Resolvier

So, this is pretty much how I feel.

 Last January, I made a resolution to write on this blog every day. Even if it was something stupid, it didn't matter. The whole point was to force me into being better at follow through. Well, I completely dropped the ball on that whole write-every-day follow-through thing but totally nailed the stupid part so, partial victory yeah? What I mostly managed was to give myself another task at which to fail. As if I didn't have enough of those already.

 It's this experience that has made me start to wonder if we aren't going about New Year's resolutions all wrong. It's kind of ridiculous to wait until January every year to decide to do something about our problems or to fix something about ourselves. If you can't commit to making yourself better in the middle of March, or the end of June, then what makes you think you can manage it just because it's January 1st? Why do you think those money grubbing bastards at Wal-Mart have the exercise equipment front and center at the start of the year but it disappears completely by Easter, replaced by chocolate bunnies and Peeps in every color? That's because they know we will have given up on our fitness goals by then and be desperate to assuage our guilt by cramming marshmallow treats and candy coated chocolate in our cram holes. That's why. 

Think that one through, Jack.  

There is nothing magical about January, people. As months go it really kind of sucks.

 So, I propose we stop setting ourselves up for failure and make resolutions that will find us patting ourselves on the back all year rather than obsessing over the best method for committing Hara-Kari by May. 

At the latest.

With this new way of doing things in mind, I am feeling resolvier

and resolvier by the minute. 

Oh goody.  

This year I resolve to:

-drink more coffee. With creamer and sugar and anything else I like in it. And if by anything else I mean a whole fifth of vodka or enough Baileys to kill a pig, no judgement. I have 4 kids. By the middle of this year, three will be teenagers.

-buy more scrapbook paper. Because it's pretty and I like it and it's pretty and...it's pretty. As in, spend the GNP of a small but moderately well off African nation on paper. When we have to start stacking it on the bed, (about 3 1/2 weeks from now) it will just make bedtime that much more fun.

-be even more amused by inappropriate jokes rather that less. If prostitutes don't want me to find them funny, they should find a different profession.

-drink mind-boggling amounts of Pepsi and Coke. Does it really matter how fat I get if my hands are curled into useless fists anyway? Answer: No.

-stop wasting time and energy on trivialities like sweeping the floor. That's what ants and mice are for. Same goes for counter-tops and dirty dishes and...well, everything.

-use more curse words. Because they amuse me and make me feel better. Always.

-outwardly mock my fellow human beings more. Let's face it, people are stupid and I really am going to Hell anyway.

-run with any craft project that comes to mind. Trust me, there are about 1000 rolling around up there. If we end up with twice as many half-finished craft projects piled on every surface, so be it. It's NOT MY FAULT I can't  play with paper 27 hours a day.

-continue to make fun of and joke with Lisa what's-her-name. Because once you give my digits to the sister missionaries, all bets are off. AND because if I can still laugh about it, I won't give into the urge to find her and stab her with a spork every time she texts me.

-tweet more. A LOT more. Not because anybody wants me to but because it makes me happy to know that all 4 of my followers know when I am at the ghetto Wal-Mart on 3rd west or have seen a low quality picture of my orange chicken from Panda Express. 

and last but not least, 

-eat more bacon. As in, eat Oprah's weight in bacon. That kind of eat more bacon. My arteries are already pretty pissed at me anyway.

An Artful Christmas

Happy December. 

Take that greeting to heart because we all know that in about a week or so I am going to be heartily sick of all things holiday and saying as much every chance I get. 

I discussed this phenomenon earlier this year with one of my BFF's and we came to the conclusion that part of the problem stems from the insane over commercialization of Christmas.

 I know.

 Ground breaking stuff.

 Even though it may be well trodden ground, I still feel it to be very true for me. 

That is why the Christmas subway art that has been rolling around in my head since October morphed from bright and jolly, Santa and holly into this:

I took a 9x12 flat canvas and covered it in pages from an ancient copy of Les Miserables.

 Don't freak out-it was literally in pieces.

 From there it was a matter of  laying the vinyl on top.

 Besides the actual design of the words, (everybody knows that's the hard part)

 the thing that took me the longest was

 finding sufficiently festive ribbon that didn't clash with the yellowed book pages. 

Pleased with it I am. Hang it I will.

Maybe if I get it up quickly, I can stave off the 

Holiday Blahs 

for a few more days than usual.

P.S. Can you tell I watched Star Wars this last weekend? 

I love being a nerd.

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.

Saving Sanity (or what's left of it anyway)

Fall Break.

The children are out of school today and tomorrow.
 Like any good mother, I was looking forward to having this break with the children. 

Until about 10:00 this morning when the umpteenth knock-down-drag-out started and ended with Turner calling everyone several words that you wouldn't say in church, Suzie doing her Velociraptor impression as she passes out death threats and with the few words he is getting in edgewise, Thomas is making sure that no one could be in doubt as to the absolute superiority of his character, intellect and gaming skills. 

It was exactly at this moment that I remembered I'm actually a crappy Mom and that the kids go to school for a reason.

 *It's the only way to preserve my sanity AND keep them alive.*

Yeah. Crappy Mom.

Luckily, when I took to the computer out of self-defense this morning, I found a few sanity savers. No, it's not a blog full of advice on how to be a better parent or the family crisis hotline number. I happened across more insane product reviews on Amazon. Some are as good as the Banana Slicer ones I found a few months back. I think I'm saving up for the Tuscan Milk first. A little spendy but sounds worth it. I hope the Hubs doesn't read this because I just about have Christmas wrapped up thanks to The Mountain Three Wolf Moon Short Sleeve Tee and Zubaz Pants. And since I believe you can never be too prepared, I hope to acquire How to Avoid Large Ships for our emergency kits. 

 Now that my face hurts from laughing, not clenching my teeth in irritation, I can load up the kids for a (hopefully) pleasant trip to the liquor store.
If that doesn't work out, there is always the option of ordering up myself the Uranium Ore. Some people have way too much time on their hands.
Bless their hearts.

You must eat these!

In spite of recent evidence to the contrary, I'm not a big banana fan.

 About once a month I might talk myself into eating one but only if it's still half green. Once they become even all the way yellow (let alone really ripe), I'm outta there.

 Now that you know this about me, you'll understand how good these bars must be for me to recommend them.

 They're called Banana Bread Bars but they're more like moist banana cake.

 Really, it doesn't matter what the bars are like because the real reason they're so good is the brown butter frosting with which they're topped. After trying it for the first time, I knew I had found my new boyfriend.

Seriously. Yum.

This frosting could possibly make shoe leather edible.

I found the recipe here. Via Pinterest of course.

 Is there any other way these days? 

Even if you don't have any ripe bananas hanging around, call the neighbors, go to the store, whatever-just find some. Then, after you try these, call me and we'll brainstorm other things on which we can put this frosting. 

That is, besides on a spoon, heading into my mouth. 

Already done that one.

Banana Bread Bars:

1 1/2 c. sugar     1 c. sour cream     1/2 c. butter softened     2 eggs

1 3/4 c (3 or 4 ripe) bananas, mashed     2 t. vanilla

2 c. flour     1 t. baking soda     3/4 t. salt     1/2 c. chopped walnuts (optional)

Frosting:

1/2 c. butter     4 c. pwd sugar     1 1/2 t. vanilla     3 T. milk

Heat oven to 375 degrees. grease and flour 15x10 jelly roll pan. In a large bowl, beat together sugar, sour cream, butter and eggs until creamy. Blend in bananas and vanilla. Add flour, b. soda and salt. Blend for one minute. Stir in walnuts. Spread batter evenly into pan. Bake 20-25 minutes or until golden brown. Meanwhile, make frosting. Heat butter over med. heat until boiling. Let the butter turn a delicate golden brown and remove from heat immediately. Add rest of frosting ingredients and whisk until smooth. Spread the frosting over the bars while they are still warm. 

 Makes about 2 dozen bars. 

Note: I don't have a 15x10 pan. I used my 13x9 pan and it worked out fine. You just end up with slightly taller bars with thicker frosting.

So nice to see you, my friend

It's was 44 degrees when I shoved everyone out the door this morning. 

Hooray for October
Listen up people. Fall has arrived.
Let's dig out the jackets and sweaters.
 Time for vats of soup, piles of pumpkin themed baked goods and actually sleeping under a blanket at night.
 I must say, it's about damned time too.
Maybe I can start feeling like a human again. I hate being hot more than almost anything. I have a tendency to turn into a hibernating shrew during the summer so it's a good thing for everyone around here when Autumn temperatures finally arrive. Maybe this weekend I'll celebrate by going outside more than once. AND, for more than 5 minutes. I know. We got us a bad-ass up in here.
 Sweat and sunlight make me sad, okay? 

One problem. I find this time of year so pleasant that I actually get motivated to do...things. Not things like housework and stuff. That would be ridiculous. More like the 20 half-finished projects laying on every surface in the house that need attention. No exaggeration. Truth.
 I think it's the weather. And the new paper designs coming along every 15 minutes or so. And the excited feeling in the air that the holidays are coming but Taylor Swift and Hobby Lobby haven't had a chance to kill it yet. Whatever it is has me feeling like I am on fire with all of the things I want (must, need) to create. Who knows? Maybe I'll actually get a few projects finished this year.
Now, there's a thought to chew on whilst I whip up some properly celebratory
 potato soup.
As long as the stove isn't too embarrassed to heat up after seeing me
do my happy dance in the kitchen this morning.
Did I already say hooray?