck to making rolled out dough sprinkled with cinnamon. It’s still one of my favorite treats to this day. But eventually I decided to incorporate one of my other favorite ingredients: strawberry jam. It wasn’t homemade. I don’t think I knew that homemade jam even existed. I used plain-old Smuckers to make tarts. I called them tarts as they looked like pop-tarts. This is how they looked in my nursery rhyme book too (“The Knave of Hearts, he stole some tarts”). Nowadays, though, tarts are just teensy pies. The things I traditionally think of tarts are called hand pies. This term is horrid. If an apple pie is made of apples and a lemon pie is made of lemons, what conclusion would you draw of a hand pie? Exactly. If you know a better name, please tell me.
I could barely wait until my jam tarts were out of the oven before gobbling them up. Usually I didn’t wait and would burn my tongue on the steamy filling. Once I added a spoonful of marshmallow fluff to each jam tart but that was gilding the lily a bit, even for a passionate sugar-lover. I would happily eat an entire batch of tarts, wrapping them in the prettiest dishtowel I could find and sneaking them throughout the evening. Everything would be cleaned up meticulously before my mother got home. Not that she would have cared, really, but I liked having secrets.
Not all my goodie-making experiments turned out so well. Once I tried to melt chocolate chips in a saucepan thinking that they would magically become hot fudge. Instead I completely burned the chocolate and could not get it out of the pan to save my life. Panicking, my solution was to throw the pot into the snowy woods in my backyard. My idea seemed to work and nobody noticed. I’m sure my mother tore apart the kitchen looking for her pan but nobody thought to ask me, seeing as how I was only nine.
Then spring came. The snow melted. And one day my very angry father came storming into the house wanting to know who had left a pan outside. My brother was just a baby so my sister Arianne (who was six at the time) and I were told to stand on the steps so that our faces were at the same level as my father’s. Over and over he demanded to know what had happened. There was no way I was going to fess up. I knew that irate look on my father’s face well. It meant one thing: Spanky-town.
Arianne and I both adamantly denied any knowledge of the pot. Had I half a brain I should have blamed it on one of our terrible babysitters. But all I knew is that I wasn’t about to get in trouble. And no child was as stubborn as I was. My father continued grilling us for an eternity. Finally he announced, “well, I’m just going to have to spank you both until somebody admits it.” This was too much for my poor, tenderhearted sister. “I did it! I left the pan outside!” she wailed. I could not believe this brilliant turn of events. I looked at my sister out of the corner of my eye and remember thinking one word: sucker. I then skipped happily off to my bedroom while I assume my sister got laid across my dad’s knee.
I never felt bad for an instant. Looking back I can’t believe how horrible I was. Apparently those years of Sunday School lessons bounced right off my forehead. But I did learn to use a double boiler when melting chocolate.
*The picture is from one of my very favorite blogs: Aunt Ruthie’s Sugar Pie Farmhouse. She has a delightful–gulp–hand pie recipe that you might want to try.
It’s Red Ribbon Week. Oh joy. I love to rant and rave about how stupid it is (you can read about it here). There is no way that having weird hair/crazy socks/wearing pajamas is going to keep my kids off drugs. That’s the whole point of red ribbon week, right? To get kids not to take drugs? But this year I’m not feeling quite so irate. It’s true, I did find myself at The-Store-That-Must-Not-Be-Named at 11 pm on Monday buying slippers (“Give drugs the slip!”). But even so, I just kind of shrugged it off. Today the kids are supposed to wear a shirt with a sports team logo. You might think that’s a no-fail category but when you have a houseful of nerds who don’t like sports, that’s a tall order. Ada likes the University of Texas Longhorns so she always has something burnt orange to wear. However, Mister and I are BYU alums. It’s not so easy to find BYU shirts in Austin. And don’t even suggest for a second that we own clothing items from a professional sports team. The mere thought is hilarious.
Yesterday the kids were all talking about the various plans about what to wear for crazy sock day. Jasper mentioned that the Principal of the school never wears anything for red ribbon week, not even a funky hat. “Yeah, she’s not very festive,” Arabella noted. But Ada drew the most obvious conclusion, “I think it’s because she takes drugs.”
Well, there you go.
A couple of weeks ago I was waiting in line at the grocery store. A friend of mine called my cell phone and we had a nice little conversation. As I got toward the front of the line I could tell the lady behind me was very put out. She was sighing loudly and loading her items onto the conveyor belt a little too forceably. The man in front of me was paying so I had nothing to do but stand there. Which is boring. So I kept talking on the phone. But I realized that she thought me rude for being on my phone. I wanted to ask her why it’s rude to be on my cell phone. Was she planning on talking to me? Had she been looking forward to the conversation she and I would be having while we were standing there? No. Of course not. It may be Texas but we’re not that friendly! Apparently I have to sit there in stone cold silence while I’m waiting in line; anything else is rude. Would she have thought me rude if my friend was standing there with me and we were having the exact same conversation? Doubtful. Although maybe so. What difference does it make that I’m on a phone? (Just so you know, when it was my turn to check out I hung up, made dumb small talk with the check-out guy, paid and left.)
It really all boils down to who is more important: the person on the phone or the person in front of you. Which means that if I’m at a store it’s always going to be the person on the phone. Sorry, check-out people, I’m just not that into you. (Although if you work at a store you’d better give me your undivided attention; you’re paid to do that. If I’m not on the phone, that is.)
One of my friends posted on Facebook about how she was having a conversation with a friend who kept texting other people the entire time. This issue is a little more of a slippery slope. On one hand I get texts constantly: from my kids, my husband, friends, ward members, the Bishop. I like to check them because you never know when something will be important and maybe just need a quick response (such as Mister texting me, “where did you put my car keys???”) I take ten seconds to respond. To me this is a lot less rude than answering a phone call asking the same thing. I like texting because I can glance at the message and–most of the time–ignore it or answer it later. But sometimes I will text back while someone is talking to me. My ears aren’t broken, after all. I can still listen. Obviously if the conversation is really serious, I try to avoid it. But usually I’ll say, “give me a second to take care of this” We live in a modern world where multi-tasking is the order of the day. I don’t want to be rude, but what exactly is rude these days?
I’m sure my grandmother would think all of this is not at all polite. But then, this is the same woman who has actually said the n-word as she described a black person. So obviously we all have different standards about what is polite and acceptable behavior. What’s your opinion? Is using your cell phone to communicate in public a big no-no? Or is it just fine? The majority rules, so let me hear what everybody thinks!
I’ve been the Relief Society President for over four months now. Which has been about when my blogging began to fall off. You might think it’s because I don’t have enough time; that’s only partly the case. My responsibilities come and go. Sometimes I’m incredibly busy and sometimes I’m not. Here’s the real cause for the blogging slow-down: I now have to be discreet. I can’t just blab about all the things I’ve been doing because a lot of times they require helping other people who are in rather delicate situations. You thought I would continue to be a big fat blabber-mouth, didn’t you? Sorry to disappoint.
For example, over the last weekend I spent probably 20 hours doing service for other people. Some of which included painting someone’s entire house (interior). A non-air conditioned house that hovered around 100°. I have never sweat so much in my life; crazy sweat that was dripping off every surface of my body. The good news is that I probably just painted my way into heaven AND I lost four pounds. But that’s all I can really tell you. I certainly don’t want to get in trouble for announcing someone else’s problems to the world. That would be very uncool.
I also gave some rides to some people who can’t afford gas for their car. And then I went over and made some people breakfast on Sunday morning because they’re having a really hard time emotionally and physically. But that’s all I can really say about those situations. Because I know for sure all these people don’t want their issues blabbed on a blog. So I have these smidgens of stories and a smidgen of a story is worse than no story at all. It’s like announcing you’re a spy and not being able to give any details. Why even bother?
My material is drying up, is what I’m saying. It’s a lot harder to come up with subjects to write about when you’re trying to be compassionate.
Also, I still am missing a computer. Which means no Photoshop. My photographs need photoshop. They’re not atrocious–not quite–but they need a lot more editing than can be done on any of those freebie websites. I’ve done four or five tutorials and they’re either languishing on a broken hard drive or waiting for some proper attention. I apologize if you were dying to know how Jasper and Arabella’s birthday parties went. Or how to make great pizza crust from scratch. You will have to wait some more. Or maybe I’ll just swallow my pride and publish them anyway.
Waah, waah, waah, listen to me be a big baby. I’m not trying to make excuses; just letting you know what’s going on. The good news is that I’ve been working on a couple of other blog posts so you have something to look forward to.
And then the kids will be in school next week so I’ll have several kid-free hours with which to fritter away my time. I promise to make it up to you, OK? Just stick with me. And if you need a ride somewhere because you can’t afford gas, call me! I’m becoming quite an expert!
I don’t have a TV so I know very little about the whole movie theatre shooting. I do know that a lot of people are upset about the Colorado parents being judged about bringing little kids to movie theatres. While it isn’t the most important issue in the theatre shooting, I do think it needs to be talked about because it’s a huge pet peeve of mine. The most important issue being this:
If you bring a little kid to a Rated R movie you are a bad parent.
There are no ifs ands or buts about this. Very few things are as cut and dried to me as this. Only a parent who is incredibly selfish would bring a child to a strictly adult movie. Why not find a babysitter? Or go see something that won’t give your kid nightmares? You might say that it’s none of my business. But it certainly becomes my business when your child comes to school and teaches mine to drop the f-bomb. It becomes my business when your child is exposed to tremendous violence. What do you think will happen to children who are desensitized to violence starting at such a young age? Hopefully they won’t end up shooting people at a movie theatre when they grow up.
I’m not talking about tiny babies. If you have a newborn you can get away with bringing her to a movie; she’ll probably sleep right through it. Depending on the sleepiness of my babies I could bring them to movies until they were 2-3 months old. Which brings me to my second pet peeve.
Babies and toddlers in movie threatres. If there are not talking animals then please consider not bringing your child. Especially to a prime time movie. Nothing makes an audience more upset than a whiny, crying, runny baby or toddler. You know why there aren’t more babies and toddlers at the movies in the evening? Because the rest of us got babysitters. Don’t be selfish/idiotic/rude and think that somehow your kids don’t count.
Please know that if you bring someone under age 4 to a movie, there is a good chance that you will have to leave the theatre. Even a newborn can wake up and start wailing. For the love of Netflix, please watch a DVD at home or get out there and hunt up a babysitter.
Mostly I just want parents to not be selfish. Get a babysitter. If you can’t afford one then what are you doing paying for a movie on a Friday night anyway? If you don’t know any babysitters then ask your neighbors for some names. Babysitters are not that hard to find!
I pretty much vanished for the last couple of weeks. Partly due to relatives in town (we know who loves us by how often they visit. Hint, hint, relatives.) Partly due to being the Relief Society President when half the ward decides to move at the exact moment the other half goes on vacation. I know you guys really love it when I complain about how busy I am and thus how exhausted I am. But I will spare you the details. Here are the highlights of the last two weeks:
My mom moved back to Utah after living here in Austin for two years. People always ask what it’s like having my mother live close by since she is rather . . . high maintenance. It is a million times easier than having her come and stay with me for two or three weeks. When she stays with me for a long amount of time there are invariably fights; she and I, she and Mister and sadly Mister and I as well. There is stress involved for all parties (well, probably my mom isn’t stressed). She likes to have things just so and just so is always something very strange. Like half-drunk giant glasses of cocoa sitting around all day. Said cocoa must be drunk through a straw. And not just any straw. It must be a really fat straw that is also somewhat translucent so that she can see the cocoa going up. Not sure why, but that’s how it is. No doubt my mother will answer this question in her blog reply.
There is also her bizarre schedule of staying up late, sleeping in and various naps. Our family doesn’t really work that way and it gets complicated when she visits. But when she lives in her own place nearby she can sleep whenever she wants, leave strange beverages sitting on her counters and it makes no difference to us. She is one of those people who finds plenty to entertain herself and doesn’t come over all the time. She’ll drop by for dinner, have a nice time and go home. It’s lovely for all of us. So it makes me sad that we won’t be getting pleasant mini-doses of her any more. Instead she wanted to be near my sister in Utah who, with three small children, is in the part of her life when she really needs grandma Boppie around.
We spend last week packing boxes, throwing away as much of her
junk prized possessions as we could get away with and loading up her moving van. She and my sister waved goodbye on Saturday morning and pulled in to Utah County last night.
Also, I spent days cleaning and organizing my house. If you have out-of-town guests and clean your entire house, except for one small part, that is the part that they will invariably see. So I cleaned everything including my huge messy closet. Here’s the flip side of that rule, though: if you clean something super well, nobody will see it. I cleaned my closet and bathroom within an inch of their lives. And nobody ever went in there. But at least they’re still clean. I’ve been trying to stay on top of it and keep the rooms from turning into the trash barge of my house. They’re my favorite place to throw things when I have to do a stash and dash because company is coming.
My husband’s brother, his wife and their teenage daughter came from Portland for an entire week and we ate like pigs and did fun touristy stuff and it was great. They had to sleep in the boy’s bunk beds but it’s a lot nicer than making them stay in the guest room and share one lousy full-sized bed.
Probably the most exciting news around here is that it has rained! A lot! And often! But because this is Texas it rains like crazy for a little while, the rain goes away and it’s sunny and warm. And then the next day it’s sunny and warm for a couple of hours, a storm rolls in and then it’s sunny and warm again. It’s really a lovely way to have rainy weather. None of those days of dreary, cold weather like in Oregon. Our relatives were very impressed.
A few days ago I went to a book signing by Alexandra Fuller whose books I recommended here a while back. In the tiny picture on her books she looks very pretty. But most female authors look relatively pretty. That’s kind of the point, I guess. Alexandra Fuller was, in real life, drop dead gorgeous. Model gorgeous. She’s also terribly clever and skinny so I felt utterly out of my league and didn’t say a single word to her as she signed my book. I very rarely get tongue-tied, although I did ask if I could take a picture with her (I especially like the way my arms are twice the size of hers.)
Also, my laptop is still broken. Mister has taken pity on me and given me a real computer with an actual monitor. It’s pretty lame. Laptops are way better. I hate being on a computer where I am trapped in one place. Due to my computer situation and all the other stuff I’ve done, I have read zero blogs. I feel really bad about this. So if I haven’t commented on your blog, I’m sorry. One day I will get my life back.
May and June will be bringing us our last two birthdays of the Season (“the Season” spans from December-June with a birthday every month).
As bad luck and poor planning will have it, both children are due for a birthday party. Arabella (turning 11) hasn’t had one for three years and Jasper (turning six) has never had one. You will either think me very mean or very smart for that.
I took a couple of party planning classes at the Snap conference. Party planning, laundry and growing plants are really my weakest areas. Actually, I always throw really fun parties; it’s just that I’m a horrendous procrastinator and I end up stressed out and overspent (literally and figuratively).
So this year I’m planning ahead. Well, planning ahead is relative. I planned the themes and got the invitations three weeks in advance. I have also gotten my two children to agree to the same color scheme for both parties (turquoise and lime). That means I can get all the same party stuff and just change the accents. Good thinking, me!
This year the parties will be at home. I cannot afford all the Chuck E. Cheese/Bouncy House/Bowling Alley nonsense. We are going to leave the decorations up for a whole month to cover both parties. Not even joking. Who hasn’t wanted to leave dozens of tissue paper flowers hanging from their ceiling for weeks at a time? Its fun and festive! And they kind of match my decor.
I got the new Amy Atlas party planning book from Amazon last week (it focuses mainly on the tablescape and food items)
It is so fantastic. It’s full of pictures, DIY options, recipes and party planning secrets that are brilliant and I’d never heard of before (You can and should buy the book here.) For the book I can thank the Fairy Hobmother. He is a man-fairy from Appliances Online who flits about the blogosphere bestowing Amazon gift cards on lucky readers. He was nice enough to shine his fairy wand on me. And with my gift card I bought my party planning book (and a marvelous set of mixing bowls). If you leave me a comment, the Fairy Hobmother might visit you too! It’s totally legit. I have the mixing bowls to prove it.
Anyhoo, I’m off to buy tissue paper and color coordinating gum balls.
I was compensated for my Amazon gift card and will get oodles of money if you buy the Amy Atlas book through my link.
I nearly forgot that today is the official Star Wars Day. (The unofficial Star Wars Day for fans is the other 364 days of the year). I can’t believe I came this close to not reminding everyone. Fortunately I have Kacy who keeps me apprised of all the milestones in Science Fiction.
My son York is fifteen and Star Wars is pretty much the most important thing in his life (he has never had a girlfriend, strangely enough). I would like to think that I, his mother, am most important. I only gave him life and read Things That Go three thousand times to him. You know, nothing special. Nothing like the things Darth Sidious has done for him. But he doesn’t have a corner of his room dedicated to me.
Nor does he have an assortment of posters with my face on them (you guys, this is only two of the Star Wars posters in his room.)
Nor does York have a clock featuring scenes from my life.
So I shall shrug my shoulders and make myself some cookies. Shortbread X-Wing fighter, anyone?