Mystery Meat

Now what? So you have all this leftover meat...what are you going to do with it? Keep topping it with gravy? Freeze it? Throw it away without telling anyone? (Especially your friends who actually believe in not wasting food.) You really should do something with it before it becomes unrecognizable, a.k.a. "mystery meat". I'm sure you could find a-million-plus recipes online for ways to use your not-so-precious leftovers, but wouldn't you rather get recipes from a trusted friend? I thought so. Here are a few of mine. I would love to get a few of yours also!

TURKEY WILD RICE SOUP
Ingredients:
30-ish oz. chicken broth (it really doesn't need to be exact)
2 c. water
1/2 c. uncooked rice (wild, if you have it; whatever, if you don't--don't you already love this recipe?)
1/2 c. chopped green onions (or regular onions)
1/2 c. butter (or margarine, if you like it--we can talk about that later...)
3/4 c. flour
salt and pepper
1/4 t. poultry seasoning
2 c. milk (if you didn't gain any weight on Dec. 25, you could use half-and-half, otherwise, milk works great)
3-6 slices bacon, cooked and crumbled (optional)
Bite-size pieces of leftover turkey, whatever amount you want

In a soup pot, combine broth, water, rice, and onions. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer 25-30 minutes. Meanwhile, melt butter in a medium saucepan. Stir in flour, salt, pepper, and poultry seasoning. Continue stirring for a few minutes until smooth. Stir in milk and cook until thickened, stirring constantly. Add milk mixture to broth mixture. Stir. Then add bacon and turkey. Heat and stir for another 10 minutes or so. Serve.

TURKEY POT PIE
Ingredients:
Double pie crust (you can also make it with just one, see below)
2 cans cream of potato soup
1 and 1/4 c. milk
1 can mixed vegetables (or use leftover ones you have on hand)
1/4 to 1/2 c. frozen peas, thawed
1 c. (or more) cooked turkey

Lay one pie crust in pie plate. Combine all other ingredients and pour into crust. Top with the other crust, seal, cut a few slits in top, and bake about 1 hour at 350 degrees. OPTIONAL: Lightly grease pie plate, pour ingredient mixture directly into pie plate and top with one crust. Wrap edges of crust over lip of plate to seal, cut a few slits, and bake as above.

My favorite pie crust recipe:
Combine 2 1/2 c. flour and 1 t. salt in a large bowl. Cut 1 c. shortening into flour mixture using pastry cutter. In a small bowl, use a fork to beat together 1/4 c. water and 1 egg. Add egg mixture to flour mixture and stir together. Use hands to form into 2 balls of dough. Roll each ball out to 1/8 inch thick and use as desired.

CRUSTLESS BROCCOLI-HAM QUICHE (Versatile, easy, delicious, and low-fat--what more could you want?)
Ingredients:
3 eggs
1 can evaporated milk (skim is fine)
3 T. flour
salt and pepper to taste
1/4 t. dry mustard (optional)
3/4 c. shredded cheddar or swiss (or whatever)
1 c. chopped cooked ham
1 c. small broccoli florets, cooked but still firm
(You can use bacon instead of ham, and cooked mushrooms are great in the quiche; so is chopped fresh basil.)

Whisk together eggs and milk in a medium bowl. Whisk in flour and seasonings. Gently stir in cheese, ham, and broccoli. Pour into greased 8x8-inch baking dish and bake at 350 for about 40 minutes or until quiche is set. Let rest for 5-10 minutes before serving.

Hope these are useful. And I guess let's not forget to be thankful for all this excess food. There really are starving people in many parts of the world, just like Mom said.

Counterfeit Goodies: We're rolling in dough

Our generous neighbors and friends have been carrying out the thoughtful holiday tradition of delivering plates, bags, and tins of scrumptious goodies to wish us a Merry Christmas. These have been much appreciated and devoured almost instantaneously. But now I'm feeling just a smidgen of guilt. No, not over fat and calories. That will come later.

A few years ago, a neighbor brought us a cute little bucket with a lid and handle, filled with frozen balls of cookie dough, ready to place on the cookie sheet and throw in the oven. She said, "Everyone gets too many treats all at once during the holidays. This way, when all the goodies are gone and you actually want some again, you can pull this out of the freezer and just pop them in the oven."

Brilliant! I loved it! Not only did I love the cookies and having them when I wanted them, but I loved the ease of it for the giver. She didn't have to bake them, cool them, arrange them on the plate, etc. No. Just hand them over and let the other person do all that. Like I said--brilliant!

This year, we took it to a higher level. Well, really a lower level. We didn't even make the little balls. We just rolled up the cookie dough in wax paper, put it in a freezer bag, and wrapped it in tissue paper. Voila! Here are your goodies. All I did was make and roll the dough. For 24 hours, it felt like I was in a Pillsbury Bake-off, but then it was done. No cookie sheets and cooling racks to clean. No festive plates or containers required. But now that the deed is done, I feel a little bit sheepish. "Hi. We wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, but we didn't really want to do anything for you, so YOU can do the baking. Have a happy holiday!" Kind of lame. Sort of a cop-out. Somewhat Scrooge-ish. Yet...brilliant!

Should I feel guilty?

Space: The Final Frontier

These are the voyages of the starship Natalie, her continuing mission...to finish the basement.

I've been waiting for this day since we moved into this house. The day I could call out those magical words, "Boys! Go down in the basement!" For some unknown reason, they did not want to go down there until it was finished. They could have skate-boarded around on the cement, played with sidewalk chalk, made a secret hideout, the possibilities were endless. Now that there's brand new carpet, they're excited to boldly go where no one has gone before...

It's a perfect play area, because it's empty space. After essentially keeping "the basement guy" on retainer for several months, we won't be able to afford furniture for quite awhile. BUT--who needs furniture when you have bins! Take a look at my new storage room:

One side is for bins, the other is for food storage. Look at the beautiful shelves! Sometimes I go down there and just stand and stare. I think I'm in love.

Oh, and here's the bathroom. It's now the nicest bathroom in the house and no one ever uses it. Not that I mind. I don't need another bathroom to keep clean.

And here's the new guest room. It turned out more spacious than I ever thought it would be.

And the final final frontier--the little "kitchenette", which will be used for art projects and maybe eventually snacks (someday when food is allowed in the basement).

So, TA-DA! Our finished basement. So exciting!

The Disease

It's my mother's fault. Of course.

My mom creates Christmas tree masterpieces. Each tree has a theme and looks like a picture from a classy magazine. She adds the perfect number of lights and spaces the ornaments just so. They're works of art. The downside? No one else is allowed to help in any way, shape, or form. There is a no-touch zone extending 3 feet out from the tree in all directions.

Sorry, Mom. I'm going public...
When we were children, she would pretend to let us decorate the tree. We'd get out all the ornaments and choose our favorites and carefully place them exactly where we liked them. (Colored lights, tinsel, and anything else remotely gaudy were strictly taboo.) THEN, she would send us over to Grandma's house to decorate Grandma's tree. While we were gone, she would rearrange all our ornaments and put the ugly ones near the back. (Meanwhile, at Grandma's, we could put tinsel and as many ugly ornaments as we wanted, all on the same branch, and they would be left there for the whole Christmas season.)

I remember being mildly offended by my mom's re-decorating practices, but as an adult, I have discovered that this condition is hereditary. My sister and I call it "mom's disease". As grown-ups, we both were surprised to find ourselves coming up with tree themes nearly a year in advance. We would take down the Christmas tree and already be thinking, "Next year, I'm going to do a snow theme on the tree." Then we'd head off to the after-Christmas sales and purchase the needed items for that theme. I know, it's pathetic.

The thing is, my mom was right. I am much happier with the tree when it's decorated "properly". My way of solving this is to have two trees. The one in the top photo is mine. Hard to tell in the picture, but this year's tree is decorated in sort of an "old-fashioned fruits of the season" theme. It has cranberries, candied fruits, candle-lights and gold and cranberry ball ornaments. Below is the kids' tree. They can choose white or colored lights. And they can put whatever they want on it. Almost. It turns out I hate tinsel as much as my mom does. I will admit to a bit of adjustment in ornament positions, but not much because the spacing was already pretty good. So, they are being trained well. They will most likely not be immune to the disease.
Sadly, I think I have offended my children as well when it comes to Christmas trees. Nathan begs every year to put one or more of his own ornaments on "the good tree" (you know, the one in the living room that everyone sees, MY tree). I consented this year to having him hang his fish ornament on my tree. But only because it's dark brown and blends in. I might have to adjust it later, though.

Frightening Discovery

This wasn't supposed to happen so soon. Last week, while helping Nathan speed through the rest of this year's requirements for his Faith in God book (one day before his birthday), I made a frightening discovery.

The requirement we were working on was learning to lead music. I took him into the living room and played through a song on the piano and then began showing him how to conduct in 3/4 time. I thought it would make things easier if we were facing the same direction so he could just copy my actions. So I had him stand behind me with both of us facing the mirror so that I would be able to see how he was doing, and a horrible scene played out in the mirror: upper arm jiggle! Aaaaacccchhh! Where did that come from?! Isn't that something that should only happen to old ladies? Help! How do I fix that? (Other than "get in shape", because that's just not working.)

I thought about finding a photo online that I could attach to this post so that you would get the full effect, but then I thought it would forever be an image you would associate with me, so I decided against it. Excuse me while I go cry.

F.H.E. Under the Magnifying Glass

I'm thankful for countless things in my life but, at the moment, Family Home Evening isn't one of them. During our lesson on gratitude, we did a writing exercise that was designed to help us see how much we have to be thankful for. In reality, though, this F.H.E. activity revealed very little actual gratitude and involved all of the following:

• excessive use of the word "toot"
• a bloody lip
• quite a bit of yelling
• fingers used for ear-plugging
• a round of blaming
• an un-named family member singing, "I hate you. You hate me. We are a happy family."

Anyone else ever have the Monday night blues?

Forensic Psychology, Family-Style

Everyone has their modus operandi. Here's our family profile.

Nathan: No matter what is happening, has happened, or is going to happen, I'm innocent. It wasn't me. I had nothing to do with it and I was way over there when it happened, whatever it was.

Daniel: I have no remorse. I don't care how wrong it was, if it was funny or otherwise enjoyable at the time, it was worth it, and I would do it again. In a heartbeat. Oh, you want me to at least say "sorry"? I can do that...while giggling uncontrollably.

Stephanie: Plea bargaining. I'm cute and I know it. There's a lot of exciting trouble out there just waiting for me to find it. I will just flash my pearly-whites and get you to agree to a lighter sentence.

Me: It's possible I might have been a little bit wrong, but I'm sure I'm not completely wrong, and I'm certainly not the only one who's wrong here. In fact, maybe I'll just go ahead and change the law in my favor before anyone realizes what's happening.

Eric: Go ahead. Cuff me. I plead guilty, let's just get the punishment overwith. It's quicker this way, even if I didn't do it.

There. Now you know our family a teensy-bit better. That's us in a nut-cell. Or nutshell.

The Un-mask-querade

When I took the boys shopping for Halloween costumes a few weeks ago, the words "you won't be able to wear masks at the trunk-or-treat" could not penetrate their one-track minds. Since they were both using some of their own money for the purchase, I did not interfere when they insisted they wanted these costumes with masks. In some kind of dream-world, I just figured they would wear everything BUT the mask for the trunk-or-treat at the church. Any guesses what happened on "Halloween"? (Halloween is in quotes because it was really October 30.) Yep! "Mom! I need a different costume! Why can't I wear my mask?!? Can you help me be something else?" Here is the result for Nathan (who raised his concerns mid-day):

I went to Michael's and Target and made purchases (with MY money - I know, I shouldn't have done that) and created a bare-bones Percy Jackson costume for him. While he was happy with it, he carried the shield that I made for not quite a full minute before deciding he couldn't comfortably carry a shield, a sword, and a candy bucket at the same time. Flush that $. Below is a photo of him in his other costume. The hood is pretty cool. You can see out but not in. The ghastly-looking weapon is called "Death's dagger". I refrained from using it on him.

Daniel waited until 6:21pm to decide he couldn't be happy wearing his costume sans mask. We needed to walk out the door at 6:30pm. So, for him, I grabbed Nathan's robe and wand, Daniel's fake glasses and my purple eyeliner, drew a lightning scar on his forehead, proclaimed him "Harry Potter" and off we went to the trunk-or-treat. I know, there's very little resemblance to Harry here:

Here is the costume Daniel purchased and begged to wear to the trunk-or-treat. He was sure I could pull some strings and get the no-masks rule adjusted for him. He did, at least, have the pleasure of wearing this costume at his birthday party:

And, last but not least, the top photo shows cute Stephanie in her hand-me-down butterfly costume which did not cost me one cent or one moment's effort. And I actually love the way the antennas stick straight out to the sides. I'm glad Halloween is over.

Auto-Destruct Sequence

"The auto-destruct sequence has been initiated. Implosion will occur in 10...9...8..."

Obviously, I'm a closet Star Trek fan. Well, not really closet - I think everyone already knows.

Proceed through the following steps to initiate auto-destruct:

• Invite 17 children to your son's 7-year-old birthday party. (17! Are you insane?)
• When no one RSVP's "with regrets", go get more of everything.
• Create a jack-o-lantern cake, complete with pumpkin "guts".
• Go get more food coloring.
• Clean, decorate, cook, prepare.
• Entertain the unknown number of wild children climbing all over your living room furniture.
• Give everyone (including your 2-yr-old) red or orange soda.
• Pass out sugary prizes.
• Yell.
• Yell louder.
• Scream if you have to.
• Tell your husband, "Never again. We are never doing this again."

According to many reliable Star Trek episodes, initiating the auto-destruct sequence should set in motion a mysterious, invisible course of events, culminating in the resolution of all problems, exactly at the 1-second mark. That's what I'm hoping for...I'm just going to close my eyes now, and when I open them, the mess will be gone, the ringing in my ears will have stopped, and everything will be back to normal (whatever that is). Roll credits and theme.

The Perils of Family Scripture Study

As I thought I understood it, the goal of family scripture study is for each family member to gain greater comprehension of the scriptures and gradually build stronger faith and testimony. But now I think maybe that is too lofty a goal at this stage in our family's life. Our goal is usually more along the lines of: Have 33% of the children holding still at any given moment and don't end abruptly due to fighting. The 33% holding still is almost always the child who is reading at that particular moment. We often get side-tracked with questions about various topics that may or may not have anything to do with the chapter we are reading. Here's an excerpt from last night's "study" session:

Me: "And I also cast my eyes round about, and beheld, on the other side of the river of water, a great and spacious building; and it stood as it were in the air, high above the earth."
Daniel: "It's floating in the sky?"
Me: (pause, because I know him so well)..."Sort of."
Daniel: (a look spreads across his face like this is a building he definitely would want to visit)

Then I explain that this is not a good place and the reason it's "floating in the sky" is because it has no foundation, so eventually it will fall.

Daniel: "What if a meteor hits it?"
Me: "Um. I'm sure it would fall."
Daniel: "What about a tornado?"
Me: "Yeah. That would knock it down, too. But let's get back to what we were reading..."

A few verses later.

Me: "and they did press their way forward, continually holding fast to the rod of iron..."
Daniel: "What if you hold onto the rod of Satan?"
Me: (caught off-guard by the question, pause, thinking of a response)
Daniel: "Is there a rod of Satan?"
Me: "No. It's more like a gradual downward path leading to a slippery slope."

And we quickly closed that discussion before anyone could make a connection between the "slippery slope" and the thrill of skiing and ask why you even need the iron rod when you could just ride the ski lift back up.

Night-vision Goggles

Ahhhh. It's night. And the kids are in bed. Not necessarily asleep, but in bed. My night-vision goggles allow me to change from my daytime perspective of half-empty to overflowing glasses. Too often, I catch myself counting up the things in my day that bother, annoy, irritate or otherwise alarm me:

• Blazing-hot sibling rivalry.
• Spilled drinks. Again.
• Wiping down the toilet seat. Again.
• Wiping down little behinds that don't yet use the toilet seat.
• Constant chatter.
• Trying to produce a good enough "Ha-ha!" for that joke I've been hearing for over a month.
• Less-than-flattering imitations of myself, performed by one of the boys.

The list does go on, but I'll stop there. However, as you may already know, night-vision googles are designed to gather any tiny glimmer of light and create a clearer picture of the scene before your eyes. This same magic occurs every night at our house, shortly after bedtime. Basking in the blessed quiet, I see a happier picture of my day:

• Sweet phrases like "Dayt-doo, Mommy!" (That's "thank you".)
• Naptime.
• There may be a lot of chatter, but at least the kids still want to talk to us. (I know, those days are numbered.)
• The pleasure children derive from the smallest things. Gum, for example.
• Naptime. Wait...did I already say that? Well, it's worth repeating.
• For 2 out of the 3 kids, public hugs and kisses from Mom are still permitted.
• Leftovers night - minimal cooking and, therefore, fewer dishes to clean up.
• The words of a 2-year-old learning to pray.

Yes, night is good.

James E. Faust said, "If there were no night, we would not appreciate the day, nor could we see the stars and the vastness of the heavens."

Cyber-tapped

For awhile now, Google has been reading my email. As far as I can tell, its purposes are benign and possibly even beneficent. If I have written to a friend about tennis, Google might provide a link at the top of the page to a site that lists local tennis instructors. Or, when a friend writes to me about a new movie, Google helpfully provides a link for a movie theater, in case I might want to see the movie, too. And whenever I clean out my spam, Google responds in a kind of cute, non-human way by providing a link to Spam recipes.

I found it a bit disturbing when I first discovered the undeniable connection between the content of my email messages and the links that would appear at the top of the page. But I have become used to this infiltration into my privacy and have assumed that no actual person has access to my account.

However, events of this morning have led me to wonder whether this connection goes a bit further than I think it should. My basement guy showed up early this morning to get back to work on the hopefully amazing basement he is building for us, and I informed him (verbally, mind you, not in writing) that a small leak had started downstairs during the heavy rains we experienced over the past few days. I called out my comments to him across the room from my position in front of the computer. When I turned back to face the screen a few minutes later, Google had provided a link for "Basement Waterproofing."

Coincidence? I certainly hope so. I am seeking additional information from anyone in the know. Big Brother seems to be watching. Or, at least, Big Google is.

The Naked Truth

Two axioms: Clothes become wrinkled over time. Children are brutally honest.

A few days ago, I had an event to attend that required me to dress better than I usually do on a Friday afternoon. After rummaging around in my closet, I finally put together a nice-ish outfit and soon discovered that it would be impossible to look well-dressed without a bit of ironing.

I have long despised ironing. It takes forever to do properly and then five minutes after you put on the ironed item it's wrinkled again. My favorite dressy shirt is made from one of those wrinkled-on-purpose fabrics. Such delight! It looks fabulous and I never have to iron it. Too bad it wouldn't work that day.

So I reluctantly pulled out the ironing board and set it up, when Daniel walked into the room and said, "We haven't used THAT for a looooong time." I had just been thinking to myself that I hadn't used the iron since before we moved last May.

The truth is, we were nearly at the point of having to choose between naked and wrinkled, which is why the iron came back out from its lengthy hiatus. I ironed three shirts, which means we should be good to go until sometime in January.

Nerve Gas

My nerves are shot. I think my body has accumulated a near-toxic level of mental nerve gas. For those who don't read the espionage genre, here's a quick blurb on nerve gas:

Nerve gas causes a chain reaction that allows neural impulses to be continually transmitted, causing muscles to contract, organs to produce chemicals, etc. If neural impulses are not blocked after the initial transfer, those muscles and organs will not be able to relax until eventually...one of the effects kills the victim.

I'm starting to feel like I have just such an overload in progress.

A few days ago, our water was turned off for the day while the plumbing in our basement was being done. We managed to not use the bathroom for about 7 hours (though the boys--not including Eric--did relieve themselves in the woods, Eric was at work--or maybe he would have done the same, and Stephanie is still in diapers, so really, it was just me). I also managed to cook dinner without having the water on. I know, you're thinking, "Most people would have ordered out." Aren't you impressed? Well we don't have any spare change right now while we're paying for the basement.

Later that day, the air conditioner quit working. Just FYI, our first 3 days of fall have all been in the 90s. It was too late to get anyone to come look at it that day.

The next day, our electricity was off for almost the entire day while we had a new fuse box installed and inspected. This meant no one could come look at the A/C then either. Again, I managed to cook dinner instead of ordering something.

Somewhere in the middle of this, my basement guy said something in passing about a new building code that required better grounding of the water main, because if something or other happens to touch it while someone in the house is in the tub or taking a shower, they will be electrocuted. "That's it," I thought. "From now on we'll just have to hose the kids off. No more baths at our house. Too risky." (He tells me it's really nothing to worry about, but I just couldn't bring myself to put them in the tub last night and risk frying them. So they still stink--though, interestingly enough, that same day they hosed themselves off without permission at a neighbor's house, while wearing their nice shoes, no less.)

Today, a guy came to look at the A/C. He tweaked some things and fiddled around in there and got it going again. It stopped working less than 2 hours later. Did I mention we had record-breaking heat today? 98F! And at 6:20pm, I still entered my 85-degree kitchen and cooked dinner.

Amongst all this, I am still homeschooling (it feels like I'm running an independent-study program) and making hourly decisions on various aspects of my basement. Now that the whining is done, I should point out how thankful I am to be able to finish the basement right now. I remain convinced that, when it's all over, it will have been worth it. For the first week, Daniel asked me every day, "Is the basment done yet?" He thinks they are way behind schedule.

I think what I need is a night out... and a long weekend.

Plumbing the Depths

This is the current state of our basement. You could consider this the "before" photo, though I assure you the true "before" photo would reveal a much less disastrous scene. We are in the process of finishing our basement. I say that like we are personally doing some of the work involved. We are not. Unless you count choosing doors and windows and deciding where light switches and closets go as work.

We vibrated for much of the day yesterday while a couple of men with jackhammers and cement saws created the piles of rubble depicted above. The trenches they created will become the major plumbing works of our soon-to-be wonderful basement. Hence the title of this post. Finishing our basement (or at least paying someone else to finish it) is plumbing the depths of our patience, our noise endurance, and certainly our budget. Hopefully, the "after" photo will justify all the means. Yes, I know it would save us a lot of money if we did at least some of the work ourselves, but as Eric says, we want it to look good. What do you think so far?

Crypto-plates

I can't help myself. Whenever I see a license plate that clearly has been personalized, I must figure out what it means. And when I can't decipher it, it simmers in the back of my mind and waits to be solved. Someday, I will be an old woman, wandering through the grocery store, muttering things like "A lily z r. A lily z r. What does it mean?! What could it possibly mean?!" I hope for a brighter future than that, so I'm asking you to help me decipher a few of the more troubling plates I have recently come across:

GRMBIC
I'm thinking this could be germophobic. Kind of lacking in letters, though. Other ideas?
APLSNT
A pleasant...? What? Apple scent?
PARONLY
This person never hits over par in golf?
ALILYZR
This is the one I'll be muttering because it just keeps saying "A lily z r" to me.
CNTRGR
Cent Roger? Center gear? C-note ranger? Nothing makes sense!
SLEWFOT
This one sounds so much like a made-up word, I just can't think straight! It also sounds possibly borderline profane, so, my apologies if any of these are offensive and I just didn't realize it.

Obviously, it's only worth paying to personalize it if other people can tell what you meant to say. I truly appreciate a well thought out license plate. This is my favorite ever:

H8UDMV
I love the irony of picking on the very place you have to go to get the plate personalized. So clever.

Alright, get those mystery-solving juices flowing and give me some solutions.

Private "I"

My one-room schoolhouse

Following week one of home schooling, I am in serious need of some alone time. It doesn't have to be in large chunks, but I could really use a bit of private time, alone, to myself, for just me, with no one else, for maybe 45 minutes every afternoon. That would be bliss. People are here. All the time. And they talk. All the time. I love these people, but...I really do need some private time.

During the course of this first week, I've been able to ferret out some other secrets that may help me be successful this year. Here's what I've learned:

• We need a box of kleenex in the school room (not that there's a LOT of crying).


• We need a garbage can in the school room (for all the used kleenexes).


• We probably should have a clock in there somewhere.


• I need to start interviewing possible substitute teachers so I can have my life back once in awhile.


• I will just have to turn a blind eye to Stephanie's consumption of large quantities of cheetos, oreos, juice boxes, and gumballs, since they are extremely useful in occupying her attention.

Actually, things have gone very well this week and I still feel very positive about doing home school. Yes, there has been a teensy bit of crying, quite a lot of kleenex use (for drippy noses), and an unprecedented amount of cheetos in the dining room, but I'm learning to cope.

Into the Unknown

Today, I jump with both feet, and definitely both eyes wide open, into a great unknown. I will send my middle child off on the bus to a new school and then I will greet my oldest child in the dining room, where I will be his teacher, while simultaneously entertaining my youngest, who is two. Was that a run-on sentence? Oh no! Maybe I can't really do this.

The job of mother gets more interesting and more demanding with each passing year. While home schooling is a choice (that I do not have to make), it is really no different than the choices we are all making as mothers every day--to do whatever we feel is best for our children regardless of the personal cost.

Wish me luck. Here goes!

Mysterious Footprints

Luckily, these photos of footprints on the beach are somewhat mysterious, which gives me an excuse to write about our family beach trip. But really, take a look here. The footprints in the first two photos look strangely inverted. They did not look this way when we took the pictures and they don't look that way when you view them on the camera. But on the computer, they do. It's very weird. The last one, I think, looks normal. Usually. But sometimes, it goes inverted too. What is going on? Is there a technological explanation for this mystery? (The purpose of the photos was to show the vast difference in size between Stephanie's feet and Eric's, which would have been shown in the second one. But instead you can see the difference between hers and mine in the third. I wear a 7 1/2. So you can see how tiny and adorable her little feet are. In case you're interested, Eric's are size 13. No, that's not a typo. 13!)

Inspect this one closely as well, and you will see that the boy on the left is playing the game on the DS and the boy on the right is listening through the headphones to the obnoxious repetitive sounds of the game. They were both perfectly content with this arrangement. ??? Another mystery.

Stephanie wasn't too sure about going out to the water, but she loved having it come to her. Eric dug little wells in the sand so that when the waves came close enough, she would have a pool of her own to play in.

Daniel asked Eric to do the ever-popular "bury me in the sand" trick. You can see on his face that he loved it. However, when I helped him get out, I could not believe how deep Eric had buried him. Wasn't there something in the news a few years back about a small child dying this way? Something about the weight of the sand and the effect on the lungs? Anyway, I gave Eric one of my usual wifely lectures about it after the fact.

Last one. One of our favorite things to do at the beach in the evening is rent a family bike. This year, we graduated to the two-bench bike since Daniel is clearly too big to ride in the front basket. Stephanie loved the ride up front. Nathan took a turn in the driver's seat again this year, which was much less frightening than the last two years. I wish I believed this was good preparation for actual driving. It would put my mind more at ease about the near future.

P.S. I would love to get some feedback on how those footprint photos look to other people--are they inverted or normal on your screen? Mysteries were made to be solved. Most of them, anyway.

3 Mini-Mysteries

Doesn't he look like the foreign spy in a made-for-TV espionage movie?

Mystery #1:

Given all the evidence, one would have to conclude that Daniel's favorite moment of our weekend was the moment he received his plastic disguise glasses from Wendy's. But how can this possibly be? It's a mystery, because Friday afternoon we left the house at 2pm and drove to the beautiful Shenandoah mountains, where we then set up our amazing family tent and cooked burgers and hot dogs on our camp stove. I even brought purple Gatorade especially for Daniel (it's not a party atmosphere for Daniel if all we have to drink is water). We walked on the Appalachian Trail, came back and made S'mores, talked and told stories, stayed up late and slept in our tent. We saw deer and heard owls. In the morning we had pancakes and sausage, broke camp and went on two gorgeous hikes. See? So many incredible moments to choose from.

Okay, I left out a few parts. There were all these irritating gnats buzzing around our faces for much of the time. SO irritating in fact, that I was perfectly willing to pay $9 for a can of bugspray and another $6 in additional bug-be-gone paraphernalia. Our fire was almost impossible to start because the wood was wet. After 45 minutes of failure, we turned to lighter fluid to save the day. The wood lit and burned brightly for about three-and-a-half minutes and then rapidly declined, so we had time for just a few marshmallows before our evening turned from family fireside to family lantern-side. Stephanie cried off and on through the night, and Nathan dragged Eric along on a 3am bathroom break. Our first Saturday hike was great--short, sweet, nice view. Our second hike was probably a mistake. "Downhill to an 83-foot waterfall" sounds terrific, but the waterfall was waaaay over there (can you hear that soft sound, guys? that's the waterfall) and then, of course, we had to hike back UP the trail. If it seemed like a long walk even to us, which it did, it must have really seemed long to the kids. Daniel's most-used phrase was, "I HATE this place!"

So I guess that mystery is pretty much solved after all: I'm trying to look at our campout through rose-colored glasses, but Daniel seems to prefer viewing it through his plastic disguise glasses. You can hardly blame him.

Mystery #2:

I bought a new kind of fruit snacks for the campout, called "Clever Kids." The front of the box says "Number bites! The fun counting snack" and there's a cartoon octopus holding a bunch of numbers and a little calculator. "Feed kids' love of learning." "10 pouches." Okay, there were 13 pouches in there! Now I'm not complaining about the free extras, but you have to admit to some irony here. Teach your kids to count...starting with the 13 pouches in this box of 10. It's a mystery - how did this box end up with so many? Do they all have 13? Did they mean to do that, so that kids would catch the mistake? Now I'm interested to try the alphabet ones.

Mystery #3:

Shortly after returning from our campout Saturday afternoon, Nathan desperately wanted a shower. No wait, that's not the mystery. It probably should be because, come to think of it, he's never wanted a shower before. But back to what I was saying. I forgot to tell him that one of the glass doors on our shower was not actually hooked into the track... CRASH! A million little pieces of glass all over the bathroom. Mysteriously, the little glass pebbles looked blue, even though the shower door was clear. That's not the mystery either, though. Nathan received only a few small cuts on his hands and one larger gash maybe from a metal part of the door. Curious (and a relief!), but also not the real mystery. Here it is: Why did Eric see the need to smash the other shower door in order to dispose of it? Is this the way most men would have handled it? He assured me it had to be done, but I still wonder if he just felt left out of Nathan's experience and invented a reason to recreate it. It must have been like a cool scene from a movie. I wish I had thought to take pictures!

Going Undercover

Perhaps in an attempt to hide from the law for her previous crimes, Stephanie decided to paint herself in toothpaste. Discovery was made in the typical manner:

1. I heard the distinct sound of nothing. Always a bad sign.
2. I called to her. No answer. Almost always a bad sign.
3. I looked for clues as to her whereabouts, things like "open bathroom door", "missing items", "scattered toothbrushes and other bathroom supplies".
4. I followed the trail to her room and found more criminal activity in progress.

Exhibit A: Luckily, I caught her (blue-handed) in time to prevent any permanent damage, aside from the Winnie-the-Pooh book that now smells forever minty-fresh. This occurrence followed closely on the tail of a fluoride-drinking incident that same day. Maybe I should have seen it coming, but children never cease to surprise and amaze me with their curiosity and ingenuity. Oh well, I can think of worse fingerpaint...

Murder Mystery

The victim was found in the seat compartment of a pink mini truck. He is believed to have been minding his own business at the time; witnesses say a small, adorable, curly-haired girl was seen in the vicinity near the time of death. She is known to be dangerous to tiny creatures. One witness even saw her in close contact with the victim a short time before the body was discovered. Reportedly, she was holding the victim by one leg and saying, "See?" to those nearby. She has since been taken into custody and bail has been set as a 3-hour nap, awaiting further investigation. Although she has been charged with many incidents of animal mistreatment, she has never been punished, due to the judge's inability to see past her sweet face and charming voice.

Recipe Revealed

For those of you who are brave enough to try cooking with quinoa, here is the recipe I raved about last month: (for the photo, follow this clue)

Black Beans and Quinoa
1 t. oil
1 chopped onion
3 garlic cloves, crushed
3/4 c. rinsed quinoa
1 1/2 c. broth
1 t. cumin
1/4 t. cayenne
salt and pepper
1 can corn, drained
2 cans black beans, drained
cilantro
Saute onion and garlic in oil. Add quinoa, broth, and spices. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat, and simmer 20 minutes. Add corn, black beans, and cilantro.

Vegetable Salsa
1 zucchini
1-2 bell peppers (red, orange, or yellow)
1 c. cilantro
1/2 sweet onion
1/2 jalapeno
1 can pink beans, rinsed and drained
1 t. cumin
1/4 t. chili powder
1 t. salt
juice from 1/2 lime
Finely dice all vegetables and mix in remaining ingredients. You may want to add a tomato or avocado or increase the amount of the spices.

Thank you again, Serena. It was delicious!

Creating a Dead Drop

by Stephanie

For those who are less familiar with the espionage genre, a dead drop is a designated location where two spies can pass information to each other, without ever having to meet in person. One spy can simply leave information at the dead drop for the other spy to pick up at a later time. Using a dead drop can minimize the appearance of suspicious activity and protect the identity of the spies.

Here are some helpful hints for choosing a dead drop location:

1. Choose a hiding place that is a tight and secure fit for your secret object. For example, a yogurt-covered pretzel is a perfect fit in that little detergent compartment in the dishwasher. Anyone who happened to find it would have to pry it out, thereby destroying the evidence in the process.


2. Find a place that no one would ever think of looking. (See photo above.) Place the blueberries (or secret information) in one of those little outlets that have been set below floor level to accomodate plugging in a lamp that is not near a wall. It is unlikely anyone will look in there until the blueberries have had time to become mushy and possibly moldy.


3. Think of a location that is somewhat gross, where no one will want to go investigating, say...the cat box. Place the Star Wars figures in the yellow mud pond and then use the little shovel to mix it all up a bit so they have some camouflage. Believe me, no one will go looking for them in there.

These are just three small examples out of endless possibilities. Remember - be creative, be discreet and, above all, be quiet - good spies do not draw attention to themselves. I hope this was helpful.

How to Pick a Lock

Tools required: Cell phone, patience, nice husband.

Step one: Pull out your cell phone. (Whew! Good thing it was in your pocket!)

Step two: Enter the speed dial number of your husband's phone (or anyone else who happens to have a key to your house - doesn't have to be a husband).

Step three: Start by asking how his day is going and if there's anything you can do for him.

Step four: Ask if he will be available for awhile or if he has some meetings scheduled (unfortunately, it's only 9am at this point). Then, when he says he will be around, tell him you (and his cute little daughter) are locked out, but that you can borrow your friend's car and come get the key from him. The catch: you will be driving someone else's car without a license.

Step five: After he says, without any hesitation, that he will drive the 40 minutes one-way home and let you in the house, then drive the 40 minutes back to work, thank him sweetly and sincerely.

Step six: Wait patiently for him to arrive and start thinking of something yummy to make for dinner.

Voila! Lock-picking made simple. You would think that, with my great love of mysteries and crime detection, I would already know a more sophisticated way to pick a lock. I am ashamed. Maybe there's a class I could take...

Top 10 Clues for a Successful Move

Don't ask if we're all settled in yet. The answer should be obvious.
Alright, here are the top 10 clues:

10. On your last day in the old house, do not ask your kids if there's anything they want to do one last time before you move. Both the boys managed to yank out a not-so-loose tooth and we ended up having one more visit from the tooth fairy, as if we weren't busy enough that night.

9. Expect the unexpected. On the day of our move, Daniel came home from Kindergarten with The Surprise Box. "Please help your child find an item to put in the box and write three clues to encourage the other children to guess what it is. You must return it tomorrow! Have fun." Yeah. Very fun.

8. Make sure you know where the cat is before it's time for him to go to his overnight bungalow at the vet. Otherwise, as you can imagine, you will be frantically searching for him when you really should be focusing on actually moving.

7. Choose a funny person to be your realtor so he can entertain you while you sign papers and wait for your thousand copies to be made. (Thanks, Del.) You may also want to do some hand exercises in the days leading up to your closing. Oh yeah - and they'll need your signature WITH your middle initial as well as WITHOUT.

6. Wait at least 10 minutes before depositing your check from the title company. If you don't, they will probably call you right after you leave the bank and say, "Hold on to that check for a bit, will you?" Just imagine the stress you would have if that happened...

5. Be prepared for a warm welcome from all your new neighbors. No, I'm not talking about the human ones. Among the array of creature neighbors we've met so far: chipmunks living in the front yard, woodpeckers, box turtle, wolf spiders and a possible black widow (never could get her to roll over before we gave up and smashed her - just in case.).

4. If it looks like a lazy susan, it probably is a lazy susan. Push harder.

3. Remember to use deodorant on your first Sunday in the new ward.

2. Do not, I repeat, do NOT believe anything Verizon says about transferring your phone service.

And...

1. Do not promise your kids you will take them on the ward campout that takes place two days after you move. Trust me, you will be exhausted. (Or, at least, your husband will be - if it's the Father-Son campout.)

Mystery Dinner

Mmmm! Doesn't this look colorfully delicious? This is the dinner that was brought to my family last night by a very kind friend who thought I might not want to be doing a lot of cooking with just 6 days left till the move. She was right. This is a black bean quinoa dish with fresh vegetable salsa on top. It was even tastier than it looks. What's the mystery, you ask?

Well. The mystery is why my kids ate it without ANY fuss whatsoever. No sideways glance of suspicion as they approached their plates. No tentative queries into its unique components. Daniel simply asked, "What is this?" I told him what it was and that my friend had brought it for us, and he replied, "It looks yummy!" and dug right in and ate the entire portion on his plate. This is, indeed, a mystery! Did he do this because it was brought by someone else, not made by me? Was it the smell? All the beautiful colors? I guess I should ask him because if I could crack this mystery, we could have success at every meal. Nathan and Stephanie ate theirs with no trouble as well (though Nathan is typically a very adventurous eater anyway).

Eric was the only one who seemed to think twice about it. After I told him what it was called, he said, "What is quinoa anyway?" I told him it was a kind of grain. He froze mid-bite and asked, "Brain?"

(Note: I have since learned that it is not a true grain, but a kind of seed. But hey, that's better than brains.)

Cornered: My Life in Boxes

I'm starting to feel a bit suffocated. I may not have mentioned this here before, but...we're moving. Not far, just under three miles away. Nonetheless, everything still has to be packed, ready and accounted for. We have been pecking away at the packing a piece at a time. A box here, a box there, as we decide which of our precious things we can live without for a month, for 3 weeks or, now, for 12 days. My husband jumped the gun on our bedroom lamps. He packed them up on Wednesday morning before heading out on a business trip. (Side note: today is our anniversary and he is spending it in our honeymoon location-San Diego. I, on the other hand, am spending it here, surrounded by boxes and hungry children. But, back to the matter at hand.) So off he went, and as I got into bed that night I realized that, if anything startled me in the middle of the night or if I just had insomnia, I would not be able to reach over and switch on the lamp. So I have borrowed a decorative nightlight from the baby's room for the next 11 days.

It's fascinating to me to see our daily life gradually being reduced to brown cubes with Sharpie writing on them. As you might guess, I am starting to wonder why we have all this stuff. And why on earth are we going to the trouble of playing Tetris with it to get it neatly and safely packed into boxes, just to take it to our next home and not know where to put it? In case you're wondering, yes, we have had one of those moments when we discovered we had packed something we shouldn't have and had to hike Mount Cardboard to find and extract it.

Packing has been an interesting study in priorities. Books have been packed away, but the TV is still up and running and the DVD collection remains readily available. Piano music has nearly all been packed, but the CDs are still in use. Only the essential dishes have not been packed, which begs the question, "Why do we have more than the essentials?"

We have every intention of being extremely organized in our new house. A place for everything and everything in its place. Of course, once we get settled, we will realize how much more space we have and we will start to buy things and fill the empty space until we are once again...cornered. The circle of life. (Or at least one of them.)

Decoding Kidspeak (I think)

A couple of days ago, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner when Nathan came in the front door and began removing his shoes (the usual method of using the toe of one shoe to hold down the heel of the other--no wonder shoes have short lives at our house). As he finished, he announced animatedly to me, "Mom! I'm breeding."

Surely I didn't hear that correctly. "What did you say, Nathan?"

"I'm breeding."
"Okay. (pause) What are you breeding?"
"Pokemons!" (with a destinct "Duh!" on the end of it)
"Uh...er...you can breed them? How does that work?" (not sure I will like this answer; I really would prefer my children did not learn the details of the birds and the bees from little Japanese pictographs)

He went on to explain how this is done in terms I was not entirely familiar with, which actually put my mind at ease. I keep thinking I am so "with it" as a mom. I finally understand webkins (pretty much); Nathan and Daniel taught me how to do Picto-chat on the DS; and I know what it means to "verse" someone. But this breeding thing was definitely new territory. We've moved from reading groups to breeding groups. I decided to check into this a bit online and found that there are whole websites devoted to properly matching up your pokemon creatures for breeding. If you want to know everything I know, follow this clue. There is a detailed sorting of Pokemons into breeding categories. What I found most interesting about this was the fact that the "Mineral" group and the "Indeterminate" group (don't you love that label?) were both separate from the "Cannot Breed" category. Apparently, you can breed minerals and indeterminates, as long as they're pokemons. The other interesting thing was the link to a site for finding "Hot & Smart" egg donors (the real kind). Hmmm... not a site I want the kids browsing on their own.

Looking at the picture above, I'm starting to feel quite concerned about a possible Pokemon invasion. Will there be room left for us slower-breeding humans when all the Pokemon breeding is done? And does anyone have a good Kid-to-English dictionary? Sometimes this decoding work is troublesome.

Pizza Incognito (Again)

School lunch just isn't what it used to be. Remember how tasty everything was when we were in elementary school? (Except the tostadas.) Yummy spaghetti, savory corn dogs, scrumptious cookies, delectable pizza slices. Okay, maybe my memory has been warped over time, but it sure seemed delicious back then.

Yesterday, I ate lunch at school with Daniel. Actually, it would be more accurate to say I had lunch with Daniel's classmate, Fatima. Daniel, though he has been begging all year for me to come eat lunch with him, spent the entire time talking and giggling with the child next to him. But the girl across from us (Fatima) was more than happy to be my lunch partner and talked my ear off while I chewed (and gagged). I opted for the salad, which was nothing to write home about, but I also tasted Daniel's slice of pizza and was sorely disappointed. It had a very wheat-y crust (why do they feel such a need for it to be healthy?), the cheapest sauce available, very chewy cheese, and a pathetic little row of 3 pepperonis. (The photo above looks better than what I ate.) Thankfully, though, they still serve chocolate milk, so I had something good to wash it all down with. (Fatima very kindly showed me how to insert the straw into the carton.) I know--you're probably thinking, "What were you expecting for $3.10 in a school cafeteria?" I guess I just wanted it to be like it used to be. But $3.10 seems like a reasonable price for making my son happy. To his credit, the first thing he said when he got off the bus yesterday was, "Thank you for having lunch with me today, Mom!"

Hazards, Traps, and Preferred Lies

Any golfers out there? All of the above are golf terms. Hazards refer to things like water that might be in the way of your perfect shot. Traps refer to little pockets of sand here and there that will trap your ball and add to your score. For information on Preferred Lies, see the "Tiger Woods" section of this post below. Over spring break last week, we visited family in Augusta, GA, home of the Augusta National Golf Course where the Masters is played. This is the most special place for golfers in the country, maybe even the whole world. It is the greenest emerald of all the Greens. Fortunately for us, we arrived there the week before the Masters tournament, thereby avoiding the great pilgrimage made by rich golfers (is there any other kind?) to their mecca.

Golf is a mystery to me. Wanting to play the game is not so much a mystery as wanting to watch people play the game. My husband informs me that the spectators in attendance will have paid $700 per day for the privilege of waiting in a horrendous line of traffic (then probably having to turn around and go elsewhere to find parking), and then cramming themselves into a large crowd of people, all of whom are walking around in the heat, following other people who are attempting to knock a little white ball into a hole, 18 monotonous times, over a 4-hour period. Why would they do this?!? Could it be just to admire the beauty of this famous course? Below are two lovely photos that show how this might be tempting:

It doesn't look at all the same from outside the fancy gates. Our view was of a high hedge, clearly intended to keep out the prying eyes of the riff-raff. They have a category of green highway signs that we had not encountered before in our many travels: "Golf traffic" signs.

By the time we left for home at 7:30 on Monday morning, the lines had begun. We passed an enormous line of cars waiting for their turn on the exit ramp that would lead them to the signs saying, "Lot full", where they could then queue up for the next traffic torture session. And the real tournament doesn't even start until tomorrow. One other possible draw for this peculiar spectatorship (Mom, is that a word?) is the presence of the notorious Tiger Woods. One headline today stated, "Guards on Lookout for Tiger's Girls." The guards referred to are Tiger's personal guards whose lofty assignment this week is to watch for any of his former exploits who might have it in mind to show up and make an embarrassing scene. The guards each have a stack of photos to use as a reference for these identifications. That's no small task.

We are very glad to have escaped the hazards and traps of Augusta this week. If I'm lucky, Eric will enjoy the Masters on TV without any need for companionship from me. Won't the reporters have fun asking Tiger about his "preferred lies" this tournament? Here's the first line of the definition of this term: "Preferred lies is a condition that exists by local rule only and under which golfers are, on certain parts of a golf course, allowed to improve their lies without penalty." Love that--"improve their lies." (If you want greater details on this in golf terminology, follow this clue, but really, why would you care?)

Picture Puzzle Solution

The photo in the post below is of the Everglades. I took the picture from the front of an airboat we rode when we visited the Miccosukee Indian Village in southern Florida. It's a wild (and loud)sensation to ride along just above the water and grasses. Nice guessing again, Afton! You're certainly earning all that fame and glory.

Updated Picture Puzzle

Any guesses? This picture has made it to the sixth round of additions and still has not been figured out. Hello? Anyone there? Remember...fame and glory.

Codename: Mean Mom

I have just invented a new system for measuring the relative mean-ness of individual mothers. It's called The Strichter Scale and, as the name suggests, it measures the impact of rules, chores, and punishments on children who are in the vicinity of maternal seismic activity.

For many years, I have compared myself to other mothers and tried to be less strict than that one over there, but perhaps more strict than this one over here, in the hopes that my children will have a nice balance somewhere between spoiled rotten and indentured servitude. As long as there are a few mothers who are stricter than I am, I feel like a nice mom. It also helps to be able to say to my children, "I know I'm strict, but aren't you glad 'Mrs. So-and-so' is not your mom?"

Now, of course, some children are more sensitive to these tremors than others. Something that would normally register at about 5.5 on the Strichter Scale may come in at something in the neighborhood of 7.9 with a sensitive child. Without naming names, let me just say that I know what I'm talking about when I say "sensitive child". A simple request to pick up a few blocks and toys can register as an 8.8 quake in our house. And sometimes the aftershocks can be more severe than the initial one.

Once in a while, when the situation warrants it, we attempt to cause an earthquake. This happens when there has been a severe infraction of a rule and we are set the task of fixing the appropriate punishment. We then go for the gusto and announce the removal of some privilege, with the hope that that will really shake the house and help that child to make better choices in the future. However, it usually registers very low on the Strichter Scale and we scramble to come up with some kind of aftershock that will add to the blow.

I must admit, from time to time, I am the sensitive person over-reacting to events in our household. The aftershocks in those cases are completely unpredictable and always result in regret on my part, which just shows how unstable and fragile our little world really is. Do scientists ever attempt to repair those cracks in the earth's crust that lead to earthquakes? They probably don't, but maybe we mothers should.

Picture Puzzle #4

Here it is, another picture puzzle. See how quickly you can figure this one out. A little more will be revealed each day in the Picture Puzzle section in the right-side column. To make a guess, comment on this post or email me. Fame and glory await you.
No prize, but...fame and glory.

Deciphering Boys: Gross Things

What is it about the Y chromosome that compels its owners to an eerie fascination with gross things? Like some kind of strange black hole, pictures like the one below seem to pull on a boy's mind and place him in a sort of hypnotic state. Transfixed gaze, slightly elevated heart rate, open-mouthed wonder at the hideousness of it, yet unable to pull himself away. Daniel opens up to this page of our "Ancient Egypt" book every time he looks at it. He asks about where the man's eyeballs are now and whether or not those are his original teeth. Now, I certainly find mummies and ancient Egypt to be quite spellbinding myself, but a five-second look at the mummy photo will suffice. The death and decay are not a pleasing sight.
Here are two more examples of the love of gross things amongst boys:

1. Nathan had a friend over recently and they were talking about snakes. (No, I do not put snakes in the gross category, in and of themselves.) His friend was saying, "You have to go on youtube and watch 'Snake regurgitates antelope'! It's so awesome!" The antelope is dead and all covered with slime, which I guess must have been part of the excitement. That was the gist of it anyway, and of course, Nathan did ask me to see it later that day. (If you must watch it yourself, follow this clue.)
2. (This is literally "#2", just so you're forewarned.) Nathan came out of the bathroom the other day and said to me, with a huge smile on his face, "I weighed myself and it was 66. Then I went #2 and then I weighed myself and it was 65.5. Cool, hu?"

Note: I know I said I would refrain from toilet topics for awhile, but at the time I said that, I really hadn't given enough thought to how much of my life seems to involve the bathroom.

So what is the answer to this mystery of why boys have such an affinity for gross things? Does it make them feel more manly if they like them? Do they truly just relish the look of those things? My personal opinion is that if they convince themselves (and other people) that they love those gross things, then they won't feel so scared of them. Find it funny or awesome and it loses some of its horror. Maybe I'll have to test this hypothesis somehow...

To Catch a Thief

Hoarding and thievery. Those are phases of early childhood, right? Stephanie has reached that stage where she knows if she can just get hold of something she wants and take off with it fast enough, she may be able to hang on to it long enough to enjoy it or at least stash it somewhere safe for later. It's a common occurence, so it wasn't too difficult to snap this photo of her exploits. She's holding one of Daniel's precious cowboy boots. He was asked to put them away and she immediately ran over, grabbed one, and took off around the kitchen corner where she knows she's out of sight. I did not take the "after" picture of the scene she makes when the stolen item is recovered from her, so just use your imagination.

Doppelganger

For some reason, it rubs me the wrong way when people tell me they know someone who looks "just like" me. (This has recently happened, which is why I'm on this train of thought.) I've been trying to figure out why this should bother me so much. Is it because I feel less special if there's another me out there? Is it because it makes me think I must be rather a plain Jane to have all these supposed look-alikes? Maybe there's a bit of a yes answer to both of those questions. But since I enjoy categorizing and organizing, I've divided these "doppelganger" moments into three groups for further analysis:

1. Someone tells me I look similar to someone famous.
This is usually the least annoying of the look-alike incidents (as long as it's not someone old, unattractive, or weird). Sadly, this is also the least common of the look-alike incidents. And no one ever tells me I look just like Cindy Crawford, or Anne Hathaway, or Catherine Zeta-Jones. That would be fun. It's always someone whose name is vaguely familiar but I can't quite remember what movie she was in.

2. Someone tells me I look just like someone they know or are related to.
This is more bothersome than the previous category because I don't know the person they're referring to and I'm always pretty sure they're not as interesting as I am. Afterwards, I always feel like the person who told me this will view me as quite different than I actually am because their opinion is tainted by the physical resemblance. About an hour after this happens, I usually have an unexplained urge to go get a haircut.

3. Someone tells me I look "exactly" like my mother.
Sorry, Mom. No offense intended, but this is by far the most vexing of the three categories. Why it should be is a mystery to me because it is usually coupled with a comment about how attractive my mother is or how they thought she was my sister. She does look much younger than she is, but still...don't people see how telling me I look "exactly" like someone who is 25 years older than I am could be a bit of an insult? Age aside, though, who really wants to be an exact copy of anyone else, let alone their mother? Good thing I'm not a twin.

So now you know. I am an overly sensitive egomaniac and you should probably be cautious about telling me whom I resemble. (Hmmm...is it "whom" or "who" in this case? Mom?)

Picture Puzzle #3: Rise and Shout, the Cougars are Out!

Afton wins again! This is the BYU campus - cougar country. My dad used to wake us up for early-morning seminary by singing, "Rise and shout! The cougars are out." And we didn't even live in Utah. We took this picture a few years ago on a visit there, and we noticed afterwards that our boys were both dressed like Utes (Univ. of Utah). Oooops!

The Usual Suspects

Life is full of little adventures. Three juvenile suspects. Three adventures yesterday. Here's a breakdown of the small but significant happenings around our house over the past 2o hours. (Imagine some film-noir music in the background while you read these).

"Deer Park Lake"
5:18pm. At the computer desk.
My 6-year old came in and asked if he could take a water bottle outside with him. Normally I would have said yes, but I knew he had just had one that a friend brought out for him. So I said he could just get a drink in the kitchen and go back outside. He replied, "But I really need this out there. We're making a lake." Ummm, no. Not with bottled water, you're not. I'm glad he asked before taking our entire supply out there.

"Writing Style"
7:04pm. Kitchen table.
My 10-year old was nearly finished with the homework he had been whining about for forty minutes, which was to copy a one-page paper into cursive. He suddenly burst into tears and cried that he would have to start all over. I entered the room to find that he had knocked over his water glass and about half the page was soaked. I couldn't stand the thought of him whining (even more intensely than he had before) for another forty minutes. So, while he cleaned up his water mess, I took the page upstairs and blow-dried it. Yes, I told him, Mom now offers salon services for homework pages.

"Tomato Tornado"
Part 1: 6:07pm. Dining room table.
Our 18-month old loves tomatoes. She especially likes them when they are part of home-made salsa. She eats the salsa like it's the main course, begging for more the moment she finishes. She had several helpings last night until my husband said that was probably as much as she should eat of it. When she understood no more was coming to her tray she leaned over and put her face in the remaining slop (tomato juices, etc.) and starting sucking it up.

Part 2: 7:16am. Her bedroom.
I opened her bedroom door this morning and the smell hit me like a truck. She had thrown-up the salsa all over in her bed and on her clothes. There were tomato bits hanging from her hair, looking like projectile debris from a tornado. I put her in the bath and began the disgusting process of cleaning up her room, which reminds me--I need to go change the laundry.

All in a day's work, I guess. Today, I feel somewhat like a super-hero. Liqui-girl. Or maybe De-Liqui-girl, because I have been de-liquifying things. I prevented an unnecessary lake, I saved homework by shooting it with my blow-drier, and I saved us all from the horrific smelly liquid in the baby's room. Whew! What's next?