March 17, 2012 · 9 comments
in Family, Good Things, Jennie Likes, Kids, Making Stuff, Places I've Gone, Texas, Things We've Done, Vacations, Why Jennie's tired, Yum
You know what’s nice about Texas? Strawberry season starts in March. It’s been Spring Break this week and our big outing was driving over an hour to Sweet Berry Farm in Marble Falls. (“Forget Disneyworld, kids, we’re going to pick strawberries in the middle of nowhere!”) You’ve got to get there early to get the best berries, and go on the right day (they’re closed on Wednesdays, so Thursday morning is when the most ripe berries are out.) The weather was lovely, the bluebonnets and wildflowers were showing off everywhere, and Mister played hookey from work and went with us.
Sweet Berry Farm has several varieties of berries and Chandler is one of my favorites for making jam. They’re a little on the soft side and very juicy, quite unlike grocery store strawberries. Because of this they turn to mush within a day or two so you’ve got to eat them or use them right now. The taste is out of this world. It’s like a strawberry explosion.
I’ve had my work cut out for me over the last couple of days. I made a strawberry almond pie and 36 jars of jam. Not to mention eating lots and lots of berries.
Massive strawberry overload.
But in a good way.
P.S. If you do go out to Sweet Berry Farm, be sure to stop at Peete’s Mesquite BBQ in Marble Falls. It has the best brisket I have ever tasted. And I’ve eaten BBQ all ever the place, even at Franklin BBQ which was voted the best in America by Bon Apétit magazine this year. Peete’s ribs were second only to Franklin’s. And their peach pie and macaroni salad are phenomenal! Seriously, go there!!!
I must say, my 40th birthday has been stellar. The cruise with six of my girlfriends was fantastic (my BFF Tiffany even flew down from the Arctic Tundra of Minnesota for it). We left behind six husbands and 29 children who all survived.
We departed out of Galveston so we only had to drive a few hours from Austin.
Our cruise was on Carnival, the vacation equivalent of Golden Corral (a tacky buffet restaurant, for the uniformed). You get what you pay for, and our cruise was cheap. Which was fine. But that meant there were a lot of . . .uh, interesting people on board our ship. I have never seen so many tattoos and fat ladies in bikinis. But this was how we spent most of our time: in lounge chairs reading and talking. And eating. It was glorious.
We had a lot of fun in Cozumel, Mexico. I did stuff like kissing lizards (no frenching allowed!) . . .
. . . and driving a dune buggy
. . . and eating freshly made salsa and guacamole on the beach in this cute little hut. Paradise.
But like I said, we sat around most of the time. Occasionally we napped. And swam. I may or may not have sat in the hot tub eating a plate of french fries and cookies.
We did not drive children anywhere. We did not cook anything. We did not wipe any bums. We did not make any beds. (I did hang up my wet towels, though. I’m crazy like that.) We spazzed out occasionally because nobody lets loose like Mormon moms without kids. Such occasions call for Nacho Libre masks and rag curlers.
My transition to the downward-facing side of the hill has been pretty painless. Rock on, 40′s!
Yeah, have fun! Because I’m headed down to Mexico for my birthday cruise. I will be hanging with an elite group of superpowered mothers. We will not cook food, drive anywhere, sort laundry, make beds or listen to quarelling. We will try not to feel too bad about the six hapless husbands left behind to run the gauntlet of field trips, meals, baseball games and birthday parties while we get sunburns and gain back all the weight we’ve lost in the last three months (and hopefully not get kidnapped/beheaded as seems to be all the rage in Mexico these days).
It should be a wonderful way to spend my birthday. See you next week!
It is March 10th. I have one exactly more month of being 30-something. I never in my wildest teenage dreams imagined being this old. I could see myself being 26 and after that things seemed grey and hopeless.* I’m actually a teeny smidge excited. Mostly because I think I look pretty good for 40. I don’t know what all the women who lie about being younger are thinking. I’ve found that if you say you are older than you look, people really slather on the compliments, Which would you rather have?
I am 39 and that’s what I tell people:
Response:
“you’re almost 40? No way! You look fantastic!”
I am 39 and tell people I’m 32:
Response: “Really?”
[thinking: "Boy, she looks terrible for her age."]
I’m going on cruise for my birthday with a bunch of my girlfriends. I’m trying to lose 20 lbs. in the next 30 days but I have the niggling feeling that I might not be successful. Not that it matters because I plan on eating A LOT over my birthday and gaining it all back.
*I wish I could tell my teenage self, who felt so unattractive and untalented, that at 40 I would totally be hitting my stride. Late bloomer, I guess.
You guys! I’m back! I didn’t want to tell you that I was going on a vacation for Christmas because I know there’s that crazy band of robbers who reads mommy blogs until they find one who says they’ll be gone then locates their house and steals everything (just kidding, Mom-in-law! This does not actually exist.) But now it’s safe to tell you that we went to Portland, Oregon to visit the extended family for Christmas (don’t worry, I’m not going to include any blurry pictures of my pajama-clad children opening presents. I like you too much for that.)
Although it was our most successful family visit to date (not once did I hiss at my husband through clenched teeth, “I cannot handle your sister for one more second!” Nor did we get in a ginormous fight where one of us seriously threatens divorce. Tempers flare around family, I’m sad to say), it was still a pain. I would not recommend taking Christmas on the road with six kids. The massive amount of luggage (clothes plus presents) was frightening (yay for Southwest and two free bags per person!) Not only that but I had to bring stockings because everyone knows those are the best part of Christmas. And you can’t have stockings without stocking holders because I’m not about to lay the stockings on the floor. So those had to come too. And then there were the gifts for the grandparents and cousins on both sides. And the birthday presents for the two cousins with December birthdays (poor, poor souls).
Let’s just say that the possibility for screwing up this Christmas was tremendous. But it was a success! I remembered everything! And Christmas was wonderful! And we got everything in eight suitcases! And I remembered to bring jackets this time (we won’t go into the Christmas of ’08 when we went to Utah sans coats. That was a fun one.)
There was a little kerfluffle when Mister told me for real this year not to buy him anything. He “doesn’t need anything” (actually, that’s true so I shouldn’t put it in quotes). So I bought him a couple of shirts and a CD (I don’t want to tell you which CD because it’s embarrassing. OK, Josh Groban. See? Embarrassing. I’m an enabler. But when I bought Josh Groban concert tickets last year I only bought one because I have my limits. And paying actual money to see Josh Groban is beyond them.) Anyhoo, I’m sure you can guess what happened Christmas morning; I had lots of wonderful presents to open up and he didn’t. And then he was pouty about it. So I had to do what all wives do when they don’t give a good present: they have to give A Good Present. A private, wifely present(s), if you catch my drift. I don’t know why it even counts since it’s not under the tree or anything. But if it gets a husband to quit complaining, it works for me.
We had a lovely flight home today and are enjoying both our our cat who just about had a nervous breakdown while we were gone, and the sinkful of dirty dishes because Mister insisted that we leave for the airport three hours early and couldn’t wait just five extra minutes for me to load the dishwasher (it’s better to just indulge his fancy for being at the airport absurdly early).
We put the kids to bed without dinner tonight (well, I consider peanuts and Sprite to be a perfectly good dinner, but they are totally spoiled and wanted something more. So selfish, right?). We’ll be spending New Year’s Eve opening all the Christmas cards that came after we left (I don’t want to throw them away already but you procrastinators leave me no choice!) and going to bed by 11 pm.
P.S. Someone please explain how sitting still in an airplane chair for several hours can be exhausting. Because I feel like I ran a marathon (OK, more like a 5K, but still.)
P.P.S. It was scientifically proven today that a Honda minivan holds twice as much luggage as a Suburban. So all you Suburban-lovers with your “SUVs are so much cooler than minivans” can suck it!
Happy New Year everyone!
My dog is sitting next to me looking out the window. She likes to bark at motorcycles and big trucks. We live down the street from a limestone quarry so she barks about every three minutes when a truck full of rocks rolls by. How can dogs not get tired of hearing themselves bark? Don’t they ever feel like, “this barking is really hurting my ears. I should stop for a while.” No, it seeems. I feel like punching her in the face.
Not really. That would be sad. She’s a very sweet dog. Plus she has a little face so I’d probably miss. Punching something in the face is my way of saying I don’t like something. But it’s very aggressive. And angry. Which is kind of how I’m feeling right now.
I just confirmed our tickets to go to Utah (the kids and I. Mister will be staying home minding the fortress with his giant shotgun.) They have us seated all over the plane. I should call Delta and straighten things out (sidenote: I hate Delta but they have the only nonstop from Austin to Salt Lake, so I am at their mercy. I especially hate their $25 baggage fee. But I hate changing planes even more. So Delta it is.) But part of me wants to sit Jasper down next to a total stranger and had him Jasper’s snacks and toy cars. “If you don’t like it, complain to Delta!” I’ll say as I turn and skip back to my seat.
That would be excellent. And hilarious.
But I still feel like punching something. I hate to say it, but it might be . . . hormonal. I pity the fool who crosses me when I’m like this. Sorry TSA people! Apologizing in advance!
I won’t be taking my computer with me. So I will be blogging very little. I hope you enjoy a little break from me. I’ll see you at the end of the month!
We’re back from Galveston. Did you know that it’s actually an island? I didn’t until I went there this week. My friend Cheryl invited us to come and hang out with her and her kids (our husbands both had to work. They’re lame that way) to “escape the heat”. Unfortunately Galveston defies all logic. Despite being on the coast, it’s actually hotter and more humid than it was in Austin. The only relief was to actually get in the water (which is 90º. Really). Not my favorite thing to do. But desperate times call for desperate measures and I actually spent hours in the ocean. If you know me in real life, you won’t say anything about how nice and tan I must be looking. All my children are looking like they have a different ethnicity, but me? I’m still pasty white. Which is how I like it, so it’s all good.
Everything in my car is encrusted with sand, and I’m somehow upright despite early-rising kids coupled with staying up til 2 am every night chatting.
I have the home-from-vacation-and-now-I-realize-how-lame-and-unfun-my-life-actually-is blues. But Mister and I took the kids to Target this evening for unbridled chaos school supply shopping, which is a bittersweet (mostly sweet) reminder that the kids will soon be out of my hair on a more regular basis.
All in all, it was a lovely way to cap off the summer.
Eleven more days.
P.S. Galveston is looking great, especially since it got absolutely pummeled last September by Hurricane Ike. Most buildings have been rebuilt/repainted/reroofed, but a few looked rather ghostly.
P.S. More pics of my kids in water. Sorry! But it’s hot here so all we do is swim. What else am I supposed to take pictures of? Fighting over whose turn it is to play wii? Just wait until Cheryl gets back. She took piles of really great pictures, but she’s staying at the beach for a few more days.
We’re back from two fun-filled weeks in the Beehive State. And when I say fun-filled, I mean overflowing with fun every single day; up-til-1:30-every-night fun; so much fun that being home again is a complete let-down (am I the only one who thinks of breastmilk every time they hear that term?)
I can’t help but be impressed with myself by flying alone with six kids. It wasn’t a big deal. I got more stressed about travelling when I just had two kids (how crazy is that? Travelling with two kids now sounds like a vacation in and of itself. No offense to all you two-kid moms. It’s like weight lifting; if you’re new to exercise a single push-up is a big deal. But if you work out three hours a day, a push-up is just a drop in the bucket. So it is with parenting. I’m sure Michelle Duggar would scoff at my life with a paltry six children.)
You wouldn’t believe how many times I had this conversation:
Ballsy Stranger: Are all those kids yours?
Me: Nope. I love travelling with kids so much I brought a few extras.
Ballsy Stranger: [at this point I had no idea what his reply was. I was too busy getting through security with seven people, plus their shoes, plus their backpacks--what do you mean you forgot to take your pocket knife out after Scout Camp?!!!--plus my laptop, plus a double stroller, plus a car seat, plus a tidily arranged assortment of 3 oz. liquids. I wasn't terribly interested in his inane banter.]
So now I’m in the land of overflowing laundry (I think I’m going to whittle all our clothes down to five outfits apiece and just wash them until they fall apart), and planning meals and hardcore cleaning. ”Sucks” does not even come close to capturing my emotions today. I think I’m going to have to re-enroll in Flylady just to keep myself from committing suicide.
Plus I have no Mtn. Dew to grease my wheels (let’s just say it’s been flowing liberally through my veins lately–see the 1:30 a.m. comment.) All I have here is Diet Dew (That shabby imposter. Although I’ve tried to like it, there simply has not been a Love Connection.)
As much as I love being at home (hence the beehives and bird nests and all that), I adore vacations. You know how at the end of a vacation you’re a little excited to be going home? I’ve never felt that. I practically cry all the way back. (Seriously, is there anything sadder than waiting in the hotel lobby for your transportation back to the airport while watching someone just arriving?) Even though this trip did not involve any hotels (nice or otherwise), I was still sad to go. We had a wonderful time with all our relatives and friends, and crammed in a ton of fun things.
Back to the grindstone.
P.S. Mister did not quite finish the wood floor in the family room. He did get some of it done, and I must admit, I’m impressed. He’s not the handiest fellow, but it looks very nice. He also cleaned out the garage and did a few other odd jobs around the house that are normally all up to me (like changing light bulbs. I don’t think he’s ever changed a light bulb. No, I take that back. A few months ago he replaced the light bulb above the kitchen table–normally 60 watts–with a 150 watt photography strobe light. After we all went blind eating breakfast, I demanded he change it.)
Still on vacation. But I don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten about you. Some random pics:
Let’s hear it for a laptop loaded with episodes of Speed Racer and Scooby Doo! No self-respecting child would dare look away.
So I’m on a ski lift, big deal. It is a big deal because I’m terrified of heights! Terrified! But I decided that I’m through with being a big baby.
(Until I have to ride in a glass elevator. At that point I will curl up, whimpering, in a fetal position.)
Arabella got baptized. Look how glow-y she is! I take that as a good sign.
Independence Day (another excuse for matching outfits.) It’s also a day about cousins
We’re off to the Motherland (A.K.A. Utah) in the morning. I may or may not blog while I’m gone.
I’m up to my eyeballs in suitcases and kids clothes. The fish is already at the babysitter’s house. We’re dropping off the dog in the morning (Mister can’t quite be trusted to take very good care of her). Then I’m off to have a fabulous time on an airplane with six kiddles. I’ve stocked up on goodies, play-doh, Matchbox cars, and Color Wonders. I also have several movies loaded onto my laptop. Even with all the preparations there is nothing like flying with little kids to make your blood boil and homicide seem like a reasonable idea.
See you in a couple of weeks!
Sweet Berry Farm has several varieties of berries and Chandler is one of my favorites for making jam. They’re a little on the soft side and very juicy, quite unlike grocery store strawberries. Because of this they turn to mush within a day or two so you’ve got to eat them or use them right now. The taste is out of this world. It’s like a strawberry explosion.
