The high cost of bacon

When we arrived home yesterday, Mary was napping. I really had to restrain myself from waking her up right away. Later, I decided to run to the grocery store for a few items, and wanted to be sure to be home before she awoke.

I went. I shopped. I came home and put the freezer stuff in the freezer in the garage and hauled half the remaining bags to the kitchen. Mary was still sleeping. Good.

As I unloaded the bags and Bill went out for the few I couldn’t carry, I realized I didn’t have the bacon. Billy likes bacon, and we didn’t have any last weekend. I made sure to pick up bacon at the store, but it wasn’t in the bags, not even in the ones Bill brought in. Flustered and annoyed and worried that I’d not be home when Mary woke up, I hurried back to the store, which is right across the street from my neighborhood.

I cannot drive when I’m flustered and annoyed and worried. I just can’t. So as I backed out of the drive, I backed into our mailbox, spinning it 45 degrees, and smashing the taillight on the driver side (and let’s not talk about the scratch on the rear quarter panel, ok?). Now I was even more flustered and annoyed and worried, but I trudged on to the store. The man at the customer service counter walked with me over to the appropriate cashier who remembered me (I should hope so – I had left there about 15 minutes prior).

She had bagged the bacon with some other items that went straight into the freezer, bag and all. My bacon was at home and had been all along.

Now I was flustered and annoyed and worried and really really angry at myself, but I managed to drive home without killing myself or others or destroying more property.

And Mary was still asleep. And my husband, who has to clean up my mess, was very forgiving (imagine the scene where the sinful woman is weeping at Jesus’ feet, only my hair is shorter and my husband had shoes on).

And we had bacon for breakfast.

Snapshots

Sometimes, ignoring the full story is a good thing.

I will forget about the heavy toddler who woke up after communion and said immediately, “I want to go home.” Instead, I will remember the big cathedral bells ringing at the moment of consecration.

I will forget about the 90 minutes or more of waiting in the confessional line (half before and half after Mass) , and instead remember the soloist for the wedding that was about to start singing “Ave Maria” at the moment of absolution.

I will forget about the ice cream shop stop after Mass where the store was down to only 8 flavors (the least popular ones, of course), and instead remember the Mom-of-5 greeting this Mom-of-6 and within 60 seconds learning that we also had homeschooling and military husbands in common.

I will forget about the kids who seem to have trouble going to sleep at night, and remember the hugs and kisses.

Sleeping on the couch

While my husband was deployed (as in, not living with me and the children for six months), I took over his job (one I thrust upon him) as Awards Chair for Billy’s Cub Scout Pack. Once a month I headed to the Scout shop and bought all the awards for all the boys in the pack and then filled out the necessary forms and cards. Once a month, things were a little extra hectic. No big deal. Organizations like Scouts rely heavily on volunteers, and that was one way we could do a big job without a daily or weekly commitment.

That pack was a very large pack and sometimes the awards were pretty expensive. I could ask the Treasurer for an advance of funds to purchase awards, or I could get reimbursed after the fact. The smart thing would be to get the money in advance, and I did once, I think. But, honestly, I never saw the guy who was the Treasurer. Nor am I really good at that sort of pre-planning. So, usually, I would use my credit card and then I would mail the receipts with a self-addressed stamped envelope to the Treasurer who would, at some point, not necessarily very quickly, mail me a check. I am fortunate in that we could afford this inefficient system. I do not recommend it, though.

One of the last things I did before we moved was put one last lingering receipt in the mail. It was for less than $50, which is not going to break my bank, but is certainly an amount worth the trouble to get returned. The check finally came in the mail today. Fine.

What gets me is not the length of time it took to get the check. No, what gets me is the message scrawled on the OUTSIDE of the envelope: “I miss you!!” (His exclamation points, not mine.)

Did I mention my husband was deployed while I did this job?

Dude, you’re blowing my cover.

Ahem. Yes. Well. That looked just peachy to my husband as you might guess. Really, what was he thinking?

I, Naked

I’m not a big fan of Pull-Ups, mainly because they are expensive and, if you’re trying to train a child to use the toilet, wearing a diaper is counter-productive. However, if you’re not trying to train a child to use the toilet but she refuses to wear diapers, the cost of Pull-Ups might be worth it to avoid puddles on the floor if those pretty little princesses on the front convince her to stay covered.

My life right now is a little messy. “Mary, put on your diaper,” I’ll demand. “No, I, Naked,” she’ll respond. Well, hello, Naked.

The fact is, it is time to bite the bullet and train her. I really don’t like potty-training.

I am amused by all the resources available to help a parent decide if the child is ready to be potty-trained. We don’t wonder if it’s time to teach a child how to use a fork or spoon. We don’t ask all our friends if our child is old enough to be quiet in church. We don’t look for signs to indicate that our child is ready to use words like “please” and “thank you.” We just do it. Raising children is a process, not an event.

Experience with my kids has taught me one thing about toilet training: it is not so much the child who needs to be ready…it is the parent. Many people criticize the EC crowd by saying, “The child isn’t trained, it’s the parent who is trained.” Perhaps. I’m not jumping on the EC bandwagon, but I would like to point out that these parents are not changing diapers, right? As I find out just how quickly I can dash from the dining room table to the bathroom with a naked toddler in my arms, I fail to see how the training process isn’t parent conditioning as well, no matter the age you begin.

It would be nice if kids trained themselves. My daughter, Katie, did when she was just 2. It was great. Most kids eventually will. You might have to wait 5 or 6 years for that, though. And honestly, if diapers were socially acceptable, I think my older boys would prefer them to actually having to stop playing baseball or riding their bikes or chasing bad guys. Girls at some point prefer cleanliness. Boys, at least mine, prefer convenience.

Sometimes moms prefer convenience, too. That’s where I find myself right now. Toilet training is work, and I just don’t want more work at the moment. Or so I think. This toddler who presents me with stinky diaper in hand is surely not making my life easy. So I have put together a quiz to help myself and other moms decide if now is the time to begin training. Give yourself one point for every “yes” and a half point for every half yes.

1. Are you tired of changing diapers?

2. If you use primarily disposable diapers, are you eager add $100 a month or so to another line item in your budget? If you use primarily cloth diapers, would you like to have more hours in the week to do something other than laundry?

3. Is your child refusing to wear diapers (or screaming in agony if you force the issue)?

4. Do you have the patience of a mule? If no, can you fake it?

5. Do you have absolutely nothing to do and nowhere to go for the next week or two? If no, do you have room in your vehicle for a kid potty and five extra outfits?

6. Do you think bribing rewarding your child with candy is a good way to get results?

7. Is partial or complete nudity of the trainee socially acceptable to all members of your household? If no, do you mind doing an extra load of wet and soiled clothes every day for the next week or two or three?

8. Do you have only tile and/or wood floors in your home? If no, do you own a steam cleaner? If no, is the outdoor temperature above 70 degrees? If no, do you have the patience of a mule without faking it as well as a supply of rug cleaner?

9. Can you run 20 feet in 10 seconds at the first indication of a need to “go”?

10. Are you prepared to observe closely and to drop everything the instant you hear a whispered “potty”, see a child grab the crotch area, or notice that particular look on a child’s face?

11. Do you know the location of every public bathroom for every single store or outdoor venue you plan to attend in the next few weeks?

12. Do you own a large supply of worn towels or rags?

Scoring

Less than 4 points: If you have children, they are still infants. Please realize that kids are messy. You need to budget for a steam cleaner and save those burp cloths for many future spills.

4 – 8 points: You like the idea of having trained children, but aren’t ready to deal with the mess and inconvenience. Inevitably, you and your child will have to do this, but now is not yet the time. Work on patience, stock up on cleaning supplies and start noticing where the public toilets are.

More than 8 points: You are physically and mentally prepared to dive into potty training. It’s not going to just “happen” miraculously, so get to it already!

I scored a 10, so I think I know what I’ll be doing for the next few weeks.

If you give a mom a pie crust…

There was a pie crust in the freezer.

It would be a terrible thing to waste a pie crust. Almost as bad as wasting cider.

I wanted something that required very little purchasing of ingredients, and settled on Black Bottom Pie (similar to Martha’s, but not quite as fancy and using whipped cream instead of meringue). The only ingredient I lacked: heavy whipping cream.

I happened to need to go to that big warehouse store because my membership conveniently ends in another week, and diapers and dog food happen to be cheapest there, and we needed diapers and dog food. They had heavy whipping cream. In quarts. I only needed a pint, but I whipped the whole quart anyway.

I made Black Bottom Pie and shared with another family. It is all gone. Yum yum.

But then, I had two cups of homemade whipped cream.

It would be a terrible thing to waste two cups of homemade whipped cream.

And then I noticed, in my rapidly emptying refrigerator, a container of chocolate syrup. Chocolate syrup would never go to waste. In fact, I tried to bestow this chocolate syrup on a friend a week or so ago, but my children caught me. They didn’t seem to mind me giving her the teriyaki sauce, but the chocolate syrup? No way.

Anyway…inspiration hit, and I went to the store and bought ice cream.

Now, the whipped cream is almost gone and the chocolate syrup is almost gone, but we have a whole container of ice cream left.

No worries. There is no way ice cream will go to waste.

But as I consider the girth of my hips, I wonder: couldn’t I have made a quiche instead?

Because we just can’t return a not empty keg

The kegerator, unbelievably, still has cider bought before Bill deployed. It was only a sixth of a keg, but I guess I’ve proven I’m not a big drinker.

We are moving. The kegerator must be emptied.

I remembered this as I passed the appliance on the way to the storage room for more cleaning.

“We must drink the cider,” I thought, and went back upstairs for glasses.

“We must drink the cider,” I told Bill when I returned. But I looked at the clock. “Do you think it’s too early to drink?”

“It is only 9:40,” he said. “Perhaps we should wait until 10 out of a sense of propriety,” he said with little conviction.

“Yes, we shall wait out of a sense of propriety. Not any real feelings of propriety, but just for the sense of it.”

We are on our second glasses, and it doesn’t seem ready to quit yet. This pre-moving business is rough stuff.

Working hard

It’s hard work taking down a trampoline. It’s best to pace yourself and take a break every now and then.

And once you get to be a certain age, stopping to stretch will aid in preventing injuries.

This is a good stretch for your hamstrings and your back. Your partner provides the resistance. Reach, Bill, reach.

Here you see an assisted glute stretch. Isn’t Fritz such a helpful son?

I think in this one, Bill is getting into position to show Fritz a stretch or two.

We’ve been enjoying the warm weather (obviously). Extended forecast is calling for snow on one of the days we’re packing. Nice. At least we’re heading south.

Fun in the Sun?

We took advantage of yesterday’s sweltering temperatures (50 degrees!!) to play and work outside.

Down comes the swing set. My husband is insisting this is it’s last move.

I’m just happy we’re having this heat wave. Last week’s bitter cold (OK, nothing like the Midwest, but once you get below freezing and the wind is howling, cold is cold) had me concerned that my husband would abandon the swing set altogether. I didn’t even like going from the house to the car, so there was no way I would make him work outside for hours.

One final jump. Trampoline comes down today.

Notice the very non-wintery clothes. It was hot, I tell you. Well, not me. I was wearing a sweater. Kids, though, seem to have different thermostats.


Un-excavating the raised garden that I never filled with vegetables.

Little boys feeling the enormity of the task.

These boys zealously spent hours digging a bunker in the garden. I told them they could, but they’d have to put the dirt back before we moved. Now that it’s time to fulfill the promise, digging is no longer such a fun job. Every five minutes they would ask if they could have a break.

Admittedly, the job is a little harder this go round. The ground isn’t frozen, but it sure is hard. I spent a few minutes manning a hoe, chipping away at the mounds. Then I decided I had better things to do. Besides, I didn’t make the hole in the first place.

Temperatures are expected to remain above freezing, even at night, for the next week, so hopefully the job will get easier.

Lunch Date

Bill’s parents are in town and watched the kids yesterday so we could go out. We ate lunch at the Dogfish Head Ale House. I don’t get the name. I don’t care.

Bill, noticing the Wi-Fi sign on the door, said, “It’s a good thing I don’t work near here.”

Normally, I would drink water, especially with lunch. But I knew ordering a beer would make Bill really happy: see New Month’s Resolution for August (2008). So I pondered the extensive list of craft brews and picked the Fort because it has a raspberry flavor.

“Sorry I picked such a girly beer,” I apologized.

“It’s not such a girly beer,” he said pointing out the 18% alcohol content. He went with the Raison D’Etre at 8% ABV.

When the server helping our waiter delivered our drinks, mine was in a cordial glass. “And who has nothing else to do today?” he asked regarding my selection.

I ate a lot of carbs. And drank a lot of water. I was cheerful and warm.

Unfortunately, they do not sell the Fort for take home. I guess you can’t bottle happiness.

If you live in my neck of the woods and have not eaten at the Dogfish Head Ale House, I really recommend you try it. Bill has eaten there three times, and I have eaten there twice. We have never been disappointed. Although I am moving, I know we will be back here in a few years. This place will be one thing to look forward to when that time comes.

Adultery in the kitchen

“I’m cheating on you,” I confessed to my husband as he was pouring his beer and I was making dinner.

“Oh?” he said with mild curiosity, but not a hint of concern. He barely glanced up from his task.

“I’m trying to clear out the freezer and I found some frozen meatballs that have been sitting there. I don’t know why I bothered to buy them; they’re Swedish meatballs. So, I’m using them for the Guinness meatball recipe.

It’s my sauce, but somebody else’s balls.”

And he laughed. As did I. It is good to laugh again.

Just so you know, the Guinness on the left is for drinking, and the Guinness on the right is for cooking. One bottle is the perfect size for double this recipe, and you will want double. Store-bought meatballs are adequate, but just adequate. If you want to impress the friends at the Superbowl party, make ’em from scratch.