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'..."

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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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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Plastic Spoon Emergency

Not that we do this often, but I like to partake of the the Happy Hour opportunity at Steak ‘N Shake.

Lest you be unaware (and I’m not really sure how this could be, but I suppose some of you enjoy your lives under rocks), from 2-4 am and 2-4 pm (on week-days only…so don’t be trying this on Saturday or Sunday b/c they will not be amused, nor will they honor the Happy Hour bit…definitely not by experience, mind you), all drinks and shakes at Steak ‘N Shake are half price.

For the record, the PBA and I have never experienced Happy Hour in the am…we are strict pm Happy Hour goers only.

And we are totally utilizing the 11yo as our excuse to partake of the Happy Hour: well, he DID get his braces tightened so I think that deserves a shake…poor baby is in SO much pain that only the soft comfort of a shake can soothe him (as an aside, this kid has a higher pain tolerance than most adults I know…trust me when I say: he’s not in pain).

And while we’re here for him, we might as well get one for ourselves as well…I mean, it would be a crime NOT to.

So…the last time we went to Happy Hour at Steak ‘N Shake, the cashier accidentally gave us an extra plastic spoon. I had my 13yo tuck it away in the glove box.

He had mocked me, openly and without regard or apology.

13yo: When are we EVER going to need a random spoon?

Me: I don’t know…sometimes you just need one.

13yo: Seriously? (Which I need to pause right here and make it known that he totally stole that from me…I ask him and his brother that often…“Seriously?” Seriously, he needs his own catch phrase.)

Me: Yes, you never know when you might have a plastic spoon emergency!

13yo: Insert eyeroll here.

Yesterday, we again partook of the Happy Hour (don’t judge…it had been 3 weeks since the 11yo had an orthodontist appointment, so clearly we were due. I had the Salted Caramel Pretzel shake…it was lovely but could have used some chocolate.)

But I digress.

This time we went through the drive-through…along with everyone else in Greenwood, apparently. And in our rush to move along (I was on my way to get a haircut…I had signed in online and didn’t want to miss my window of opportunity; they run a tight ship at the Great Clips) the Steak ‘N Shake cashier (not to confuse you with a cashier/hair stylist at Great Clips…I am kind of ADD today…don’t judge) neglected to give us any spoons.

Oh the horror.

My 13yo had ordered the Mint Oreo shake, which necessitated a spoon (plastic or otherwise) as those chunks of Oreo are often too large to be sucked up through the straw.

At least they SHOULD be…just my opinion.

As we were pulling out of the parking lot, my 13yo asked me for a spoon.

Me: We didn’t get any.

13yo: Oh, well I’ll just use the one from the glove box.

Me: You mean the one you said we didn’t need to keep?

13yo: Yeah…

Me: You mean the one you made fun of me for keeping?

13yo: Yeah…

Me: So would you say that I was right for keeping it “just in case we have a plastic spoon emergency”?

13yo: Yeah…

Me: Go ahead and say it.

13yo: Say what?

Me: Go ahead and say it.

13yo: (insert random mumbling…) Blah blah blah…right….

Me: I’m sorry…what?

13yo: Insert eyeroll here.

Me: Great…I’ll take that as admission.

Yeah, I’m that kind of mom.

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Missing My Cue

Editor's Note: Please refrain from editing this too closely as you read along...I did go back and re-read it, but with tired eyes and ones which may or may not have missed typos, mistakes, etc.

Don't judge.
____________________________

So I would be remiss if I neglected to tell you all that I am not enjoying my week all that much.

Overall, that is.

Parts have been ok...even dare-I-say nice. I've spent time with friends; I got to sit beside a pool which was by a lake and chat with friends; I got to chat with a friend on the phone (you know...the original intended use for a phone?). Aare you seeing a theme here?

All that to say...parts have been good. Where I am running into the "not enjoying it" part is that I have been spending a lot of time alone when I am at home.

For an introvert, that should be a good thing, right? But when the introvert wants to spend time with her family, (aka being a little extrovert-y), she needs the family to be there.

But they have not.

All last week, the boys had camp; when the 11yo came home from his daycamp, he needed time to be alone. (He's my introvert).

And even when my extrovert came home from his week at church camp, he needed to decompress...alone.

Fine. Be that way.

I may or may not have handled it well.

And you may be wondering why I am talking about last week when I was complaining talking about about THIS week.

I'm laying the groundwork for perhaps WHY I am so bothered this week.

Now this week, Mr. AR has been serving at the church each night (long story: local mission trip experience for High School Ministry at our church...the kids stay there all week...including at night...and they run a daycamp at the church during the day.) Mr. AR is spending the evenings with the teens...eating dinner, hanging out, doing devotions, all that stuff.

Which means he's out the door early for work and then home late from church.

It's only a week and totally do-able and I am really not complaining (too much) even though it might seem like I am (ok maybe a little bit but I am really ok with it...it's not for forever).

Plus, I thought I would have the PBA here to keep me company.

Ha!

Monday afternoon, the 11yo had a friend over to play and the 13yo went to a sleepover surprise birthday party.

Tuesday evening, the boys had a friend spend the night.

Thursday evening, the 11yo is spending the night at a friend's house and the 13yo is playing outside.

Friday afternoon the 13yo is having friends over.

Saturday night the 11yo is going to a birthday party sleepover.

So you see...I've been mostly alone in my own house.

For those of you who would give their leg to have some time alone in their house, I apologize. I'm certain you cannot relate and for that I am sorry.

I was you just a couple years ago. There's plenty of time for this to come around to you.

And frankly, I don't know what my point is in telling you all that was except it is possibly to make you feel like you got your money's worth from this post.

More words = more value.

So...tonight, as I said, the 11yo is spending the night at a friend's house. Through a series of events which I will omit form this post so as not to disparage my child, the 11yo is grounded from video games.

You don't need to know details.

I reminded him of this as he was going out the door...because otherwise he may or may not have been fuzzy on the details and parameters of it.

And yes, trust me that I realize that he's been grounded from video games and not from friends. Right now, I find the video games to be a bigger issue than the friends, although the conversation printed below may or may not prove me wrong on both counts.

A couple minutes later, the 11yo returned. He's told his friend that he was grounded from video games. And he then proceeded to narrate their conversation back to me:

The friend: That's ok...we can just play them in secret.

11yo: No, that wouldn't be right.

The friend: It's not a big deal; I won't tell.

11yo: Well, my mom's going to tell your mom that I'm grounded, plus it wouldn't be the right thing to do. (drops his head and looks at the floor...summoning up TRUE remorse)

Me: You're exactly right...it wouldn't be right. Thank you for making that choice.

(Silence and HUGE pregnant pause)

11yo: Mom! You missed your cue! You were supposed to say "I'm so proud of you for making that choice that you can play video games tonight!"

Me: Ummmm yeah that's not going to happen.

11yo: Well, I figured but it was worth a shot...

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Hi! I’m Ben But You Can Call Me Benny!

Yes, we are (but not surprisingly) late to the “Lego Movie” party.

I just saw it two weeks at the Cinemark (it’s the cheapie movies, lest you be questioning my staunch stance on how wasteful movie theaters are). 

This was the first time viewing for me. My 11yo saw it when it first came out (at a friend’s birthday party) and my 13yo had not experienced it until 2 weeks either.

And then it came out on DVD last week.

And my parents bought it. For us. Them. Whoever may want to watch it.

I have seen it (or at least heard it in the background) approximately 537 times since then. I have most of it memorized. My 11yo has all of it memorized.

That may be slightly exaggerated. 

Slightly.

Anyway…I thought it was a cute little film. I could appreciate the Lego humor because I was very-much a girl who grew up playing with Legos (you know…when you actually had to use your imagination to build something and not simply follow directions in a booklet…which has its own place and don’t anyone send me some hate mail saying that I devalued Legos.)

Now, I will confess that as I got older, there were Legos sets available with instructions. I remember clearly getting the King’s Castle (#6080) when I was in fifth grade and I thought it was the coolest thing.

Don't judge.

I took that photos from this blog which gives many views of this same set…should you be so inspired/interested/bored and care to take a gander.

Anyway…I liked Legos. I still like Legos. My 13yo….never been too much into Legos.

My 11yo, on the other hand…very much so. He has all my childhood Legos (and for the time, I actually had a lot…nothing compared to his current haul, but still.)

And now we have Legos coming out our ears. And yet we continue to buy more.

And by “we” I mean “he”…he has his own money and that’s what it’s for: discretionary spending. So if some fun event comes up and he has spent all his money on Legos, well then so be it; he does not go to said fun event.

But I digress. This is not a diatribe on how to teach my children to spend their money wisely and save even more wisely. It is about Legos.

Kind of.

One of the things I found most amusing in The Lego Movie was the character Benny.

You know Benny…the 1980-something Space Guy. And he is funny to me for a reason you can surely guess: I had a Benny.

Mine was not blue…I believe he was red (they also came in red or white, as I recall…and Google confirms it. If it’s on the Internet, it must be true.)

And since my 11yo has my Legos, hence…he has my Benny.

At least he SHOULD have my Benny.

And today, a friend of his was over. They have been playing Legos for the past 3 hours.

They did take a break to eat a quick lunch. And (of course, this goes without saying but I shall state it anyway in my quest for thoroughness) that they watched a bit of The Lego Movie while they ate.

Duh.

But they have been amused and entertained and I have not heard a cross word between them. I love Legos. 

Have I mentioned that?

And because they are so into The Lego Movie, they were attempting to re-create some of the scenes.

Enter stage right: Benny, the 1980-something Space Guy.

I happened to wander into my son’s room as the search was underway. I could tell they were voraciously searching for something, so (because I’m kind of nosy like that) I asked

Me: What are you guys looking for?!?

Friend: We’re looking for Benny, that old Space Guy.

Me: Ummm did you just say he’s “old”?

Friend: Yeah, that old Space Guy.

Me: Surely you did not mean “old” because he is actually younger than some individuals who live in this house. And I know you wouldn’t be calling anyone who lives in this house “old,” would you?

Friend: Umm, no I didn’t say “old”.

Me: Yeah, I didn’t think so. A 1980-something is NOT old.

Friend: No, I didn’t say “old”.

It’s this particular friend’s first time over...I’m not for sure that he’ll be invited back.

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Happy Happy Birthday to my Oldest Son and a Foodie Non-Friday: Raspberry-Swirl Cheesecake

Some of you may or may not know this but today is my oldest son’s birthday. 

Today he turns 13. 

A teenager. 

It’s a “milestone birthday” as he likes to remind me.

But he is far away. OK, not THAT far, but far enough that I can’t see him and give him a big hug like I am certain he wants me to.

And since last year I shared the story of his birth, I will not regale you with the same tale. But if you want to read it (or re-read it) you can do so here.

One thing I realized that was overlooked in last year’s rendition was that friends of ours had their baby at the same hospital, delivered by the same doctor, just hours before we did.

So here’s the details on that (feel free to skip down, if you only want the recipe, but I assure you that this story is riveting…you might miss out on a lot if you skip).

 So…at the time when we got pregnant with our oldest, my husband played men’s softball. This was an every-Sunday-night leagues, with random games occasionally, and week-end tournaments more often than I would have preferred.

No, I didn’t love the softball.

But…one of his friends/teammates and his wife were also expecting their first child…due in mid-June.

Our child was due mid-July.

If you read last year’s story, you already know my son was early (plus, it is currently mid-June and it is his birthday so…make that connection and voila: he was early. No surprises. I don't care what people say about my readership: you guys are quick.)

Well, our friends had their daughter on a Saturday. The next day was Sunday (and also Father’s Day), so we were planning to go to the hospital right after church, before we celebrated  with our dads, so we could see their new little beautiful bundle of joy.

But, my water broke on Saturday night and away we went to the hospital; home-birth was not on my radar. My doctor was also their doctor and after checking on me, she went up and saw our friends to check on them. And she said to them, “Your friends are downstairs.”

Erin (the new mom) said: isn’t it kind of late for visitors? (It was about 11 at night…so yes, it was kind of late for visitors.)

Doctor: No, they’re downstairs in labor. Her water broke.

Erin: Oh, well that makes more sense.

See…I told you it was funny…totally worth the time it took to read it, right? OK sorry…you’re never getting those minutes back.

And I wish I could find the photos we took with the two babies side-by-side…it’s a big difference one month in utero makes, for sure.

So…now that we have had some semblance of birthday festivities, I must explain why we also have a recipe attached to this post. Especially with it not being a Friday or anything like that.

Well, because it’s what the 13yo chose for his birthday cake.

Last year we had a Snickers Cheesecake which my friend PA was so kind to give me an ah-mazing recipe to make it.

And it did not disappoint. In any way.

And I don't think I shared it with you yet so I'll get right on that...

So…this year, I forgot all about that and assumed we would order our cake from A Piece of Cake which is this fabulous little local bakery.

And they give free samples when you go in so there’s that too.

A couple weeks ago, I informed the now-13yo that we were going to stop and order his cake, and asked what kind would he like.

Silence.

Me: What’s wrong?

13yo: Well, I wanted to have cheesecake again.

Me: Oh, ok…I’m sorry. I forgot about that. Sure…we can do that. Snickers again?

11yo: Does this mean we’re not stopping to get samples?

Me: We weren’t stopping to get samples…we were stopping to place an order and hopefully get some samples.

11yo: So does this mean we’re not stopping to get samples?

Me: No…no samples.

11yo: inert eyeroll and perhaps a grunt

BTW The 11yo does not care for cheesecake…I’m not sure what is wrong with him. So this snit was about the fact that he would not get samples on that particular day, but also at his brother’s party he would not be having any cake either.

Oh well…I didn’t let it bother me.

To be clear, the eyerolling and grunt bothered me; I was not bothered that he was choosing not to eat the cheesecake. More for me!

But what I DID let bother me was that my 13yo chose a different kind of cheesecake.

Did you notice in the above dialogue he did not respond…that’s b/c he was mulling it over.

Finally he told me: Raspberry Swirl.

And I replied with: Oh, you mean Chocolate Raspberry Swirl?!?

13yo: No…no chocolate. Just raspberry swirl.

I don’t know what’s wrong with him either. I give and I give to these children, and this is the result I get back. I blame Mr. AR’s side of the family...what with all their fruit in their desserts and such.

So I searched and searched for a cheesecake I thought would suit his tastes and would also not push me past my breaking point.

Surprisingly, I came across this one by none other that Martha Stewart…the Queen of Superfluous Details.

And yet, I think you will agree that it is pretty straight forward. And of course, I added my notes for my changes/alterations/etc. I’m full-service.

Without further delay, I give you Raspberry Swirl Cheesecake. And don’t be afraid to drizzle a little chocolate sauce on top (ours was Hershey’s Syrup…don’t judge)…it totally made up for the fact that there’s no chocolate inside the cake.

Raspberry Swirl Cheesecake

Ingredients

• 1 cup finely ground graham crackers
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
• 1 3/4 cups sugar
• 6 ounces raspberries (or about 6 ounces of raspberry jam plus 1-2 teaspoons of water…which is totally what I did, b/c I had it on hand…don’t judge)
• 32 ounces cream cheese, room temperature
• Pinch of salt
• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
• 4 large eggs, room temperature
• Boiling water, for roasting pan

Directions

• Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Wrap exterior of a 9-inch (although I used a 10-inch pan and had good results…I just added a touch more butter and about 1/8 more graham cracker crumbs) springform pan (including the base) in a double layer of foil; set aside.
• Stir together cracker crumbs, melted butter, and 2 tablespoons sugar in a medium bowl. Press crumb mixture firmly onto bottom of pan. Bake until set, about 10 minutes. Let cool in pan on a wire rack. Reduce oven temperature to 325 degrees.
• Process raspberries in a food processor until smooth, about 30 seconds. Pass puree through a fine sieve into a small bowl; discard solids. Whisk in 2 tablespoons sugar, and set aside. Or if you are using raspberry jam, heat in a small saucepan with 1-2 T water to make it like thinner and pass it through a fine sieve into a small bowl; discard solids.
• Put cream cheese in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment; mix on medium speed until fluffy, about 3 minutes. With mixer on low speed, add remaining 1 1/2 cups sugar in a slow, steady stream. Add salt and vanilla; mix until well combined. Add eggs, one at a time, mixing each until just combined (do not overmix...duh!). Pour cream cheese filling over crust.
• Drop raspberry sauce by the teaspoon on top. With a wooden skewer or toothpick, swirl sauce into filling.
• Set cake pan inside a large, shallow roasting pan. Transfer to oven. Carefully ladle boiling water into roasting pan to reach halfway up sides of cake pan. Bake until cake is set but still slightly wobbly in center, 60 to 65 minutes.
• Transfer cake pan to rack; let cake cool completely. Refrigerate, uncovered, 6 hours or overnight. Before unmolding, run a knife around edge of cake.

NOTE: This cheesecake, once set, can be wrapped in plastic and refrigerated for up to three days. Or can be frozen for the week that the Birthday Boy is at camp…he had one piece before he left and the remaining pieces went into the freezer to await his eminent return.

Let stand at room temperature for 20 minutes before serving.

Original SOURCE: Martha Stewart Living, May 2004

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