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!)

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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Making a List

So…coming up with these past few posts have been something of a struggle. Apparently my brain has been reduced to producing small little sound bites. Facebook post-sized.

That being said, I am doing my best to draw this out and provide my adoring fans with an actual post.

It may not be good but it will be longer than a Facebook post…so that’s good, right?

Case in point…because I was terribly proud (and yes, I know pride is wrong…don’t judge) of this parenting moment, I shall share it here with you lovely people, just in case you missed it on FB…you’ll want to be sure to read this because it may be the best part of this entire blog post:

So earlier this week, my 13 asked me to buy something for him, promising "I'll pay you when we get home!"

Unfortunately, he forgot that he didn't have any cash. Except coins...so he paid me $5, mostly consisting of dimes.

Last night, on the way home from soccer practice, I stopped at the store to buy a tub o' ice cream (don't judge...that's not the point of the story). And I made him stand there while I paid $5 for it...mostly consisting of dimes.

So there’s that…

I have been ruminating lately on Bucket Lists. I admire people who have such lists, although I myself do not have one.

We have an “Always Random Family” Bucket List, though I am not entirely certain we will accomplish anything on it.

It’s not for lack of wanting…it’s for lack of moolah.

I am not complaining…I am just saying. It is truly ok and we are all fine with it…mostly we took an opportunity to write down things we’d like to do and it didn’t go beyond that.

No plan to make it happen. No plan at all. And I know that a Bucket List necessitates a plan.

I can live with my short-comings.

As for my own personal list? It doesn’t exist except kind of in my head.

Nor do I have a Non-Bucket List…a list of things I never care to do. I mean, sure, there are loads of things I could put on that list, but I find that once I put those things on my list, the good Lord, in his infinite wisdom, makes sure it is something I end up doing.

Shall I make a list of some of those things for you? (I apologize if I have done such a list in the past…I can’t recall. And if I can’t recall, I am going to venture a guess that you cannot recall either.)

So here is the list…either for the first time or not.

Deal with it.

• I will not live in Indiana, once I graduate from college.
• I will not live in Greenwood.
• I will not have boys.
• I will not name my children with the same first letter of the alphabet.
• I won’t be a teacher.
• I won’t be a homeschooler.
• I will never be a foster parent.

So yeah…it’s kind of like that.

All that to say, I have officially (ok, probably not really but a girl can dare to dream, right?) stopped telling God what I will NOT do.

And that rambling being shared, here’s what I’ve got for you today: I DO (apparently…this is a recent discovery) have a list of “Things I Never Cared to Know How to Do but Do, In Fact, Know How to Do…and Not Only That, I Appear to be Fairly Rockin’ Awesome at Doing”

Yes, the title is a bit lengthy…it’s a work in progress. Kind of like me.

But the title is not the point of my list. My point is to tell what is topping my list.

I must (and this should surprise you not at all) digress for a moment and share a little secret about myself…I beg you to allow it.

I have a bit of a weak stomach. As in: I get uber-queasy when people share medical-related stories.

Even baby birth stories sometimes gross me out.

Now, I can tell anyone who’d care to know about it about my boys’ births, or about my 9+ hour surgery for “my back” (just to clarify, it was not really “back surgery”, but my 11yo is STILL convinced it was; it may have something to do with the fact that I explained my surgery was happening “because I have so many back problems”…take from this what you will, astute readers).

However, I grow pale, get clammy, turn “green in the gills” when other people choose to share their medical “talk”.

OK…do you have a clear picture of this now? Great…I can continue.

In the same vein of telling God what I don’t want to do, he gave me a foster kiddo on a feeding tube.

Lest you be confused, I had previously told God that wasn’t going to happen.

Now, in case you have not seen him live and in person, I shall explain: the feed tube it doesn’t go directly into The Little Man’s belly; it goes in through his nose.

Because I like the rock under which I live, I had no idea until 3.5 weeks ago that that was even a possibility.

Oh, the miracles of modern medicine, right?

So anyway…I’m sure the build-up is killing you (actually, I bet you have all already figured it out…I never claimed to be a suspense writer), I shall let you off the hook.

What is the thing currently topping my list of “Things I Never Cared to Know How to Do but Do, In Fact, Know How to Do…and Not Only That, I Appear to be Fairly Rockin’ Awesome at Doing”?

Threading a feed tube in an infant’s nose and snaking it down to his stomach.

Unfortunately my “partner-in-crime” in this ordeal (because yes, it is an ordeal and yes you most-assuredly need a minimum of two people to accomplish this task; hard to believe but the infant does NOT care for this and there’s a fair amount of, oh, how do you say? Thrashing. Thrashing is the word.)

But I digress…

One thing of note: this would be much easier of my partner (also known as the illustrious Mr. Always Random, who supposedly-has a cast-iron stomach) would stop gagging during the process.

This is all the "fun" equipment we get to use now...the tube is the orange, "snake-like" thing. Oh yeah...

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A Huge Blog Fan

See...I told you that I wouldn't just talk about The Mutiny...look at me being kind of shallow today. I know...it's really what the people want, right?
_________

I had always dared to dream that someday a fan of my blog would approach me and confide that my writing had changed her life.

I suppose I would be equally excited if it was a man, but as the scene plays out in my head, it’s always a woman.

That right there tells you the level of my vanity….I’m assuming there’s at least one “fan of the blog”.

I know I joke about it, but it’s truly not that I think my writing is all that spectacular…but I hope that other people think that it is.

I struggle with it…I’ll admit I OFTEN struggle with it. There are so many things I almost do not post b/c I’m not sure it’s good enough/interesting enough/filtered enough.

If you read my blog at all, you know that “almost do not post” does not mean that they don’t get published. Because frankly, most of it does.

While I’m going down this “true confessions” lane, I will confess that above all else, I wonder what would make people want to read this blog.

And more importantly, what would make them come back and read more. (I am truly not meaning to pander for compliments here, just feedback. Feel free to weigh in on the comments with why you read this blog, because I honestly want to know...I want to give the people what they want!)

I have given this some thought and this would be the pinnacle of all praise (at least in my little blogger mind): if someone went back to the very beginning of my blog and read every single post.

Mind you…I am uber-thankful to those of you who have hung in there since the beginning. And I do mean “hung in there” because I know not every post is a homerun. I try but sometimes I have “a swing and a miss”.

Yes, a baseball reference from someone who despises baseball. Just because I don’t like the game doesn’t mean I don’t know a little something about it.

When I first met Mr. AR, he played softball…which is not the same thing as baseball but in my mind it is close enough. I can only assume it is close enough for most of you as well.

It's enough for the reference...that's what I'm all about.

But there is one thing that makes softball better than baseball: softball games have time limits.

Yeah, I said it.

But I have digressed.

In terms of people reading all my posts, what I was talking about was/is someone who is just now “meeting me” and who takes the time to go back and read them.

All.

Every.single.one.

Because that’s true love right there.

Or maybe stalking. It’s kind of a fine line.

I have done that with only one blog and the writer was a woman who hadn’t even written a new post in over a year…she still hasn’t written anything new. She just stopped. Cold turkey. 

But she left her blog out there. Odd, huh?

(In fact, I’m still waiting for her to write something new. That’s a good blog right there…leave them wanting more.)

I’m sure some of you were maybe thinking that I was on the verge of doing the same, when I dropped off the planet for a few days last week.

Even my mother was harassing me about it.

OK, not really “harassing” but when I mentioned my lack of time to write, her response was, “I know…I keep checking the blog and there’s nothing new!”

So at least my mother enjoys my writing. Or at least pretends to.

And possibly my dad too.

But I have digressed.

My point in all this (as you may or may not have guessed) was to tell you this: I met someone last week who opened with "I am a huge blog fan!"

Squee!!!!

I don’t think I actually, audibly said that…but maybe.

It’s all kind of a blur.

I think I almost passed out.

Oh yes. For reals.

Or not…I’ve been known to embellish sometimes. A hyperbole, if you will.

I think I kept my cool, though…I’ve got a reputation to uphold for crying out loud. Calm, cool, and collected.

And yes, it wasn't that my blog had changed her life...but it was close enough for me to claim it in the moment.

Over the course of our conversation, she shared that she was considering writing a blog, but wasn’t sure on the theme. She said that she’d considered writing about her daughter because, as she shared, she and her husband only have one child and (to quote her…I’m such a journalism major, attributing my quotes) “people always think that's weird.”

Of course, I interrupted to share that I, myself, am an only child.

And her response was, "You are?!? I love meeting well-adjusted only children!"

My heart sank. Did she just say “well-adjusted”? She did say she reads the blog, right? I think she needs to go back to the beginning and read all the way through, don’t you, because I’m not certain that “well-adjusted” is a word that’s ever been used to describe me.

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I May Have Created a Monster

So…if you haven’t read this, please go ahead and do so. I’ll wait.

As I'm sure you all noticed, either just now or previously, this was my tribute to Mr. Always Random and why he is the best….long story short: he brings me trash he finds at job sites that he knows I’ll love.

What girl WOULDN'T love that, right?

And I do love.

I did love it.

Ok, ok, I won’t lie… I still love it. But I am beginning to believe I may have created a monster.

It is a case of “if a little is good then a lot is better.”

You follow?

Let me break it down for you. But before you begin, please begin playing this music: it's only audio so no need to watch. It will accompany your reading, I assure you:

So last week, Mr. AR brought me some more bottles.

I love love love them! I do! Even in their dirt-caked crudiness. (This right here is a HUGE reminder to my friend CM to mail me a couple bottle brushes, if you have not done so already. Thanks! Love ya mean it!)

I am especially fond of the one with the wider mouth...we know that it is a 1920's Heinz Horseradish bottle.

And also the "Little Bo-Peep Ammonia" bottle.

Oh, I love them all…who am I kidding?

And then later in the week, I received a text with a photo attached.

The text read: This is going to look great in our front garden!

Me: Yeah, at our new house?

Mr. AR: No, our current.

Me: Um no rusty tractor in this front yard. When I can have chickens you can have a rusty tractor.

Mr. AR: It’s a horse-drawn manure spreader.

Me: Ok even better. ..and you can have it when I can have chickens :)

I assumed that the discussion was over…because I said “no” quite frankly.

A couple hours later, I received an email with a link to this photo: This is what it looked like at one time.

Me: Cool, but you’re still not selling me on it.

That night, he brought home this piece of it:

And the next day he brought home this:

And so now instead of having a whole manure spread in my front garden, I have a piece of it sitting on the front of my cabinet with my salt & pepper shakers.

In my kitchen.

And there’s talk of one of the wheels being schlepped home as well.  Which will need to find a home somewhere.

So today he brought home more bottles. One of them is a 1940’s Coke Bottle (as evidenced by the markings on the bottom), and some others we haven’t had the opportunity to research as of yet.

They are, at present, soaking in a bin of their own filth (as an aside, this is much like a person taking a bath, which is why I do not take baths…).

But all this to say…I’m a little worried about my husband. Or as you may otherwise know him: Sanford.

NOTE: I am telling you all this tongue-in-cheek. I really do love my husband and all his sweet gifts. I am actually thrilled to bits that he is finding an interest in treasures from days gone by. I have always loved this type of "junk" and it's quite enjoyable to witness his new found passion. Mr. AR, if you're reading this: Don't stop bringing me things you find in the dirt!

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Wordless Wednesday: Take Me Out to the Ballgame

Saturday Night

Indians Baseball Game

One "lets" me take a surreptitious photo.

Nevermind my bulging arm...I'm certain it's all muscle, right CK?

On the other side, one lets me take a photo, while the other one is a bit more reticent.

I'm fairly certain that Mr. AR is more excited about the picture on the inside than he's showing on the outside.

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Why Mr. AR Is the Best

Well, I don’t mean to brag (because you know me...I hate to brag), but pretty much I have the best husband ever.

Most certainly you are asking why…and surely, my devoted readers, you deserve more than a simplified answer.

But because I am short on time (ok not really, I have the whole morning to myself…which actually cuts my writing time down b/c there are other projects which certainly await me. I know that now you are wondering what they might be.)

I don’t know…stuff.  Walking the dog, making coffee cake for father’s day/my soon-to-be-13yo’s birthday breakfast tomorrow, bill paying, showering.

Important stuff. “Super cool stuff you wouldn’t understand.”

Makes me think of this.

For the record, I am not wearing my pajamas at the time of this writing. As far as you know.

But…this is about Mr. AR (widely-known as Mr. Always Random, but known by his close friends and family simply as Mr. AR) and why he’s the best.

Yes, I could go on for hours, expounding on his many veritable attributes, but ain’t nobody got time for that.

I want to simply tell you why he’s the best today.

Because when he is at work and he sees some dirt-caked old bottled lying on the side of the road, he thinks of yours truly.

I know all you ladies out there are swooning at the thought, right?

No, I know you want to know why on God’s green earth would he bring you dirty old bottles?

Well, I shall tell you…because that was the whole point of this post.

He thinks of me because in addition to my somewhat quirky collection of Salt & Pepper Shakers, I also collect old bottles.

Until yesterday this was one of my favorites (ok, still in the top few, but it has been usurped):

Here’s a link to find out more info about it...because who wouldn't want to know more about it? Need I remind you that I am a full-service blogger?

But I won't delay; the moment you have all been waiting for (lo these past 3 minutes): here’s what he brought me last night:

So now I have a new favorite bottle (but shhh…don’t tell the others). And a cute little what appears to be an ink-well, but I don't know for sure b/c it's not marked.

The bottle we believe to be 80-90 years old. Listed on Ebay ranging anywhere from $10-$30 (not that I'd sell it, of course...just wanting to know what we have).

And now you can too.

You're welcome.

So yeah…that Mr. AR, he’s cool like that.

And there's no need to fight; he’s all mine, ladies…all.mine.

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Dear DILs: Life Skills

Dear Future DILs,

As I continue to pray for you and what you need in an husband, it occurred to me that it might be nice if your husbands can assist you in the kitchen.

I say this from experience. I despise cooking. I really do. I think I do a decent job…I mean, no one in the house really complains…however that might be due to the “if you complain about a meal which someone has taken their own time to prepare for you, then you will be the one fixing dinner for the family on the next night”.

That may have something to do with it…possibly.

Regardless…no one has died yet from my cooking. At least that I know of.

And all this rambling to say: I would love love love it if Mr. AR was more confident and could help me just a touch more than he does.

Frankly, he’s really not so helpful when it comes to the kitchen. I don’t think he even had home ec in school…this makes me sad for so many reasons. He also does not know how to sew on a button. Seriously? Who doesn’t know how to do that?!?

But I have digressed…

Now that I have put together such a rousing plug for my cooking, I shall inform you that I am teaching my boys (aka your future husbands) how to cook. Mind you, ladies…this will not be haute cousine. Nothing fancy schmancy about this. We are simple, basic people…in many ways.

Don’t judge.

But our food will surpass edible. It will be good. That’s the goal anyway.

But right now, it is summertime. I kind of loathe summer for one simple reason: there is no schedule. I am ready for school to begin again in the worst way. I mean…I am ACHING to start. All this slovenliness…sleeping the day away.

Getting up at 7:30…unbelievable, right?

But I promised the PBA that we would wait until fall to start up school.

Ha!

See, that’s funny b/c “fall” is now July 28…over a month before the pool closes. At least two months before leaves begin their transformation to glorious colors other than green (sorry to all you green lovers out there…green is ok, but not really my favorite color; don’t judge).

But…we all will have had PLENTY of time off and will seriously need to get back into a routine. Things will have been silly around here for long enough. Time to get to work.

It will be at that point that we will begin our “Life Skills”…and this year, it will involve cooking. OK, it will BE cooking…not just involve it.

They will either copy down the recipe, or will write it as I narrate it and put it in their “cooking binder”…a new-to-them recipe each week.

Please be advised, when I say “cooking binder” what I actually mean is a small photo album I picked up at Goodwill for $.99 and then covered with some duct tape. They each have their own which I am fairly certain they will treasure all the days of their lives.

 So…I have included below my list (thus far) of that which I am planning to teach them. Please remember…we are NOT fancy. So if you are, that’s all fine and lovely for you…and your husband may not be as helpful as you might hope. Though he won’t be paralyzed as Mr. AR sometimes is when I ask for help beyond making a salad (which, as an aside, the PBA can currently do reasonably well...especially if I buy bagged salad; I don’t mean to brag here).

This list is in no order whatsoever, and is simply a jumping off point for us/me. And most of them are not difficult in the slightest. And some of them build off another item (i.e. boiled eggs one week, deviled eggs the next).

But the whole reason I include the list here is to see if there are any additional items which you’d like him/them to know how to make.

Without further delay, I give you the list:

• Baked fish               
• Quiche (chef’s choice on kind)                     
• Biscuits                    
• No bake cookies      
• Artichoke dip           
• Salsa                      
• Blondies
• Meatloaf
• Chili      
• Mashed potatoes       
• Tacos     
• Brownies
• Pound cake              
• Coffee cake             
• Pulled pork              
• Pancakes                  
• Quick bread (baker’s choice on type, but fingers crossed it will be pumpkin)
• Sloppy joes (which will include how to brown meat…ground beed, turkey, chicken, etc…the options are limitless!)
• Pigs in a blanket
• Spaghetti (pasta in general actually)              
• Chocolate chip cookies                
• Mac & cheese (from scratch)       
• Guacamole              
• Hard boiled eggs
• Deviled eggs            
• Pie        
• Roasted chicken and homemade chicken stock 
• Chicken noodle soup 
• Baked potatoes         
• Stir fry (chef’s choice on type…except tofu…I refuse to let that stuff enter my house…and yes I have eaten it so I’m not making an uninformed judgment about its level of disgustingness)

If there’s anything you think MUST me added, don’t hesitate to let me know…via comments below, on FB or send an email. I have no preconceived ideas that this list is all-encompassing.

Love,

Your Future MIL…and also someone who hopes and prays that you are an ah-mazing chef.

  

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Good Camouflage

Warning: there’s a lot of “back and forth” business going on in this post. It’s almost like it’s Monday morning and I have about 25 different things I’m thinking about and am not entirely focused on writing.

But at the same time, I haven’t written much in DAYS and am starting to get a stockpile of rambling thoughts I just need to get out.

Lucky you.

All that to say: be sure to take your Dramamine before embarking on this trip.

We like shopping for clothes. (Note the smooth transition…that’s why I get paid the big bucks)

Don’t get me wrong…we don’t pay full-price or anything crazy like that. (But I’m certain that you knew all that already…stick with me. I promise that it won’t all be review.)

Nor are we the pinnacle of high-fashion. Or possibly of fashion at all. We just like what we like.

And we like clothes.

And shoes.

And when I say “we”, I am referring to myself, Mr. AR, and the 12yo.

I cannot even bring myself to show you photos of our closets.

Cannot.

Odd thing…I never seem to have anything to wear, or I wear the same few things over and over. Not on purpose…it just seems to happen.

For the record, I do try one on a lot of those clothes hanging in my closet, but rarely do any of them make an actual appearance outside in the sunlight.

I think that the mirrors at the stores lie to me. It’s like Elaine buying that dress at Barney’s, only to get it home and find out that the store has “skinny mirrors”. (Anyone getting that reference?)

I do clean out my clothes every 6 months, by the way…lest you be judging me and thinking me a hoarder. Mr. AR? Not so much. I see an appearance on A&E in his future if I should die before him.

In the meantime, feel free to watch more episodes of “Hoarders” than you ever would want to right here.

For the record, I am NOT making fun of people with this condition…it is truly an issue/illness which is devastating and debilitating and should not be taken lightly.

But now back to me being random and shallow.

Why, oh why is it that I wear only a fraction of what I have in my closet?!?

I don’t have any answers for you on that today. If I did, I would write a book. I would love to write a book, but that’s not the one for me to write….because I have no answers on that subject.

I am trying to figure out what kind of book I AM going to write. I may have gotten a tiny glimpse of it last week at a chance lunch meeting…but I digress. And I don’t want to put the cart before the horse.

So I’m keeping that tight-lipped for now.

Tight-lipped, I tell you…don’t even ask because I’m not talking.

I would surely jinx it anyway. Not that I’m into that kind of voodoo business…but if I were, well…you understand.

Besides, it would be potentially YEARS before that book idea would/could all come together.

Again...I digress.

My point in all this: I don’t exactly know where we went wrong, but my 11yo is not the clothes-horse that the rest of us are. I try not to blame myself.

He has his rotation of about 3-4 shirts he wears (and because I enable this by doing laundry so frequently, he can stick with this lifestyle choice; I don’t do laundry often explicitly for him…we just have copious amounts of laundry and I am simply trying to keep it at bay. It is a side-effect that this works out well for him.)

God bless him…he’s always been that “hand-me-down-clothes” kid. Which has been a blessing for us…we have had so many people willingly give us bags of clothes for the boys. Bags of clothes = hundreds of dollars.

I know I have mentioned this before but I have to say it again. Because God is awesome to bless us this way and I just have to tell you.

To top it all off, my mom loves to buy clothes for the boys. Ergo…I rarely, if ever, have to. I mean GET to. (Because clothes shopping with boys is SO much fun…and I hate to miss out on that.)

Although my mom was a little miffed with him a couple weeks ago. She and my dad took the PBA clothes shopping and the 12yo was all-in. The 11yo came home with some socks. After much coaxing/poking/prodding, he finally acquiesced and allowed them to buy some socks for him.

Albeit Puma brand socks…like his brother’s and his dad’s, so sorting socks in the laundry is uber-fun. 

Usually I will mate the socks and leave them in a pile on the coffeetable and instruct them to “find your own socks”.

That’s how I roll, people. (I don’t like to brag but I am pretty hard-core.)

Actually...clothing choices have become interesting with the 12yo. I know I have talked about this before so I won’t discuss it again (at least right now…I am certain it will be revisited). In the past year or so he has definitely come into his own with his own sense of fashion and choices and opinions on what he likes and what he does not.

Rarely am I right when I think I have him pegged…so I don’t dare buy anything for him without him being present.

And yesterday, I felt was a prime opportunity for him to look for some new threads. (The kids still say that, right? I’m still hip when I say that, aren’t I?)

We were at Goodwill (duh…because Salvation Army is closed on Sundays), and thought he would JUMP on the chance to look.

So of course all you psychics out there can predict how that wet: nope, he didn’t want to look at all.

At.all.

Well, I went about my looking (which, for the record, was not for clothes but for other project essentials… essentials I tell you!) and just happened to notice a pair of pants in the boys section that I thought my 11yo would like.

You remember…the 11yo who wears the same 3-4 shirts and doesn’t want to look at or buy clothes. Ever.

He is perfectly content when I fill the dresser with hand-me-downs each change of season and never feels the need to try things on (I do MAKE him try them on…much to his chagrin, but you probably already knew that; sure, there’s whining, and weeping & gnashing of teeth, so it’s clearly the twice-yearly event to which I look forward the most).

Anyway…I happened to notice some pants in the boys section and I thought he might like them. When I saw him milling about (he was perusing the toys which I wasn’t about to let him get any b/c there is no need for any more non-played-with toys in our house), I casually mentioned that I saw some pants he might like and that he should go check them out.

Insert eyeroll.

But he did go look. (Shock of all shocks!)

The next thing I knew, he was standing next to me, holding the pants. And asking where the fitting room was.

It was a Goodwill Miracle!

Of course I pointed them out to him…because he would have no idea where they would be. And I followed him over there.

But made sure he didn’t see me follow. Didn’t want to spook him…you know how he startles easily.

He went inside and (thankfully) closed the door…yes, I say thankfully only because this was a new experience for him and I didn’t really know what to expect.

Actually, I anticipated a very quick turn around time. Thirty seconds tops.

But after a few minutes, I was beginning to worry. “What was he doing in there?” Finally I called his name…right as he was exiting.

11yo: “What?!?” (like I was the idiot…)

But his irritation was short-lived. In fact, he was all a-twitter. “They fit but I think even in the fall that I’ll still have to wear a belt. And they come right down to the end of my Achilles Heel so by the fall they will be the perfect length. And I think they will be great when we play in the woods!”

Yes, yes they will.

Did I neglect to mention that this boy LOVES camouflage? L.O.V.E.S. it. Like nothing else.

Well, maybe like he loves the Packers.

Insert apologies here to my future DIL…I am choosing which hills to die on, and frankly...squashing his love of camo and/or the Pack are low on my list right now; that gauntlet very well may be passed on to you. I am choosing proper manners and holding utensils correctly and closing the bathroom door. Please forgive?

So I figured this was a home-run on my part. And I don’t mean to brag (but totally will) but I was right.

One last thing, though…we had to have a chat about where to wear the camo. Yes, add that to the list of conversations I never thought I would have: “Where camo is and is not appropriate to wear.”

Me: Just so we’re clear…these are NOT pants to wear to church. Ever.

11yo: Oh, I know…that’s what my GOOD camouflage pants are for.

So long as we’re clear…

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