Just because I'm paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after me.

Here's the thing,

I have become a prisoner in my own home. 

I know. Sounds a little far-fetched. Possibly even overly-dramatic.

 It's true though. 

I am being pursued by a very determined ward missionary lady. The very same one that seems to be overly fond of the dreaded drop-in visit. The one I mention here. Besides one or two random texts from her, I haven't had any contact with her since then. BUT-according to the kids, I have had a few narrow escapes in the last few weeks. It is only by sheer luck that I have missed her follow up drop-in visits. And, since I am NEVER lucky for long, I am sure that on her next visit she will find me home alone, too drunk to remember that I no longer answer the door and forgetting that I'm not wearing pants or something until it is too late. 

Now, lest you think I am just being paranoid, I can offer further proof that I am in danger of having to endure another awkward drop-in. Awkward on my side, that is. I'm sure she will just go home and take a couple of  nice hot showers to wash away the stench of ghetto she picks up from her required visits to our side of the tracks. 

It started with a text I received at 8:30 on Sunday morning. It woke me up of course. Any self-respecting mother with children old enough to feed themselves breakfast doesn't get out of bed until 9 (9:30, 10:00-close enough) on the weekends. Replace lazy for self-respecting in that last sentence and it describes me to a T. 

The transcript:

Lady: morning, thinking of u & how it would be so fab to be w/u at church in our little class after sacrament mtg. it's empty w/o u. if I can pick u up, text.

I waited a little while for my rage at being awakened that early to subside (did I mention I'm not a morning person?) and for church to start and then sent this answer:

Me: Thanks. It's always nice to be thought of. usually the only little room that feels empty w/o me is in a mental institution.

See how nice I was in actually answering and everything?

Keep in mind that she is at church at this point and that I resisted the urge to say that I was going to tell the bishop she was texting in church.

Lady: I do think of u and ur kids a lot. I want to come visit again if ok. when is a good time, 2day possibly? we could talk outside if easier again, maybe take a walk?

Me: Going to be in Lehi with my oldest most of the day.

This was true if you didn't count the 2 hours that I spent accordion folding book paper and

 watching a movie in bed before I needed to leave.

Lady: ok during the week sometime, I let me know and I can drop by.

Me: no response

Lady:oops u let me know

Me: no response

Lady: regarding your first comment, are u stressed, need anything? 

After the15 minute stretch it took to process the fact that she actually thought I was hinting to her that I needed mental help, (which I probably do but wouldn't seriously tell that to a stranger) I replied with this extremely restrained answer if I do say so myself.

Me: No. that was a joke. If u knew me better u would know that I am never serious. Even during a funeral.

Lady: ok, lol

Firstly, we now know that she used lol which means she could be a satanist working to bring things down from the inside. Everybody knows that this is true:

I try to share this with any and all Christians I run across.

Secondly and more importantly, we know that this woman thinks I am some rude loony that doesn't let people into her house, has been and/or needs to be in a mental hospital but would actually just call her during the week and say, "Hey girl! got some free time. Why don't you boogie on over here and we'll have some grown-up girl bonding time! Yay!" or something to that effect. You think she would have learned a little more about me from our other encounter. If that was anything to go by she should be expecting me to ramble about my colonoscopy and hang up without saying goodbye.

I was still only slightly alarmed until I came home the other afternoon and found a flier for the Relief Society progressive dinner stuck to my door with the following written across the top:

Hope you can make it!  Enjoyed texting with you!

It was after this that I realized that she thought I was crazy enough to wander from unknown house to unknown house with perfect strangers in search of my dinner; (if we share genetic material and/or I will swear in front of you, we're golden. Otherwise, all bets are off.) and also that my luck was about to run out.  

Oh Dear.

I have been forced to develop a few strategies to get around this now very real and constant threat from our intrepid Ward Missionary Lady. Until she moves on to another poor sap, this is my life: 

*If I am in the kitchen, a knock at the door will find me hitting the deck like we are under mortar attack. AND since my children don't seem to have enough of the tell-a-lie-but-make-it-quick gene that runs through my family to tell whoever might be there that I have malaria (moved to Borneo, become a man and left to tour Canada with a barbershop quartet, whatever), I have started to dig a hole into the wall behind the stove in case I become trapped in the kitchen and need a quick escape.

*The few times I have been forced by necessity to venture out, I have taken to first watching through the blinds for any movement that might indicate an ambush before I can dash to the safety of the car. I also wave an old broom handle over my head in a circle as I dash. Just in case the ambush is better executed than I thought.

*When I get back, I duck down and make three passes past the place before I park. Having the porch comes in handy at this point. The bruised shins and black eyes from awkwardly vaulting the porch railing and crawling to the door are worth it.

*If I hear a knock and happen to be in my bedroom or bathroom; I have been known to lie down next to the toilet in the hopes that it will be thought that I hit my head on the toilet and therefore have good reason to avoid whomever is at the door. I keep a bottle of ketchup under the bathroom sink to slather on my head for just such an occasion.

So, keep all this in mind if you decide to drop-by.  

On second thought, maybe you'd better call first.

S.N.O.W!

It's been snowing all morning and I couldn't be happier. If I weren't elbow deep in apples, I might be doing my happy happy snow dance.

There is nothing on earth like the first real snowfall of the year. 

Suz was too excited to bother finding her snow boots and waded out in Sam's slicker boots. Sam (aka Baby Peach) went out for 5 minutes and declared it too cold. That's why Miss Q is here making a snow fort with the neighbor kid instead.

Oat-us-meal-us

I'm not ashamed to say that 

I love oatmeal.

It's cheap, healthy and tasty. What's not to love? 

And, since I am kind of a food Nazi when it comes to what the kids eat for breakfast on school days, (cold cereal only on one or two days! horrors!) oatmeal is also one of the perpetual breakfast options around here. Unfortunately, nobody will eat a bowl of oatmeal every. single. morning. Nobody but me anyway. Therefore, I am perpetually looking for easy breakfast options that are an option at 5 in the morning (when Miss Priss crawls out of bed) but don't require me getting up at 4 to prepare them. This recipe is one of my new favorites. I make it the night before and stash it in the fridge. That leaves me with nothing to do the next morning but to turn on the stove and shove it in. Most of the time I even remember to remove the plastic wrap first. Trust me; at 5 in the morning, there is not much more of which I am capable. I have also been known to make it as a snack after school, leaving the leftovers for a re-heat able breakfast. Which, in turn, leaves me in bed later that morning. Serious win-win. Thomas likes to heat it in the microwave but Turner does her re-heating in a dry frying pan because she thinks it is too mushy otherwise. Vive la Difference! 

I found this recipe in an old Reader's Digest I was reading while I waited 2 hours (2 hours!!!) to get the van aligned. I can't attribute the original recipe to anyone beyond that because in my I'm-entitled-because-I-can't believe-I'm-still-here magazine ripping frenzy, I didn't rip out both pages, just the one that would let me know the basic idea. I never completely follow any recipe anyway, so the rest didn't seem to matter. 

One last note: The original recipe called for blueberries but I don't really love them. I have used both the Wal-Mart brand mixed berries (sans strawberries because they were too big) and straight up raspberries. Both were equally good. But use blueberries if you're sick like that. I also haven't actually made this with the walnuts due to the fact that the older I get, the more and more allergic to them I get. And now you have something good to write about in your journal today.

Baked Oatmeal

2 c. old fashioned rolled oats     1/2 c. walnuts, chopped    

1/3-1/2 c. sugar(depending on the tartness of your berries)    

1 t. baking powder     1 1/2 t. cinnamon     scant 1/2 t. salt     2 c. milk     1 egg    

3 T. butter, melted     2 t. vanilla     2 ripe bananas, sliced     1 1/2 c. frozen berries

1.Preheat oven to 375 degrees with rack in top third of oven.  Butter 8x8-inch baking pan.

2.In a bowl, mix together oats, half the walnuts, sugar, b. powder, cinnamon and salt. In another bowl, whisk together milk, egg, half the butter and vanilla.

3.Arrange bananas in a single layer in bottom of baking dish. Sprinkle 2/3 of berries over top.  Cover fruit with rest of oat mixture. Slowly drizzle milk mixture over oats. Scatter remaining berries and walnuts on top. 

4.Bake 35-40 minutes, until top is golden and oats have set. Remove from oven; drizzle remaining melted butter on top. Serve with extra sugar or maple syrup if desired.

Time's a Wastin'

Happy Tuesday?!?

From the way I could barely crawl out of bed this morning, it appears I may have

 overdone things a bit in the kitchen yesterday. Normally, I'd be couching it all day.

BUT-

 Since the most notable thing about the week leading up to election day is that I have to avoid my television like it's been simultaneously infected with cholera and the plague, I am left with computer based entertainment only. 

What a blessing it is that I am so gifted at wasting time on these danged internets. 

No chance of boredom here. No sir.

 Losing a few more I.Q. points is another story. Something we all know I can ill afford.

Anyway-

Thanks to that magical place known as YouTube, I have new favorites in the time-waster department. They're trailers for movies that tell the truth about said movie. They're also close to what is going through my head when I watch most movies. Because I'm a jerk that way.

Check these out and then just go to YouTube and watch everything on the Screen Junkies channel.

 You won't be sorry. 

AND-

Just in case you are one of the many that find themselves at the breaking point with all of the election ridiculousness, I leave you with this:

Watch it twice if your blood pressure hasn't lowered 

enough after the first go-round.

Isn't that all better now?

You're welcome.

Lessons Learned

Well dearies,
November already.
 I can't help but marvel at how October and September
 managed to so thoroughly kick the guano out of me.

I know. Don't say it.

 Again? 

Do I ever really have anything else happen to me?

There. I said it for you.

Fortunately, when things are going as well as they have been lately, there are
 always hard earned lessons that must be absorbed and passed on. In this case, to you.
Aren't you lucky I'm a silver linings kind of gal?

In the best teaching-others-through-my-mistakes spirit I submit the following:
Taking Thomas to physical therapy every week has given me way too much time to kill at the thrift store that is so very conveniently located across the street. Not only does this allow me the chance to find too many old books to take home and put under the knife (more about that another day), it also has taught me a few things I never knew I needed to know.

 For instance,
Don't think, "aw that's kind of cute" (like I naively did) when the man standing across from you in the book section begins to read aloud romantic sounding passages to his, um, significant other (sister, mother, hostage, snaggle-toothed familiar?). MOVE AWAY post-haste. I don't care how stupid it makes you look-run if you have to. That way, when he continues to read (quite loudly mind you) with nary a stumble when he reaches phrases like, "his magnificent loins" and "freed her pale white globes", you won't find yourself staring in frozen horror at the possibly homeless lovely couple as the not-as-romantic-as-you-thought-they-were words pass through Petey the Perv's spittle-flecked brown teeth. The horror that washes over you when you glance over and witness the creepy smile indicating how pleased he is with his performance won't be something you'll soon forget. Finding a convenient pole into which you can run; head down, full speed, won't make it go away either. Nor will the multiple showers and compulsive hand washing you will find yourself helpless to stop when you get home. Not to mention that you won't be able to walk in the book section at the D.I. without your PTSD coming back full force.

I'll never look at a romance novel the same way again.

Speaking of romance novels, DO NOT believe a book if it tells you it is a "smart, fun-filled romp". I know how easy it is to convince yourself that a book couldn't lie to you. After all, books are our friends. BUT-keep in mind that a paperback that has been priced at 50 cents will tell you ANYTHING to get you to take it home. It could and would lie to you. Even if it bandies about words like "wonderful"or "enchanting", remember that a book that has been consigned to what amounts to the book ghetto will tell you whatever it thinks you want to hear just to get out of there. Even if it's only for the 2 hours it will take you to read it in the bath. In these cases, smart can usually be interpreted to mean that the heroine reads too many books and quotes poetry or the hero of the story has kooky parents that encourage him to marry the virginal scullery maid even though he's a Duke or something equally ridiculous. Remember, "wonderful" or "enchanting" probably  mean "dirty" or "really dirty" and "fun-filled romp" means "badly written porn penned by a lonely woman with frizzy hair that lives with too many cats". You can count on it.

That should keep you out of trouble when wandering the book section.
 If you should decide to venture forth into the other aisles keep in mind:

*The brown substance on that adorable stuffed tiger most likely isn't chocolate. Save your quarter.
*I know the N' Snyc figurines in the case may seem like a fun piece of reasonably priced nostalgia, but if you buy that set and take them home, you know they'll end up under the bed in the BOX OF SHAME with your Backstreet Boys sweatshirt, Ricky Martin CD's and the last shred of your self respect.
*And last but not least: if you find yourself reaching for the same quart jar as the woman pushing around a cart full of picture frames (sans glass), plastic cups and high heeled shoes from the Eisenhower era, let her have it and back away slowly. I don't care how much you'd rather pay 75 cents apiece instead of full price for them at Walmart. It's not worth the top 1/2 of 3 of your fingers that she'll be spitting onto the floor after you insist that you got there first.