Crockpot, Teach Me Your Ways

Here I go again with another crockpot recipe. I've tried several and I always end up with a unicolored stew; it tastes alright the first night but once it goes in a Tupperware the party is over. Some of my past failures have been:

Image courtesy of flickr

Feijoada
Black beans and rice
Cheese and ale soup
Pot roast

Etc.

But this time is going to be different, I say as I go to the store, load up on unlikely ingredients and cast them all into my cauldron. Maybe that's the problem - probably I need to dress up as Hermione and find Bezoars and junk like that. Or I need to Snape to oversee the process. Yes, that's it; I need Snape as a sort of magical Gordon Ramsey to yell at me while I brown the meats. 

Because, you see, I love the idea of crockpots. Everything goes in, like the Sneetches, to the pot around 9 am. Six hours later, the house smells heavenly and Accio Dinner. Take that, Polar Vortex!

Not how it turns out, however. The Feijoada was a pain to put together, and during the process there was a strange smell as the ingredients combined. With enough wine we were able to eat the stuff, but the leftovers (and there were plenty) went into the trash.

No, my crockpot is more of a warming device than a cooking device, as anyone who has had my sausage and peppers can tell you. Roast those sausages, sauté the onions and peppers, and throw it all in with plenty of EVOO and Frank's Hot Sauce. Add rolls from a real Italian bakery and some football = culinary heaven.

Image courtesy of flickr

But see, that's not really cooking. It's more cut and paste or combining some ingredients. I want to have casseroles! Soups! Other warm stuff I can't think of right now!

Okay, I'm going to try it again this weekend with this chicken recipe, courtesy of southernfood.com. I like it because it's all fresh ingredients without processed stuff. Cross your fingers it makes it past the Tupperware stage.

Chicken and Broccoli Casserole Recipe, Slow Cooker

By Diana Rattray

 This chicken and broccoli casserole is easy to prepare and cook in the slow cooker. A homemade creamy sauce completes this tasty casserole. It makes a terrific meal with rice or noodles.

Yield: Serves 4 to 6

Ingredients:

· 4 c. cubed cooked chicken or turkey

· 1 (4 oz.) can sliced mushrooms, drained, or use fresh mushrooms

· 1 (5 oz.) can sliced water chestnuts (I'm going to leave those out, but that's just me.)

· 1 (10 to 12 oz.) pkg. frozen chopped broccoli, about 1 1/2 to 2 cups

· 1/2 cup chopped onion

· 1 cup Sauce (below)

· Paprika

· .

· Sauce:

· 1/4 c. butter

· 1/4 c. flour

· 1/2 tsp. salt

· 1/4 tsp. pepper

· 1 c. chicken broth

· 1/2 cup evaporated milk

· 2 tbsp. cooking sherry

Preparation:

Spread half the chicken in the slow cooker or Crock Pot. Top with the mushrooms, water chestnuts, onion and broccoli. Arrange remaining chicken on top. Cover with sauce (directions below). Sprinkle with paprika. Cover and cook on low for 4 to 6 hours or high for 2 to 3 hours, or until chicken is thoroughly cooked.

Sauce Instructions: Melt butter in medium saucepan over low heat. Blend in flour, salt, and pepper. Cook over low heat, stirring until mixture is smooth and bubbly. Remove from heat. Stir in broth and milk. Heat to boiling, stirring constantly. Boil and stir 1 minute. Remove from heat; stir in wine. Makes about 2 cups.

I'll let you know how this turns out; meanwhile, if any lovely readers have great crockpot recipes to share, please let me know and I'll put them up as well. 

Garage Sale

Our neighborhood sponsored a block garage sale last weekend, on Saturday - one of the hottest days of the year. My husband and I found out about it on Friday night, which didn't leave much time to prepare, but still - the opportunity to get rid of some of the junk in our basement and attic was too good to pass up.

Like two crazed people, on Saturday morning we dashed around the house, grabbing items in boxes and conferring - "Can I get rid of this?" "Hell yeah you can!"

Both of us had gone through the Clean-Up-After mode when my mom passed away. Boxes, files, drawers, books - so many things to take to Goodwill or just throw out. It was great to reduce our own stockpile of unnecessary crap.

Why did we have three unused TV's? How had we accumulated so many jello molds? And in heaven's name, where had all those stuffed animals come from?

Dude, you missed it!

Meanwhile, as we triumphantly dragged the stuff to the Sell pile, our daughter watched anxiously. At her end of the life spectrum, she wanted to keep everything - not let anything change.

Garage sale people are early people. It was 8:30, and already the cars had begun to troll the streets with rubbernecking passengers looking for the good haul.

Our old bikes sold right away.
So did old video games.
They laughed at our TV collection - my husband ended up giving those away at work.
A surprising number of books sold (I would have paid them to haul them off!)
Old coats - gone.
The bed rails, right out of the package and never used - spurned.
Ditto the jello molds. But I can't really blame the shoppers for that.

While the cars rolled passed, my husband and I ran back and forth, grabbing more stuff. Garage sale fever had gotten into our blood, as the pile of ones in his pocket piled up and the basement emptied out. The kid kept sneaking stuff back into the house, which didn't help, until we had to resort to bribery to be allowed to sell it.

You know you want them.

The rain started, of course. Why would it not? We only had a table full of TV's and books in the front yard. DH flapped a tarp over the junk and continued to sell.

At the end of the day, we were sweatier than we had ever been before. My calf muscles ached. We still had to bring the unsold goods back downstairs. Still, we sold a lot - some of it baby items to a young couple who seemed very happy to get it. And isn't that what it's all about?

However, if anyone wants a set of bedrails and some jello molds - call me.

Carnival Time Again, EEK

Oh no, it's that time of year again. I have to lug my sweaty behind to the 

school carnival, 

along with two excited 8 year olds who view the entire event as a sort of prom for elementary kids. They are going to run into all their friends, while I juggle sunscreen, bug spray, and carny food. 

I just know it.

Not always such a grouch, but the school carnival really is Hell Night for parents. First, we have to load our kids onto rides that grooooooaaaaaan and squeak as the children are strapped in and whirled into Centrifugal torture. They seem to like it pretty well; I turn away and try not to eye the one bolt coming loose on the structure.

It's Catholic school, so we do get to watch the priests aim for each other at the dunk tank. It's the one highlight, when Father Fernando gets a soaking. Winning!

Who has two left hands and wants to dunk the guy in a full suit? This gal!

I've got my tactics down for hustling kids past the Overpriced / Cheapo toy game stalls. "You've already got five of those at home... win anymore and we'll all have to move out to the garage... look, funnel cake..."

Yes, I will feed the child batter deep-fried in mystery oil rather than carry home another rubber duck or three foot long fuzzy python stuffed with old cleaner bags.

We can relax in the food tent, except the band there always turns the volume up to "Eleven" and I like my eardrums. So, no.

Sit and get a face henna tattoo that you'll wash off in twenty minutes? And pay many dollars for that experience? I think not.

Am I the only one who eyes up the "fresh lemonade" stand and wonder, Do they wash those lemons?

At eight o'clock, the vampires come out. Goth dudes and girls appear, with black lipstick and micro shorts over tattered fishnets. I LOVE it when they show up, because at that point we really need to get home and wash off several centimeters of machine lube and sugar.

Yup, Carnival Night. 

Best Friends

Is there anything so fragile and so strong as friendship? I have seen people who are dear friends lose their bond, their connection, over a few ill-judged words. But I have also seen friendships survive great illness and tragedy.

Over the weekend, my daughter invited her best friend on a family trip to the beach. We drove the girls to the house, where we all shared a room and two tiny, hard beds. 

There was no access to TV all weekend. The girls had one single iPod they would have to share, as well as their dolls. Other than that, they had sand and stones as entertainment devices.

And - they were beautiful together. My husband gave them wheelbarrow rides (the hit of the weekeend) and dug them a hole at the beach. We watched as a wheelbarrow became a roller coaster and a hole in the sand turned into a castle with secret passages and huge throne rooms. 

The girls did kid stuff we adults simply couldn't understand - they insisted, for example, on draping all the available clothes over their blankets on the bed to sleep. I can't imagine having a ton of sweatshirts over me at night, but they seemed to enjoy it pretty well.

And why did they have to wear matching hats and glasses as they played that one iPod together? We may never know.

All of those experiences - swimming in ice-cold water in a rockpool, going to the local carnival and eating real cotton candy "on a stick!" and hot dogs, watching the tiny town's memorial Day parade - those shared experiences are the slim, glowing threads weaving together to form the basis of a lifelong friendship.

And whether it will be strong enough to last for years and years - no one can answer that question.

But the odds look good.

Movie Date

We're off to see The Croods today, and I already know what is going to happen:

1. I'll dread the movie as a dumbo kiddie deal but will end up sniffling at the sentimental parts and laughing like a hyena at the comedy, just as I did with Despicable Me, Toy Story 3, etc etc

2. My kid will want a drink (a precedent set by someone's father) and I'll order the smallest one they have at the snack bar. The snack dude will hand me a filled soda cup the size of a small oil barrel. 

People rail against drink limitations, stating they should be able to buy a beverage as large as they want - but couldn't we buy one as small as we want too? In other words, movie theater companies, could I please have the option to buy a Sprite for my kid that is smaller than her entire head and shoulder area?

3. We will stick to the floor , probably because other movie-goers spilled their massive drinks.

4. The tallest man in the world will come and sit right in front of my kid.

5. Halfway through the movie, just as I decide I love the film and am happily sniffling away, my daughter will have to pee, thanks to the.... 

oh, I'll stop.

6. The woman behind me will get lots of texts, and her alert will be "Gangnam Style."

7. I'll lose the car in the parking lot and have to use my embarrassing (to my 8 year old) Honk Option on my key fob.

8. On the way home she'll beg and beg me to put the DVD on her birthday wishlist. 

9. Despite all of my whining, we'll have a wonderful time.

New Book in an AMAZING Series!

One problem I hear from many parents of advanced readers is that the books their kids enjoy aren't right for their age level.

Enter Karen Pokras Toz and her Nate Rocks series. The new book in the series is Nate Rocks the School, and here is an excerpt:

*****

Buildings collapse to the ground as the giant robot pushes its way through the

dark city streets. The road crumbles underneath the massive beast’s every move.

Frightened citizens have all been evacuated and are hiding inside City Hall’s

basement, normally a secure refuge during even the worst situations.

“Nate,” the mayor pleads with his hands on my shoulders, “you’ve got to do

something! The robot will be here in just a matter of minutes. He is ruining our city!

If you don’t do something, we will all be crushed! Please, Nate, please!”

“Me? Why me?” I ask, wondering why this powerful and strong leader would want

my help. Isn’t he the one who is supposed to protect us?

The mayor bends down close and looks me in the eye. “Why because you’re Nate

Rocks, of course! Now go! There is no time to waste.”

I look around to a sea of terrified eyes staring at me. Yes, I’ve got to do something.

Everyone here is depending on me. I run up the basement steps and out of the

building. Debris is flying all around as the robot turns the corner, taking out the

movie theater with a single swipe of its mechanical arm. He is still several blocks

away from City Hall, but moving closer by the second. The sound of his steps

combined with the destruction around me is deafening.

Halfway down the street I spot it ... the old train station that’s been closed for years.

The city has been working to restore it into some kind of historical landmark. The

front has been covered with metal scaffolding for months now. That’s it! I race down

the street, toward the train station and the robot, as fast as I can possibly run. I have

to time everything perfectly or my plan will fail.

As I reach the train station, I grab hold of the metal ladder and hoist myself up to the

first landing on the scaffolding. Not high enough. I jump up to grab on to the next set

of ladders and proceed to climb at a rapid pace until I am on the roof of the building.

The robot is just steps away. I crouch behind a metal beam to stay out of sight. As

the robot approaches, I leap from the roof onto the giant machine’s shoulder, just

as he knocks the train station to the ground. I swiftly slide to the back of the robot,

out of his line of vision, and lower myself carefully down until I find the square door.

Just as I suspected! I open the door to the control panel on his back. Different colored

wires hum as they power the robot’s every move. With all my strength, I pull the

wires, detaching them from the monster. I hold tight as he collapses to the ground

in defeat just steps away from City Hall. Silence suddenly fills the air around me, but

not for long.

Everyone comes running out of the building cheering. The mayor swings me

through the air as the crowd chants:

“Nate!”

“Nate!”

“Nate!”

“Nathan! Are you listening?”

“Huh?” I look up to see Mom standing over my shoulder.

“Nathan, why are you drawing pictures all over that permission form? You know

you have to return that to school today!” Mom takes the slip of paper out of my

hands. “Honestly, Nathan, now where am I supposed to sign? You’ve drawn robots

everywhere. Don’t you want to go on this trip?”

Of course I want to go! One of the perks of moving up to fifth grade is the trip in the

spring to New York City. Who wouldn’t want to go? Actually, now that I think about

it, I kind of remember my older sister, Abby, complaining that she didn’t want to

go back when she was in fifth grade ... something about not being able to bring her

curling iron. I guess she didn’t want anyone to see her without her hair done. Girls!

Although, I can’t say I really blame her there. I shudder just thinking about it. Oooh ...

maybe that annoying classmate of mine, Lisa Crane, won’t want to go either. All she

is going to do anyway is act like she knows everything about everything. That’s what

she does. I have to admit; it was kind of nice getting away from her over the summer

when I went to overnight camp with my best friend, Tommy. But now that we’re

back, and school has started up again, I feel like Lisa is everywhere I turn.

*****

You can get the book here:

And don't forget to enter the giveaway here:

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Blue Morning

Alexander from
the Judith Viorst book

My kid woke up in an instant tantrum, and I had a touch of stomach flu. 

Due to the tantrum, Kid missed the bus and I had to drive her to school, yells and all. 

On the way there, I saw that the gas needle was pushing E. 

At that point, I knew I was having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.

I got stuck behind Mr. Slow in traffic, and we reached the school too late to get in the side drop-off entrance. I had to get out of my car and sign her in as late.

The temperature had dropped at least 30 degrees overnight, and I was wearing a light spring jacket. Also, since I had expected to stay INSIDE the car for the drop-off, I was sporting bedroom slippers.

Thanking the good Lord that I had at least changed out of pyjamas, I walked Kid in, signed her in, and got back in the car with a sigh of relief. 

I coasted into the gas station and rolled down the window. The man came to the car, and he was skatting. Skatting! in 20 degree weather!

"How are you, lady?" he asked with a broad smile.

It was infectious. I smiled back. "Just fine," I lied. "And you?"

"Oh, you know, I'm in that moooood!" This was followed by a fine belly laugh and more skats. 

Image courtesy of DocumentaryStorm.com

At that point I began to feel ashamed of myself. Here I was being cranky about stuff that was, in the grand scheme of things, nothing but minutia. And if Gasoline Pump Man could be happy and skatt-ish while he worked outside in freezing weather, I could be happy inside my heated SUV. 

Maybe, I thought, I could salvage the morning. I would play some sweet tunes, have a long cup of tea and a hot shower, and wash the bad start away. 

Filled with these virtuous plans, I paid Happy Skat Man and drove off.....

.... only to realize my kid had left her coat and lunch in the car.

A Birthday Party

Last year, around this date, I was having a good day. I wrote a few blog posts, got my chapter finished, cleaned the house, worked out - productive city. 

Image courtesy of Fresh Wallpapers

At that point my husband suggested that we all go out to dinner. Filled with the beaming pride of one who had accomplished everything on her list, I agreed.

We went to a pasta restaurant and ordered salads. The waiter poured the wine we had brought into glasses. He lifted his in a toast, and here is what he said:

"Happy Birthday - to ME"

I had forgotten. His Birthday. I had been so blindsided with errands and minutia that I let it all take over the real world or what should be really important. 

Yes, I am a thorough dork.

This year, I wasn't about to let that happen. The thing is, with the new football schedule, Superbowl now falls right on or around his birthday. So I have to get ready for the annual S' Bowl party and then prepare for the big man's big day. (That's what happened last year... yeah, that's the ticket....)

We bought the wireless speaker that he wanted for his phone and wrapped it up. I made his favorite dinner, and a lava brownie cake. The man likes his chocolate.

Our daughter got into it and created a birthday video for Daddy, featuring a Springsteen song and everyone, including her American girl dolls and stuffed animals, holding up Happy Birthday signs. It was her Where is Matt? moment.

Daddy got home and ate hugely. He blew out the candle on his cake and opened his gift. I am certain his favorite part was Baby Girl's video, though.

Guess what? None of the To-Do items on my list got done. And that was just as it should be.

How I Got it All Wrong or, Pocahontas

Last night my kid watched the movie Pocahontas, the Disney version. She came across it by accident, on Netflix, as I surely would have never chosen that film to show her.

Yup, gorgeous. But real? I don't think so.

Why not?

Well, let's start with the serious disregard of history, plus the demeaning of a princess's act of kindness and courage turned into a ploy to save her boyfriend. Plus - a one-shoulder dress that just happens to showcase the girl's body .... mutter.... Lovely though she is, and I do think that Pocahontas is one of the prettiest Disney Princesses ever, the movie was on my Do Not Watch Ever list.

But!!!

The real Pocahontas, in England. OK, girlfriend was still gorgeous.

My kid loved it. LOVED it.

I mean, she kept stopping the film to research what really happened, plus she couldn't wait to find out the end. I've tried to get her interested in the Disney Princesses, to no avail, and it just figures that the one I never showed her captured her interest.

So, Mom is being all PC, and kid is simply enjoying a movie.

There are some things I can take away from this:

1. Kids love history and facts. Once I told my daughter, "Parts of this actually happened" she was enthralled. While I was all excited about Tangled, she was more interested in finding out about Captain John Smith (who did not look like that in real life, FYI, kid.)

2. Kids are going to love what they love, and parents simply can't stop that. Sure, I can provide guidance along the way, but at the end of the day Miss Thing is her own person.

3. My daughter was critical of the music in the movie. "Look, mommy - now even the willow is singing." Not every movie has to be eventually turned into a stage musical, Disney.

What Captain John Smith really looked like. That's very different, now, isn't it.

4. MUST POCAHONTAS HAVE A PERFECT MODEL'S MOUTH AS WELL AS LONG LEGS AND HAIR DOWN TO HER BUTT? REALLY? REALLY? AND HE HAS A CLEFT CHIN AND BLUE EYES.... argh - Obviously, I still have issues with this movie. Does that mean I forbid my daughter's watching it? In the end, I have to say No. Hopefully, I can provide some real historical content soon.

5. *SPOILER ALERT* The ending is really, really sad. No, I'm not talking about the movie - I'm talking about what happened for centuries afterwards. That's the main reason why I didn't want to watch Pocahontas - it makes me too depressed.

Still - back to the main point - my kid really, really loved it. And that, I suppose, is all.

Laundry Day

NOT what my laundry room looks like.

Well, it's that time again. Actually, who am I kidding - it's ALWAYS that time. How does laundry happen so often? I swear I just filled an entire castle moat with clothes, towels, and sheets on Monday, so why is every single hamper in the house filled to the brim? Did some clothes wear the other clothing behind my back?

Here, in no particular order, are the kinds of laundry I wrestle each week:

1. Whites - The worst. Each load is filled with such bitty, piddly stuff. Socks, undies, and bras - those instruments of torture that wind themselves around everything else. 

2. Towels - The Tank load. Each towel weighs, when wet, more than my eight year old.

3. Sheets - It's winter, and my husband just looooooves his Kingsize flannel sheets. Of course, Mr. Man doesn't have to wash them, nor does he realize that each sheet takes an entire load. 

4. School uniforms - My kid is a parochial school student, which means uniforms have to be ready to go in the morning. Just when I have the system down, the principal schedules a "Walkathon" or some such thing, and I have to rush the gym uniform into the laundry that morning for wearing on what was SUPPOSED to be a non-gym-uniform-day. And, yes, I do have a special "The pants will be dried before the bus arrives" prayer.

5. Fave jeans - I don't get it. Kid and I both have our favorite pairs of jeans. As soon as they are washed and folded and in the drawers, some time warp occurs and they immediately have to be washed again. In other words, the good stuff is always laundry and not really clothes at all. If someone could explain this phenomenon, I would be very grateful. Thanks.

NOT what my favorite jeans look like.

6. Mattress covers, bathroom rugs, slippers - The rare laundry loads. They don't get done that often, and when they do, I seem to have to dedicate the machines to their use all day. 

7. Delicate / Handwash items - Never get washed. They live permanently at the bottom of the basket.

And then there are other issues, such as the detergent-to-softener ratio (I'm always almost out of one and the other is too heavy to lift) or the "Clothes Can be a Table Centerpiece" theory, when everything is washed, folded and just needs to be put away. That last step is  beyond my feeble strength, apparently. 

And the one lone sock - but no. I'm sorry I ever raised such a hideous subject. We won't even go there.

The Self on the Shelf

Our elf, Harry, has reappeared. Every year, on Thanksgiving, his story shows up on my daughter's bed, and we read it, and in the morning she finds Harry. 

I thought that this year she might have outgrown Harry a bit. 

WRONG 

She is more into him than ever, if that's even possible. 

Here's the deal : First of all, Harry has to remember to hide. I must admit that sometimes Harry stays up late and forgets to hide. He nearly did that the VERY FIRST MORNING, so when Kid came down the stairs, Harry had to leap to a new place. 

Harry misjudged the leap and landed on his head, where he stayed all day. We aren't allowed to touch him, because that is the law, and heaven forbid if we break that law. So, Harry had to lie on his red pointy cap all day with his blood rushing to his head. Not good.

Second, Harry is starting to get a bit overwhelmed with all the gifts and letters he receives every single day from Kid. He appreciates them all, but he is starting to run out of places to put them.

Third, Harry maybe sort of is running out of places to hide. Kid has proclaimed that he can't hide in the bathrooms; since she doesn't want him to see her "doing her business." (Her words.)

Fourth, looking for Harry can be a bit stressful. When it's a school day, like today for example, and Kid has to eat and dress and brush teeth and instead is running all over the house, looking for the elf, it becomes Agita City. 

Fifth, the kid is already starting to miss Harry. And it's not even December. She wants it to be Christmas, but not really, because then there would be no more Harry. I'm just saying that we had a long, long conversation on this very topic. 

Sixth, Harry has a really - what's the word - knowing expression. The sideways glance, the grin - it's  starting to freak me out a little.

Wearing the "Classic Couture Collection." Really? Really?

Seventh, we were in Barnes and Noble the other day, and I saw that you can now buy clothes for Harry. And a DVD of his life. And a female companion. It took a lot of ingenuity and perhaps maybe a few lies to keep kid away from that whole scene.

Still, Christmas will come, as it always does, and Harry will fly back to the North Pole. A new year will arrive, and eventually, Kid will turn nine. At that point, I'll wonder if she'll be into this whole deal next year. Perhaps this could be the Harry's Last Hurrah.

As in Point number 5, I'm going to try not to miss it already, before that even happens.

Seasonal Stuff

A week ago I brought out my Big Sipper mug and started using it for my morning, lunchtime, afternoon, and evening cups of tea. I love this mug because it is one Big Ass Mug, meaning it holds lots of tea in it so I can keep slurping away. 

I also love it because it looks so seasonal, with it's candy cane handle and cheery red color. In fact, the mug has made me long for seasonal stuff. I want to smell cinnamon and spices. I want peppermint and roast turkey. I'd like snow on the windowsills and a fire in the hearth. I want skiing, long walks with hot chocolate at the end of them, shopping in New Hope, PA in those tiny little gifty boutiques, receiving fat letters in the post and sending huge packages to those who live overseas.

I know that in a few weeks I'll be tired of rolling out cookie dough for hours, so long that my back goes into strike mode. I'll be sick of the mall crowds and the search for that One Toy that everybody wants to get for their kid, including those Modern Scrooge Viruses: grownups who go and buy up the wanted toys and sell them on eBay for premium prices. Shame on them!

(I'm talking to you, Mr. Suit ahead of me in line with ten identical Monster High dolls in your shopping cart. I am So Onto You.)

OK, you guys are cool. Carry on.

I'll be beyond sick of the song "All I Want for Christmas is my Two Front Teeth." I'll be tired of wrapping after my tenth paper cut. I'll be sick of cards after writing out my one hundredth Have a Wonderful Holiday. Seasonal Overload - it's coming. It always does.

At the end of it all, that Day will arrive. Kid is 8, so she's still into the whole Schmebang - the cookies, the milk, the stocking, the gifts. She'll wake up and come into our room (she always has to wake us up first, I don't know why) and we'll hear her feet pound down the stairs. There'll be a pause, a moment of "Oh! My! Goodness!" and the feet will pound back up the stairs. 

At that point, Seasonal Overload will somehow return to Seasonal Magic again. We'll eat Pizza Freets, our traditional breakfast, made by Poppy at the deep fryer. I'll have a humungo plate of cookies out, and of course the Big Sipper will be filled with tea. Kid's uncle will come over to watch her unwrap gifts. We'll have roast chicken and pasta (hey, we're Italian) for dinner.

Still in PJ's. Nothing beats that - NOTHING.

I'll enjoy every single second because as Kid hurtles inevitably towards the age of 9, 10, and teen years, the season will change. The gifts will become far smaller and much more expensive (phone, laptop, clothing store gift cards.) They'll be less fun to buy and wrap. I'm dreadfully afraid those pounding feet going up and down the stairs might just disappear. 

As Kid turns into Teen my husband and I might be the ones waking her skinny buns up.

And so I'll do my best to love every little moment, even the Mr. Suit guy with the ten Monster High dolls. Yup, even him.

Power and Revolution

Power is a very important thing, a concept that I only fully realized when we didn't have any. We live in the center of New Jersey, right in the path of Hurricane Sandy and the recent nor'easter storm, so we got hit twice.

The first time was kind of fun, as it always is, for the first day. My husband had to stay home from work, since they had no power there either. He did work during the day on his iPhone, which we recharged on our car. Outside, the rain fell and the wind whirled, giving us a secure feeling. As night fell, I lit a try filled with candles and we started a fire. We played Uno (our daughter won) and I read books out loud to her. There was a certain solidarity, a family feeling of togetherness that we hadn't had in a long time.

Perhaps the power stole it away.

The next day wasn't so fun. The well stopped working, and we had to flush the toilet with water from the tub. That makes you confront nature and survival - fast. There were no showers to be had, of course, nor could I wash dishes. I believe I became pretty cranky that day, born of fright as I saw the water supply dwindle. 

Still, we read more books and played more Uno (kid won again, which made her very happy.)

On the third day, we had had it. We loaded up the car with empty water bottles, dirty dishes, dirty clothes, and our own dirty selves. We drove to my brother-in-laws house where I had the longest, hottest shower of my life. I washed all the dishes. I did the laundry. We turned on the news. We charged up our electronics. 

Kid played iPod, and I checked in on my laptop. That family solidarity melted away. 

We went to a diner and had stuff that you can't eat without power - salad and baked potatoes and ice cream. I kept going to the bathroom just for the wonder of being able to watch a toilet flush, whenever you want it to. We stopped and got gas and more water and canned foods (I won't be able to eat soup or Spaghettios for a very, very long time.)

Arrived back home, and the fun returned, since we were all clean. We played more Uno. Read more books.

When the power came back on, the feeling was - indescribable. It was the middle of the night and I was adding wood to the fire to keep it burning. I was in a daze. What the hell is that? I remember thinking. Kid was ecstatic when she found out she could watch TV the next morning. I scrubbed the floors and toilets, and did about ten more loads of laundry.

And then the Nor'easter came - and it all happened again.

Now as I write this on my laptop, I can hear the power rushing through the house. The fridge is humming. So is the heat. And it is wonderful to have, and I feel desperately sorry for those folks who survived BOTH storms without power at all, but I wonder - with all the electricity and convenience, what have we traded for that? My kid won't want to sit and read books anymore. We won't play Uno together again, nor have carpet picnics. 

I'll be interested to watch the upcoming show, Revolution, about the permanent loss of power on Earth. I think there is a mental adjustment, a deep psychological change that occurs with a severe change in lifestyle, but whether it is good or bad, I have yet to decide for myself.

Journey: BlogFlash2012 Day 9

One day I'm going to take a different kind of journey. For one thing, I won't have to pack as much stuff : no teddy bears, no paper dolls, no Monster High junk. I won't have to pack bags and bags of snacks.

We'll get on our way early because a certain someone won't have to run back inside because she forgot a certain Blankie, or Otter, or Wombat. (She really does have a Wombat.)

When we arrive, we won't have to go to every single gift shop in the airport. We won't have to stop at "Ozarkland" and have heart attacks at the prices. Finding a place that sells swim goggles won't be necessary. Ditto finding that one last souvenir, which means wanting to buy every single thing in the souvenir shop.

No one will have the top of their ice cream cone plop off onto the seat of the rental car, necessitating a complete turn around on an 8 lane highway to get more ice cream.

Nobody will refuse to go and see the St. Louis Arch or the Largest Ball of String in the World because they are playing Barbies. No, we will go and see that string and we will like it.

No gum in the hair, skinned knees, sharp elbow in my side, no heavy lump to be carried up to the hotel room at the end of a long day.

You know what? It just might not be as much fun.

What's Your Talent?

None of these will get me on any show starring Howard Stern or Sharon Osbourne, but here are some things I'm good at:


I burst into flames on the beach, so I'm really good at applying self-tanner. Not to look tanned, you understand. Somewhat normal is my goal.

Self-tanner FAIL, poor dear. 

I can create a dinner for my husband from the last of the Panko breadcrumbs, that one last chicken breast, and mayo. And rosemary; for crap's sake, don't forget the rosemary!


If a surprise guest will arrive in 30 minutes, I can create the illusion of cleanliness. Just don't open the door of the closet or the Dora Tent.

Love this thing. You can shovel a lot of stuff in here.

I can extricate myself from any conversation on politics.


I can spend 200 $ on groceries and realize as I pull into the driveway that I haven't actually bought anything to eat.


I can sit through the ninetieth showing of "Good Luck Charlie, It's Christmas!" and enjoy it.

I can also extricate myself from any volleyball pick up game ever.




Here are some things that I can't do:


I can't find my husband, The Great Disappearing Act, when breakfast is ready.


I can't make my kid throw away any of her stuffed animals. (Sweetie, one more round of gift giving and Daddy and I will have to sleep in the garage, ok?)

Nor can I organize my desk. My friend can move two things and all of a sudden everything is in order, but I just don't have that gene.


I cannot resist any dish made with black olives.  Ditto mushrooms.

Oh yeah. Bring it on.

Breakfast is ready (Jersey blueberries, fresh cantaloupe, and waffles) and I have to go and shout in vain for my husband.


Please, in the interim, share some talents and challenges of your own!