The Little Man's Christmas Letter

Before I begin, I know that some of you don’t know about me yet. These people call me The Little Man. Or sometimes Prince Charming…I don’t mean to brag, but I charm most of the people I meet.

I came to stay with these people at the end of August (my parents had some trouble taking care of me so I am staying here until, well, I don’t know exactly how long I’ll be here). Just to clarify, I call them “The Lady,” “That Man,” and the 13yo and the 11yo. The lady and that man haven’t really told me what to call them yet so that’s what I’m going with until they do.

And since I haven’t been with them for most of the year, I’m not entirely sure why they asked me to write this letter…I figure it’s because they can’t remember most of their year either so this way they have an excuse for why stuff is missing.

Just blame the baby, apparently.

I will say, though, that they have mentioned little bits of things and being that I am super-smart  with a somewhat advanced vocabulary (in spite of the fact that I am just 6 months old), I have held on to these bits of info and shall now relay them to you.

First I will tell you about the two boring people in the house:

That Man and The Lady

That Man continues to work in the same field at the same company, CMT.  I don’t know what he does but he leaves most days when it is dark out and gets home when it is dark out. He also coached the 11yo’s basketball team last winter and is coaching his team again this season.

In addition, he helped with several projects at church this year, including (but not limited to) painting, cleaning (think “cleaning out/purging”…more than your cursory cleaning), and more painting. And then some more painting. Let me put it this way…he wasn’t in charge of the painting, but most people thought he was.

The Lady has been busy for the past few months taking care of me and homeschooling the PBA. She has also been doing some freelance writing this year for a couple local magazines. Her dad (who is a photographer) has taken all the pictures for her stories, and even though she hasn’t admitted it to him, she enjoys working with her dad. I can tell.

Over Easter week-end, the lady and that man had their first foster kiddo placement that didn’t go so well.  It was two little girls who had been in the system a few times and I think we can just leave it at that.

This fall, the lady and that man began a study called “7: A Mutiny Against Excess” by Jen Hatmaker with their Hope Group from church. In August (the first of 7 months), they could only eat 7 foods for the month. Granted, they chose the foods, but it still seems a little bit crazy. I mean, I only have one thing I ever get to eat but still…when you have such an array of options, I really don’t know why you would limit yourself. I think it had something to do with simplifying their lives and being thankful for what they do have and considering people around the world who have less than 7 foods to eat all the time…not just for a month. I think that’s what they said, anyway…

They are currently on Month Four: Media, having already done Month Two: Clothes (wearing only 7 articles of clothing for the month…not including skivvies, workout clothes and jammies, just in case you were wondering…oh, and apparently it’s fun  when you have an urpy baby in the house too) and Month Three: Possessions (giving away at least 7 possessions a day for the month, and being intentional about where they are going instead of boxing it all up and sending it to Goodwill). 

Give them a call or send an email if you want to hear more about this craziness, or any other craziness, in their lives.

The 13yo and The 11yo

The 13yo played basketball for the first time last winter. Although he did a great job, he decided that playing organized ball is not really for him; he will stick to shooting baskets at the gym just for fun. He continues to excel at soccer, traveling the state for games and tournaments. And this summer he experienced his first “overnight” camp at Camp Lakeview, near Seymour, Indiana. He loved it and can’t wait to go back next year. He turned 13 over the summer as well and suddenly he knew everything. I can’t wait until I turn 13!

The 11yo played his fourth season of basketball last winter and just began his fifth season a couple weeks ago . He plays lacrosse too, which is only in the spring… I haven’t seen this game played yet but it sounds a little dangerous. Boys running around a field with sticks they can use to catch the ball and also hit each other with. On second thought, I think I might be in! In February, he had 10 teeth (yes, you read that correctly) extracted (they were all baby teeth, but some were anklosed, which means the roots had not dissolved and had actually fused to the jaw bone) and then he got braces.  He was confined to a Pacers basketball daycamp this year, as the lady wasn’t ready to let him go away for a week just yet. It might also be that the lady didn’t think Camp Lakeview was ready for him. But I’m a little fuzzy on the details…I am only 6 months old, you know.

Over the summer, the boys took a “Safe Sitter” class offered through a local hospital. They learned basic first aid, CPR and how to change a baby’s diaper. Lucky for them, I provided a much more accurate version of a baby than those teddy bears they were using…I include wiggling, rolling and grabbing my feet for an extra added challenge. They do a fabulous job helping the lady and that man take care if me…I don’t think I could ask for better brothers if they were my own flesh and blood.

The PBA began school at the end of July…yes, it seemed early to me too, but these crazy homeschoolers decided to stay on the same calendar as the public school kids…whatever “school” is.

And both boys began art lessons. The 13yo LOVES them and the 11yo, well not so much. The lady says they are “a lesson in humility” for him. I think she’s a really good mom.

Over Fall Break, they all went on vacation to Hilton Head Island; I got to take my own little “trip” to stay with another foster family.  I think they had fun…their skin was darker than mine before they went and it was REALLY dark (compared to mine, which isn’t saying a whole lot b/c I am kinda, really pale…) when they got back.

The Little Man

Let’s see…now to me. I was born in May but the Always Random Family didn’t know about me until August.  On the last day of their first month of “7” (actually as they were “celebrating” with their Hope Group by indulging in some pizza), they got the placement call for me. They had to go downtown and pick me up from the hospital…after, of course, they had a lesson in how to feed me with an NG tube.

So I’ve been with them ever since. I see my mom a few times a week and go to the doctor about once a week too, since I was less than 10 pounds when they got me as a 3-month old…they have to make sure I am growing as I should. I still haven’t figured out how to swallow without gagging so I am having surgery next week to get my g-tube put in. They think I’ll be able to figure out this whole “eating by mouth” business when I don’t have a tube running down my throat all the time. I sure am interested in what other people are eating, so maybe that will help me out too. I hate to ask, but prayers for me would be greatly appreciated.

I think that covers all the basics. Now just to wish you all a very Merry Christmas!

Love,

The Little Man (and the Always Random Family too!)

I Am Not Sure If Our Issue is Spelling or Language...

One of the issues when using a Classical Curriculum for homeschooling is that often times we come across words in our literature which are not ones we use in our everyday language… often originally innocuous words which have since taken on another (typically less desirable) meaning.

For example, every time our current history text mentions something about “booty” for example: “they slaughtered all the people of the town and hauled off much booty”…my boys dissolve into a giggling fit the likes of which you may have never seen.

Unfortunately, this means that their teacher may or may not also giggle.

Of course, as a trained professional, I would merely be laughing at them laughing…

I didn’t come here today to talk to you about that.

But it’s kind of related so I’m not completely off-topic.

Now, in our literature, there is sometimes the inclusion of curse words. I try to act as though it’s no big deal at all and keep on reading. These are all words the PBA has heard (not from me, just to be clear) and it’s not as though the purpose of our homeschooling is to keep them entirely sheltered. So we read strong, classic literature.

Which sometimes has curse words.

It typically consists of, but is no way limited to, the following list: ass, damn, and hell…and bastard is thrown in there sometimes as well.

I felt I should include this list because I am full-service. And you may also be questioning, at this point, what I am allowing my children to read. I really don’t have issue with it and you shouldn’t either.

That’s what I tell myself, anyway; it helps me sleep at night.

Anyway…we ran into a few choice words this week, as we were reading our current literature piece,“Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc” by Mark Twain…I tell you this just in case you care to pick up a copy for yourself. I’m sure you will…it’s quite a lovely read, actually...minus the expletives. I am certain you’d enjoy it. I’d loan you my copy but I just couldn’t stand to part with it. I’m sure you understand.

But I digress.

So yes, this book does have a little language but so far it’s been fairly easy to gloss over. I am often the one reading it (we are working on our listening skills at the PBA so I make them listen and then narrate back to me what they have heard; it’s about as frustrating as it sounds, actually) so I can omit a choice word if it’s really not relevant.

However this week, we were in the car and pressed for time so I let my 11yo read it aloud for us. Which also works on developing my listening skills; it’s also about as frustrating as it sounds, actually.

So since I decided to take one for the team and listen to someone else read, in so doing I got to hear my 11yo, with great delight and emphasis (I might add) shout out “Bastard!”

Several times, in fact.

I have never before and possibly may never again hear him read with such excitement and zeal.

I must, before I continue, share with you my favorite sentence in this streak: “Bastard, Bastard, will ye play always with these English? Now verily I tell you we will not budge until this place is ours. We will carry it by storm. Sound the charge!”

He was so impassioned in his reading, I felt like I was there to witness the event.

At first, my 13yo, the consummate rule-follower (except when the rules might apply to him), chastised his brother, “Oh my gosh! I can’t believe you said that word!”

11yo: What’s the big deal? Mom said that it’s not a big deal when it’s in our books for school. The sentence had an exclamation point so I was trying to read it with enthusiasm!”

Me: Just keep reading, please…

So, like the obedient son he is, he forged ahead…until he got to a sentence that began, “When all our host…”

And then he stopped.

11yo: Ummmm this sentence has the “h” word in it…

Me: Oh, ok…well if you aren’t comfortable saying it, just skip it.

I could not imagine why he wouldn’t say “hell” after shouting out “bastard” no less than 4 times…but whatever, dude.

He continued on, but for some reason the sentence with the “h” word was rolling around in my head…because it didn’t make sense with the “h” word.

And because I am a stickler for complete understanding, I stopped him.

Me: Buddy, stop for a second…the “h” word that you didn’t want to say. ..could you just tell me what it is, because the word I was thinking of doesn’t fit in that sentence.

11yo: Well… (clearly uncomfortable and a little bit squirmy)

13yo: It’s ok…what was it? (so all of a sudden, a curse word isn’t wrong to say? I assumed that he was just trying to learn a new curse word…so here’s a case in which me telling them “I want you to be life-long learners and don’t be afraid to ask questions” kind of came back to bite me in the behind...or ass, as it were)

11yo: It’s the “h-o” word…

Me: Oh…

Considering the sentence, it still didn’t make sense. So I forged ahead.

I’m an “only”…don’t judge.

Me: But wait, that still doesn’t make sense.

11yo: “h-o-a…”

Silence filled the car. Now I don’t claim to know every single curse word which has ever been uttered, but I’d like to think I have a jump on the 11yo. Not that it’s a competition, mind you, but if he’s hearing swear words on a regular basis (and possibly new and different ones to boot), I might need to step up my parenting.

My 13yo shot me a confused look…clearly thinking the same thing as me.

Me: Ummm, I still have no idea what word that is. Can you read the sentence again…maybe I didn’t hear it correctly.

11yo: “When all our host was shouting itself *beep* with rejoicings…”

(After I stopped giggling), I said, “Oh…is it ‘hoarse’?!? I think the word you are thinking of begins with a silent 'w'..."

We Are So Progressive

So I am certain you have all been eagerly anticipating my post for today...because, as I KNOW you all remember...today is my birthday.

Now don't get yourself all in a tizzy if you forgot.

I will happily accept gifts for days past the actual day.

But note: I prefer cash. Mostly 10's and 20's...K?

Well, if you DID remember that it was my birthday, then you've been waiting to see if the PBA and I made our "Annual Progressive Lunch" pilgrimmage.

I am happy to report that we did.

And Mr. Always Random joined us.

And Little Man did too (no visitations on Friday)...I can only imagine how fun it was for a baby on an NG tube who eats nothing by mouth to be schlepped from restaurant to restaurant, and watch people enjoy a variety of tasty foods.

But Little Man is not your everyday, run-of-the-mill baby. He is a go-with-the-flow kind of kiddo, and was just happy as a lark.

The whole time.

Amazing.

So, because it is getting late (yes, it is only about 8 but I am always ready for bed by this time so it FEELS late...that and the blasted Daylight Savings Time...but I shall save that soapbox for another day), I shall not tarry and will cut to the chase.

I will begin by saying that we took bottles of water...because we don't typically pay for squat on Birthday Progressive Lunch Day. (We did pay $1 this time, but I shall get to that shortly. Try not to be too terribly disappointed in me.)

And there were no drinks offered on the freebie list we had going.

Except for Dunkin' Donuts...and I wasn't feeling like washing down all my sweet and savory treats with some coffee...free though it was.

I'll save that little treat for another day.

Like when the PBA are at art lessons and I don't have to share with nobody.

Don't judge. I did my sharing today, pretty please and thank you (BTW that's all for you, DK).

We began our rounds with Steak N Shake...it was a free double cheeseburger and an order of fries. We each got a fourth of the sandwich, which amounts to amout 2-3 bites each.

And a few fries.

But it was all quite lovely.  And free.

And yes, we ate in the car. While the PBA and I don't mind going into restaurants and just getting the freebie, Mr. AR was a little more reticent about it...so we indulged him.

Next stop: Firehouse Subs and a free 8-inch sub of your (ok, MY) choice. I selected the beef brisket and cheddar.

We each enjoyed approximately 2 inches of sub (2-3 bites...more if you took small bites and savored, which I did not) and it was fabulous.

NOTE: I did give them a donation in the box on the counter, lest you think I totally stiffed the fireman. I did not.

Yes, we also ate this in the car...and it was a little messy but we were in Mr. AR's car so it was ok.

Third stop: Jack in the Box. We had not done this one before, so it was an addition to the rotation. And just so I am completely forthright with you: I did pay $1 at this one.

My coupon was for "2 free tacos with purchase." So I did pony-up the cash and bought two other tacos (lest you be unaware, tacos are 2 for $1 at the Jack in the Box; I don't judge your ignorance on that, b/c I didn't know until today either). So we each had our own taco. And though they didn't taste like I thought a taco would/should, we all thought they were pretty tasty.

Well to be hoenst, 3 of the 4 of us liked them...the 11yo was not a fan. Still, 75% favorable rating is pretty good, I think. I'd be happy if I had that rating at my house.

I apologize for not being total full-service on this b/c I did not capture pictures of the tacos themselves. Too messy. And (again) we were eating in the car.

I drew the line at the next stop and insisted that we go inside. There was no way we were going to share bowls of pasta from Noodles and Company in the car...even if it was Mr. AR's car.

And Little Man needed to get out of his seat. Not that he was complaining, mind you...because he's go-with-the-flow (remember?).

This worked out well because Mr. AR doesn't sign up for all the birthday freebies like I do, but he did get the Noodles and Company one. And he decided to share with us today.

So short story boring, we had two bowls to share.

Which is good b/c the PBA are getting bigger and it takes way more food to fill them up.  We had the Pad Thai Noodles with Shrimp, and the Wisconsin Mac & Cheese with Meatballs.

Yum-o.

I promise you that the bowls were the same size...it is simply due to my stellar photography skills that I made one seem about 1/3 smaller. That takes real talent.

And finally, we went to McAllister's Deli. I had a birthday coupon for $5 off any purchase.

And because we'd been so loaded on savory foods, it was definitely time to bring in something sweet. And it just so happened that their ginormous cookies were (are) $1.25 each. And being the math genius I am, I quickly realized that 4 cookies would be $5.

So I walked out of there with a cookie for everyone...except Little Man. But he was asleep by then so he didn't even care...or know...what he was missing.

Again...we ate them in the car: one was sugar and the other three were toffee crunch. Perfectly under-baked in the middles. Love.

So that's all for our lunch today...but I will keep celebrating for the rest of the month: I still have a Smokey Bones Free Dessert, Applebee's Free Dessert, BOGO at Qdoba, a Free Drink at Dunkin' Donuts, a Free Drink at Starbucks, and two Free Sundaes at Culver's.

And because I lack all creativity at this point...that's it, this is the end. I'm out. And also because I'm off to eat my Salted Caramel Chocolate Cupcake from The Flying Cupcake, which was, most assuredly, NOT free.

I May Spend Too Much Time with Boys

So...over the years, I have spent a fair amount of time with boys.

I had a lot of guy friends in high school...and by that I mean they were FRIENDS. Don't go making any innuendos that weren't there!

And now, I spend a lot of time with boys.

Not just any old boys...the boys in my family.

Well, and The Little Man, who falls into that category too...temporarily a member of the family.

And the friends of the boys in my family.

OK, that just sounds weird...I don't hang out with the friends of my sons...but I am around them on occasion.

And if you know anything at all about boys, they can be rude.

And crude.

And gross.

And largely lacking in filter.

I will tell you (in case you don't know him live and in person), one of my boys (you can probably guess which one if you DO know him live and in person, but in order to protect his anonymity, I won't tell you which one) kind of really lacks filter.

If I draw a line in the sand for him, he doesn't sidle up next to it and precariously stick a toe over...he takes a flying leap across it, beginning with a running start.

But I digress...

For this particular child, sometimes I am never quite certain what he is going to say or do.

Sometimes HE is never quite certain what he is going to say or do.

But enough with the backstory...here's what I came here to tell you:

So...we are on vacation.

It is a beach vacation.

A lovely beach vacation...full of opportunities to lounge by the pool or on the beach. And perhaps even catch a little cat-nap.

I was doing such a thing (if you know me at all, this probably surprises you, but I promise that on vacation...a beach vacation...I can relax)...this after spending a few hours on the beach and coming in to rest in the shade by the pool.

We all came up to get out of the sun for a little while.

I was on the fringe of dozing off when I heard this statement from the mouth of a PBA member: I'm leaving my ball out so it can dry.

Immediately awake and alert, imagine my delight when I saw my son's football resting on the ledge in the sun...where it could dry.

Are You Packing?

I figure that the boys are old enough to take charge of their own vacation packing.

To be fair, they should have been doing it for a while now but I figure better late than never, right?

That being said, I adopted a "Here is a list of the things you need to pack; I'm not going to check to make sure you have what you need" attitude.  (It actually began with my 13yo's trip to camp this summer; we had marginal success. The biggest issue was making sure everything made it back home, quite frankly.)

Some may call it a "laissez faire" attitude.

I would call it that as well, being as how I love "all things French"...except for the smoking. I could do without the smoking.

And the wine...don't really care for wine either.

Beer. Now that's the stuff.

Which proves that my ancestors were mostly of German decent.

But I digress.

I decided that for this vacation, I would give the PBA a verbal list (NOTE: This means that I did not even write it down; we are working on our listening skills, which I might add, are somewhat lacking.) of what they needed to pack and see how that turned out.

I like to live on the edge, clearly.

I couldn't take it, however, with the 11yo. I was fairly certain he would pack a bag full of knives and other accoutrements, as well as all-things camo.

And since we are not visiting the Robertsons, I didn't think this necessary.

So I did cave on my own stand and insist on seeing what he packed. At least some of it. And hear a verbal list of all of it.

The 13yo, on the other hand, I was willing to let him figure it out for himself.

He, however, ASKED me to come in his room to see what he was planning to pack.

Immediately upon seeing the various stacks of clothes, I said, "Buddy, you don't need this many clothes. Remember...I'll do laundry. And you can wear the same thing more than once."

"Yeah, Mom, but there will be pictures!"

Heaven help me.



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Many Thankssssssss

So...you may be wondering how and why I have so many “ssssss” on my “thanks”.

Or you may be just as quick-witted and clever as I and have discerned that is may have to do with something that makes the “ssssssss” sound.

OK, I don’t have time for you to sit and ruminate on it…I will just come right out and tell you b/c the hour is getting late (I mean, sure I’ll be up at 2:30, but I have yet to put proverbial pen to  paper at that hour and do not intend to begin now)…

I am, in fact, thanking a snake.

I hate snakes.

H.A.T.E.

I get this so completely and totally that I cannot even explain:

And SPOILER ALERT (in case you thought Harrison Ford was just that brave...I'm here to break the news to you, after lo these many years, b/c we all know that this movie is somewhat “aged”): even though there is a piece of glass between him and that cobra at the end of the clip (that's the spoiler, in case you were confused), the scene still creeps me out.

 I can't express to you my level of dislike for snakes.

And yet...I must, at for this brief moment, thank one for perfectly punctuating my point.

(I love good alliteration, don't you?  I'm totally implying that this was good, lest you be concerned. Or wondering. Or frankly confused. I do not promise that this post will be either succinct or linear. Continue at your own discretion.)

I must seemingly-digress for a moment…stick with me. I will bring it around as usual.

I have always been a strong proponent of wearing shoes outside.

Not so much for myself, but for the PBA.

Definitely a "Do as I say, not as I do" sort of thing, as I will dart out on the deck or to the mailbox unshod (that means without shoes…I dare you to work that into your next conversation).

The same "Do as I say, not as I do" goes for bike helmets...currently a hot button issue in our abode, but I shall get off my soapbox about that just now.

So...I used to ride my boys about wearing shoes when they went out to play. It got to the point where I didn't have to remind them...they just did it.

Not out of respect, as one might hope, but out of habit more than anything else.

This summer, however, my 13yo has been testing the limits a bit.

Those of you who have weathered teen-hood…or are at least further along the journey…are undoubtedly shocked.

And because he is 13, I let him. I know my man-child is going to push and stretch and test…and just generally irritate. All in the name of “maturity.”

So b/c he is 13 and (maybe) I wasn't as attentive over the summer, he may have developed a penchant for being unshod (oh yeah, I used that word again…just trying to make it past your short-term memory).

You may be thinking this makes me lazy but I assure you that I am not; in fact, my soapbox quote this week to the PBA was "I'll let you be lots of things but lazy isn't one of them!"

So today, b/c he's grounded from electronics (details withheld), my 13yo actually went outside to play. A couple minutes later, I was playing with The Little Man and saw my eldest child scurry rapidly across the deck and bolt through the back door.

Me: You ok?

13yo: Um yeah...I'm going to put my shoes on before I go out.

Me: Oh...well why didn't you have them on already?

He tee'd it up for me so I just HAD to ask. You moms understand. And no, I can't let a sleeping dog or baby lie either...actually I'm good with letting a sleeping baby lie unless he's got some wicked ugly torticollis and he's asleep in his swing or car seat and his neck is all cattawampus...and in case you didn’t know, when you attempt to reposition a torticollis-ridden (that's not really a term...he's not "ridden" with it...I jsut could not think of the word I wanted to use, and I'm pretty certain you know what I mean...) baby, he will wake him up...and I can't leave it alone.

But I digress.

Insert eye roll by the 13yo...but not the usual dramatic one; one marked with…how do you say? Terror...that's the word.

Marked with terror.

13yo: Well I was going to play tether ball and when I stepped off the deck I saw something shiny out of the corner of my eye. It was a snake! And I almost stepped on it with my bare foot!!!

Me: What kind of snake?

I asked but thought he wouldn't know b/c no way would I have stuck around long enough to find out...and let’s call a spade a spade: even if I DID stick around long enough to look at it, I don’t know enough about snakes to remotely begin to identify one.

13yo: Just a garter...

He said this very casually…apparently his heartrate was below 200bpm by now.

As an aside and this may be something that you, my adoring fans, may or may not know: a "garter snake" isn't a type of snake ...it's a name belonging to a class of harmless, non-venomous snakes. They can range in size, color etc.

I know you wanted to know that. I'm full service, remember?

You're welcome.

So I acted casual right back. Like it’s no big deal that my son almost stepped on a snake.

And that it may or may not have been harmless.

And it still could have bitten him and it would have (possibly) hurt.

And I would have been uber-panicked.

And calling poison control (even though everyone knows that poison and venom are not the same thing...you can drink venom and it won't kill you...it has to go into the blood stream. I guess if you had an ulcer it would kill you.)

But I digress.

Again.

Don't judge.

So after all my internal panic (I'm certain he had no idea what was going on in my head b/c I'm so calm, cool and collected in an emergency…even when it's a fake one in my head), he said, "Well, I'm never going outside again without my shoes!"

So many thankssssssssssssss, Mr. Snake...whoever and whatever you are. If I ever see you in the yard, I will be sure to give you a personal thanks before I lop off your head with a shovel.

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A Whole Lot of Nothing...and "Whole Lot" May Be Generous

So...I've been slacking on my blogging lately. You may not care so much as you may simply notice, but believe me: I care!

I have so many thoughts rolling around in my head. And they seem funny. Honestly...I mean, come on! You've read my blog. You know I'm funny.

Ok, so you don't have to admit it at the moment, or even in public for anyone to see...but we both know it's true.

But lately: Not.Funny.

Just not. I'm still thinking in sound-bites and even those may be somewhat lacking.

________________

Literally that was all the material I had. I just wanted so desperately to write something and was hoping and praying and crossing my fingers for a brain-storm that I began writing in faith.

And really I still had nothing.

Clearly.

But since the PBA are always good for a laugh, I shall, instead, tell you a short little anecdote (which is totally different from an antidote, btw...only one of them is helpful when bitten by a poisonous snake and I'll give you a clue: this blog is not helpful in such an event) from our dinner time this evening.

First I must explain that Little Man always seems to get fussy when it is time for us to eat dinner. Frankly I think he's just jealous b/c his food is pumped right past his developing taste buds and directly into his stomach.

I could be wrong, but it is a theory I'm working on.

And I know I'd be mad if my food bypassed my mouth.

Just sayin'.

Anyway, so he could be in the room with us (As an aside, we find that he doesn't like to be alone. Ever. Except at night when he sleeps like a Rock Star in his own room. Go figure. I'm not complaining...just mentioning to give you a full picture) while we eat, and not have someone hold him, we introduced the high chair.

It is a lovely little number I bought from a friend before she moved away and left me here.

I'm not bitter.

Ok maybe a bit.

But my bitterness is not the point.

So we got out the high chair. It has a nice big tray. And a strap (you know...to keep the baby tethered down).

And Mr. AR put Little Man in the seat and slid the tray in place.

He looked like a head on a platter (have I mentioned that he's on the smallish side? But growing growing growing...just shy of making it on the growht chart this week, in case you'd missed that news). Clearly not quite big enough to be sitting in a high chair and eating...but for our purposes, it was just perfect.

But my 13yo was concerned that he would slide out. "Dad, did you fasten the strap?"

And before my husband could answer, I said, "He's not going anywhere...doesn't he have a thing between his legs?"

Without missing a beat, my 11yo said, "Well I should HOPE he has a thing between his legs!"

And I must confess that I laughed. Out loud. And hard.

So yeah...that's where we are for humor at this point. Amazing what's funny when you only get a couple 2.5 hour naps each night.

Thanks for sticking with me through this dry spell...hopefully "the funny" will return to me soon!


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Foodie Friday: Cooking with the PBA

So, as you may or may not recall, I am doing a “life skills” lesson with the PBA each Friday. In addition to our regular house cleaning, and sheet & towel washing, I have added cooking to the docket this year.

Apparently I chose this due to a momentary memory loss…did I fall and hit my head?

I can’t recall. 

Oh the irony.

I am trying my best but oh.my.word. Cooking with the PBA sometimes makes me want to rip out all my hair.

They are sweet sweet boys, but thus far they do not seem to have much of a penchant for this whole cooking business.

And maybe I am not being entirely fair. "Cooking" might be ok. The mac and cheese came out fine, as did the roasted chicken. And the scrambled and hard-boiled eggs (two separate lessons, lest you be confused).

Frankly, it’s the baking where we really struggle.

And when I say “we” I mean (of course) “they”.

Measuring things, leveling them off, refilling the sugar and flour jars, greasing pans, using parchment paper = torture to be sure.

And of course today we made chocolate chip cookies. With the assistance of an almost-4mo baby. Who is very cute but not what one might call “helpful” in the kitchen.

Now why did I opt for this? Because it was on the schedule. 

And because I promised myself and the PBA that foster care would not disrupt our entire schedule…as best as we can, the two schedules will combine and neither one will dominate.

Hence Home Ec Friday lived to see another day.

And frankly, this mama wanted some chocolate chip cookies.

Ergo…the PBA made chocolate chip cookies today.

Now, as you may (or may not) also recall, I insist that the PBA write down the recipe prior to making the dish.

Today, my 11yo insisted he would remember the recipe; this coming from the child who wrote down instructions to scrambled eggs…and then also USED said directions the next time he made scrambled eggs.

Needless to say (although I’m going to say it anyway) I insisted that he write it down; he does have an uncanny knack for memorizing long passages and such, but I had my doubts that a chocolate chip cookie recipe would make it into his long-term memory.

Much to his chagrin.

Now…the recipe I opted to use was the Kairos Cookie recipe. (As an aside, I KNOW I have posted this recipe on here before but I can't find it...so here it is again. You.are.welcome.)

I chose this particular recipe because

1. It is tasty, and 
2. It does not require softened butter, but instead uses shortening…which I know is horrible for you but I figure if you’re making chocolate chip cookies, you may not necessarily be concerned about “what is good for you”.

No, because I clearly have a death wish, I made the PBA double the recipe. To be fair, it was because the printed-out version of the recipe I have only makes 3 dozen. And that is just not enough.

Now…I DID write out on my recipe what each ingredient would be doubled…they only had to pay attention when copying it and write the DOUBLED amount.

Well, because I was apparently speaking in tongues, with no one here to translate for me, that message failed to compute and neither PBA member wrote it down doubled.

Not one to easily cave due to lack of fortitude on the part of the PBA, I forged ahead and made them figure out what each item was doubled, using their own copies.

(Now don’t pretend that you wouldn’t have done it too…)

So an hour later (that may be a bit of an exaggeration, but not my much…) we finally had our cookie dough.

Which was really dry.

Clearly something was missing...perhaps some of the milk?

Not even knowing how much of ANYTHING they had put in, with the exception of chocolate chips (I knew they put in the whole bag of chocolate chips), I added a couple splashes of milk.

I was quick to point out that I had been baking long enough to know about such things, but for rookies such as themselves, they still needed to measure...no "splashes" of anything.

I totally used those words of wisdom and advice from my daily word allotment, knowing full-well that these boys are NEVER going to make chocolate chip cookies on their own.

At least probably not. I mean, of course I HOPE they do…it’s the whole reason behind the “life skills lessons” but, I am realistic and know that the chances are slim to none.

But I digress...

Now once the actual "baking" was in full-swing (we did have to pause and discuss that the goal was NOT to see how many unbaked cookies we could get on one sheet…case in point, 20 is too many, unless you want them to all merge into one another), I realized that (perhaps) we had made too many cookies.

I know, I know...that sounds like crazy-talk, but I really didn't want to have all those cookies hanging out around the house. They are nothing but trouble.

But, being a problem-solver, I asked the boys, “Wouldn’t you like to take some of these to our neighbors…to thank them for the meat pies?”

(We all recall the meat pies, right? If not, here's your refresher)

I had been laboring for WEEKS (yes, I may have a touch of the obsessive/compulsive disorder…literally weeks) about what to take next to them…when this was so nicely laid in my lap.

And because I am a full-service mean-mom, I even made the boys write a note explaining the “gift” and then deliver it themselves.

So really that’s all I have to say about that. 

No funny/punny little way to wrap it up; no clever (at least clever in my mind) ending, bring it home with a pun about cookies or baking or anything like that.

In fact, you might even say that this ending is half-baked.

Photo of actual first batch

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Grasping at Straws for a Blog Post

So I really really really wanted to write something for you lovely people today.

And also NOT write about "7"...because I promised that it wouldn't take over the blog but it kind of has.

Sorry about that.

It's kind of taken over a lot...and we are only in Month 1...so yeah.

And I also did not want to write about the buckets of tears which have (and will continue to be) shed over the trees behind us being cut down...being cut down as I type. Not just me...all of us.

Well, I can't speak for Mr. AR, but frankly it would not surprise me is he "got something in his eye" when we texted him the news.

And texted the pictures...which I am too sad to show you, and would not mean as much without a reference (which I cannot find the photos at the moment of what the woods used to look like, so that may have to wait a bit).

In fact, the TV is blaring just to be heard over the constant drone of the machinery.

The PBA have been somewhat distracted today, I must admit.

But I am not writing about that either.

I am, instead, going to tout my progress in motherhood...are you ready?

Here is goes:

You know that you are becoming relaxed in your mothering when you leave your kids to make lunch (and use the stove, no less) and go hop in the shower.

Not only that, as you are STILL IN THE SHOWER, you smell smoke. (Clearly something is burning.)

And you DO NOT PANIC.

In fact, you calmly finish your shower, get dressed and dry your hair before checking on things.

Mostly you are thinking, "I wonder what he burned?" (And you know exactly who the culprit is because you know one child already had his lunch fixed...it was most-assuredly the other one. And you are not really all that surprised.) 

You saunter into the kitchen (after stumbling through the living room which was hazy with smoke) and ask, "Hmmm what's that smell?" (No yelling AND being able to joke are extremely indicative of how far you, as the parent, has progressed.)

Immediately you notice that: 

a) the child who burned his lunch is EATING the burnt lunch (because we don't waste food in this household...and actually, you would have let him NOT eat it b/c it was charred beyond recognition. But since he had chosen to eat it...you let him. We learn lessons the hard way in this family.)
b) the stove is turned off
c) the fan above the stove is on...and on "High"
d) the kitchen windows are open (as the other child explains, "I opened those to let all the smoke out!")

So I guess, more than anything, this is a short little ditty about how far ALL three of us have come.

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Off the Wagon

So I haven’t had the opportunity to rat myself out yet, because clearly there are just so many other things I must tell you about.

Maybe “must” is a strong word choice; “desire to” might be more appropriate.

If you follow me on Instagram or on Facebook, you will already know this, but I feel I must be completely forthright in telling the rest of you that I experienced a slight hiccup in my experiment last week-end.

Things were going along all fine and well, and we were celebrating one week down…and I mean that in my most-excited voice. Can you hear it in your mind?

When about 8pm on Saturday evening, the doorbell rang. We assumed it was a neighbor seeking the PBA to come out and play (clearly they don’t know that the apples do not fall far from the tree and they may or may not have already been in their jammies, cozied up to watch some TV…yes, on a Saturday evening. Don’t judge.)

But just to make sure, we sent the PBA to answer the door. Technically, only one of them needed to open the door; the other one was present to hold Indy. They don’t really both need to do this job, as we have explained to them numerous times, but they are so concerned about the dog running away that they continue being insane about it.

Can you tell it drives me a bit batty?

And really, would it be SO terrible if he ran away? We keep telling the boys that he would come back, but they fail to be convinced.

Clearly our record at honesty has been sketchy.

Anyway, at the door stood our neighbor…with a plate of “meat pies”…this is what he called them.

They looked more like quesadillas to us, but the spices were definitely not Mexican…they were aromatically-Asian.

And smelled ah-mazing…but I probably don’t have to tell you that.

Which makes sense because out neighbor is Chinese. Not Chinese-American, mind you…Chinese. From China. As in they have been here only a few years and have an accent to which I really have to carefully listen to ensure my white-bread, Anglo-Saxon mind understands and responds appropriately.

But I am getting ahead of myself a bit and need to back up and fill in some back-story.

Our neighbors moved in almost three years ago; three years in November, to be exact, lest you care to make a note of it.

I don’t know why you would, but I try to give as many details as possible. (This is not news.)

In that three-year time period, we have had casual conversations on occasion. A wave here and there. Brief exchanges about lawn care. Very shallow, basic stuff.

When their twin boys were born last spring, the wife/mom (whose name I have no idea how to spell or if I am, embarrassingly, unsure if I am even pronouncing correctly; chances are I am off by at least a touch) came over to ask me a few questions about babies.

Because I mean come on! Behold these amazing children which I have spawned…of course I’ll have all your answers!

Plus, I think I was the only one in the neighborhood they had really ever spoken too.

And I lived next door…sometimes you just ask the person closest to you. Think back to when you were in school…did you ALWAYS sit by the smartest kid in the class? Probably not…if you had a question, you asked whoever was closest…someone who may or may not have truly known what he/she was talking about.

That was certainly not the situation here, I assure you…

I thought maybe, just maybe, a friendship might blossom. But no, it never did… they both work full-time and had new twins, so I chalked it up to there not being much room left for new friendships.

But to be honest, I didn’t put in much effort; I was mailing it in, so to speak.

So ever since last summer, our interaction with the neighbors has mostly been a friendly wave, some ooing and ahhhhing over the babies when they brought them out for a walk and that.was.it.

Until July 27 of this year…or, as I like to call it “The Day I Was Convicted To Seek Relationship With Them”.

That was the day in which I heard a teaching which spoke aloud all the whisperings I’d heard for months.

I sat there in my pew and knew what I needed to do next: take those people some zucchini bread.

Because what better way to invite relationship than through food.

And God knows I have PLENTY of zucchini.

Since I know full-well that you really want to know what convicted me, you can check it out on this page. Scroll down to:

Genesis 10 – Tongues & Tribes

July 27, 2014 by Randy Spacht

Fortunately for me, we had not begun the experiment yet. I'm certain you were anxious about my sanity and baking zucchini bread right at the beginning. No worries…I would have told you about this much sooner if I’d had a mental break-down over it.

So because sometimes God needs my help with how things should go down, I had it all scripted in my mind how the bread delivery would go down. I'd told God what I needed, as this visit was definitely, in my mind at least, two-fold:

To build a bridge and possibly begin true relationship with the neighbors,

As well as to confess my lack of knowing without a shadow of doubt their names and absolve myself if that guilt.

So all day I felt my anxiety rise...it's not easy to confess a fault.

I’m certain none of you have ever had to do that, but this was definitely not my first rodeo.

But still…a little anxious.

When I saw that both of the neighbor's cars were in their garage, I knew they were both home from work and it was time to go on over.

I grabbed my bread and toddled out the door.

I took a deep breath and slowly blew it out as I waited for the doorbell to be answered. It actually took a minute or two (because why would it be quick... I felt slightly like I was going to vomit).

When the door opened, it wasn't the husband or wife who lives there which stood before me. But a family member visiting from China. Who knows seems to know two words in English.

For my astute readers, I bet during this exchange you can tell what those two words are.

Visitor: Hello!

Me: Hi, I live next door… (pointing to my house)

Visitor: (Head nods and points to my house)

I nod and point again at my house for emphasis.

Me: I made this bread and wanted to share it with you.

I'll confess I was trying desperately not to yell...even though everyone knows that when talking to someone who doesn't speak your language the best way to make certain they understand is to be loud. And speak slowly...don't forget slowly.

He smiled, put his hands together, gave a slight bow, said "thank you" and took the bread.

As he disappeared into the house I realized the exchange was over...going exactly as I'd planned.

Ok not at all.

Days went by and I didn't know what to think...did I offend? Some cultures don't want men talking to women with whom they are not family...

Or maybe they thought it was disgusting and they didn't want to be rude and tell me.

I wasn't fishing for a compliment. Truly.

But I was very-much second-guessing my decision.

I’m sure that you’re shocked.

Then the next week MR. AR was working in the yard when the wife (remember, still don’t know her name so I can’t mention it here) came over and thanked him for the bread.

She said, "The boys…they love it; it was their favorite. My husband asked me to get the recipe."

Oh glorious day...everyone knows that's high praise when you're asked for the recipe!

So he relayed the message (he’s such a good husband) and I copied it for her. I even included a note saying how glad I was that they enjoyed it and to please let me know if she had questions on the directions.

I was trying NOT to make assumptions because CLEARLY I do not know this family near-well enough to accurately be able to discern all their culinary practices.

But I had smelled their cooking through their open kitchen window (more than once I may have stood there and sniffed deeply…don’t judge) and have never noticed anything similar to an American-style baked good.

And though I knew it highly possible that she has, I didn't know if she'd ever baked with any of these ingredients.

And did she know what a "loaf pan" was?

I, the queen of Google searches, know full-well that she could totally Google each and every one of her possible questions. But I had my fingers crossed that she would ask me instead.

Days turned into more than a week and I feared the worst...NOW I had offended them. Surely this wasn't just my insecurity talking.

And then on this past Saturday evening the doorbell rang. Fast forward to then... We sent the PBA to the door blah blah blah...you know all this.

Re-read the intro if you’ve already forgotten.

The boys immediately began apologizing that we could not share in this bounteous gift but that they would sacrifice and eat them on our behalf.

My 11yo even ran to the kitchen and poured himself a big glass of whole milk because he heard the word “pie” and assumed it was a sweet treat.

Not one to be easily thwarted, he drank that glass of milk with this savory treat, unwilling to acquiesce that perhaps, he has misunderstood.

But I digress.

Well, Mr. AR and I knew we could not offend the neighbors we were so fresh in relationship building with by not eating their generous gift...plus this "7 experiment" sounds crazy to our friends; how much crazier would it sound to our neighbors?

We didn't want to risk attempting to explain it.

And we could not lie and say we enjoyed them but had not tried them. (Lying is wrong, FYI.)

So with our consciences remaining in good standing, we divided up those meat pies lickety-split.

We got out good plates and real forks... It was like a little party.

Believe me it felt like one.

So all this to say: yeah, we tried them. And we would do it again if given the chance.

And they were ah-mazing.

Ah-mazing. (So much so that not only did I ask her for the recipe, but I asked her to teach me how to make them. So yeah...I'm totally trying to finagle an invitation into the house.)

I'm certain that their ah-mazingness had nothing to do with the fact that we'd been on 7…because the PBA were right there beside us inhaling them.

To be crystal clear…the PBA inhaled them; we did not. This is telling: we honestly did NOT inhale as we may have done just a week prior. We ate slowly. Lingering over each and every bite. Thankful for this blessing.

The blessing of this food and the blessing of a confirmation that I hadn't messed anything up.

Yet…give me time. I am fairly certain there are many ways I could unwittingly offend a person from another country. 

Stay tuned for details.

  

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