Nothing Good Can Come From This. . .

As you may know, we're all about education and learning here at the Wright Place.  Most of the time.  There exists every now and then a situation where advancing one's self through learning is just not a good thing. Not a good thing at all.  

Meg and I came across just such a situation last week as we both watched Molly pass by us on her way into the living room carrying a three legged stool.

Carrying a three legged stool!? 

This should have given us pause.  Unfortunately, it did not.  Life in our cozy home is every bit as crazy as you might imagine.  Megan often catches my eye over the fray and says with a grin, "Can you hear the circus music Mom?"  

As circus music hummed softly in the background, it finally occurred to me to ask Meg to follow Molly and see where she was headed with the stool.  "Come quick!" yelled Meg.  Stopping only to grab the camera, I high-tailed it into the living room where I saw learning in action.

Dah da duddy ya da duh da da da. . .

(This was the only way I could write out the music that you should be hearing in your head right now.)

Can you hear the music?

What balance!

Drum roll please!

Sweet success.

Personally, I think she should focus her efforts on growing some hair. 

 

Mark Your Calendars

Apparently, I nearly missed celebrating a holiday. . .

. . .a special holiday to be sure

  "Take Your Near-Sighted Teddy Bear to School Day"

We're looking forward to celebrating again next year!

Ladies, Linemen and Laundry

Another weekend has past.  It whizzed by before I had even settled into it.  Friday night I spent with friends not accomplishing much that could be measured, but much that was deeply felt.  We gathered, each with our own pet projects to entertain our hands while our conversations entertained our spirits.  We parted company late in the evening most of us only to meet again less than 10 hours later when our sons met on the football field. 

It was my favorite flag football game by far which is saying something considering kickoff time was set for 8:00 am.  Many of the boys on the opposing team were sons of my friends and friends of my son.  Standing together cheering for them all was so much better than divided into groups hollarin' for some arbitrary color to prevail.

My Mom left her cozy bed, two hours drive from here, in the 5 am hour to be on time for kick off and stayed for most of the day doing laundry and playing board games with the kids thus snagging  the highly coveted Grandma of the Year award.

Its a very good thing I have cute kids, otherwise I'd never be able to get anyone to come help me wade through the Lake O'Laundry!  I keep promising myself I'll stay caught up after each use of the EMCDML signal (that's Emergency Mom Come Do My Laundry signal).  It never works though, remember last time?  In fact, to be quite honest, two days have passed and I'm a smidge behind once more.  That's OK though, I would hate for Mom to be bored next time she drives two hours to visit!

Are You Chicken?

"Cole! I need you to go down to the freezer.  There are two whole chickens in a large plastic bag from Sam's.  I need you to open the big plastic bag and bring up one chicken and leave one in the bag in the freezer."

"OK Mom." Down into the depths he ventured, clearing piles of laundry in a single bound.  Reaching the deep freezer in no time flat.  Shortly I heard the slam of the freezer door closing and of feet climbing the basement steps.

"I set the chicken on the counter for you!" he yelled from the kitchen.

Ahhhh.  So nice to have a helper who can reach into the freezer.  Soon he can fix dinner for all of us, I dreamed.

Finishing the task at hand, I waltzed into the kitchen with thoughts of defrosting the chicken and setting it to roast.

A quick glance at the counter showed ... showed that perhaps my instructions were a bit confusing.

He was successful in his second attempt.

Dinner in a Pumpkin

I remember with fondness a meal that my mom used to fix for us in the fall called "Dinner in a Pumpkin".   I placed it on the menu this week and even remembered to pick up a pumpkin during that fateful Walmart trip over the weekend. 

Here's how it's done:

First, call Grandma for the recipe.

How special is that gonna be in my recipe book!

Next, the main character. . .

(The pumpkin, not the drummer.)

Brown ground beef and sausage with chopped onion.  Please note that goofy tool Cole is using.  It is the best thing to break up all those pesky lumps that can happen when you brown your beef, sausage, etc. One of my favorite gadgets.

(Recipe is at the end of this post.)

Cook rice.

In a very large bowl, combine browned beef and sausage mixture and add to it salt,

soy sauce,

brown sugar, and

cream of chicken soup.

You may not need to do the next step, but it was important during our recipe prep.

Pause a moment and pay attention to the head taster.

When the rice has finished cooking...

add it to the big bowl with everything else.


Now, back to the pumpkin.

Cut out a lid as you would for a jack o'lantern, making certain to cut on a slanted angle.

Open and clean out the "guts", saving the seeds to roast if you desire.  This is another one of those jobs best "hired out" .    

This was Kate's first pumpkin "opening" and it had been a very long time since Cole and Meg experienced pumpkin guck.

Would you please look at that ten year old knee up there on the counter top.  Nothin' like putting your whole self  into the process.

Our pumpkin after the cleaning crew was finished.

Now, add the big bowl of ingredients.

Replace the lid.

Rub the pumpkin with oil or shortening and wrap the stem with foil.

(Our pumpkin had no stem, so no foil.  Wonder if it'll feel deprived?)

Place pumpkin on a cookie sheet and place in oven to bake for about one hour.  Carefully remove it from the oven-it's very, very heavy.

Voila!

Its a bit more browned than it should be.  I happen to have the world's smallest oven and the pumpkin was very close to the elements. 

Use tongs to remove the pumpkin's lid.  It will be molten hot, steamy, and slippery.  Look, it made its own gravy - wasn't that nice!

When serving your Dinner in a Pumpkin, scrape the serving spoon against the side of the pumpkin to include some cooked pumpkin.

The reviews were wonderful.  Kate, the usual food critic gave it high marks, "Mom, this stuff isn't so bad!  I might want some more!"  The rest of the gang loved it too. 

You'll see in the recipe below that mushrooms and celery are called for, however, in this house mushrooms and celery are rarely called for.  Suit yourself!

Dinner in a Pumpkin

(the Details)

1 medium pumpkin

1 pound ground beef

1 pound ground sausage (we used mild)

1/2 teaspoon salt

1/3 cup chopped celery

1/3 cup chopped onion

1/4 cup soy sauce

2 cups cooked rice

2 tablespoons brown sugar

4 ounces sliced mushrooms (drained)

10 ounce can cream of chicken soup

Bake for 1 to 1 1/2 hours in a 375 degree oven.

This Week at Walmart

Every time we wonder why we attempt it, yet each week we find ourselves there again--at Walmart with all of the kids.  We say to one another after each harrowing episode as we drive back home, "Next time, you go and I'll stay at home with them." 

Fast forward a week and the conversation goes something like this:
"We are out of milk, coffee creamer, paper towel, pepperoni, cereal, syrup. . .do you think we should head to the store this evening?"

And before you know it there are six people in the van in various states of dress, headed to Walmart.  Not one of them wanting to go. 

It was in this very situation that we found ourselves one evening this weekend.  We'd been out running errands for some time but just as we were reaching the peak of crankiness, my Man surprised us with a nice dinner out-dessert too! 

High on waiter-served dinner and chocolate cake we trekked into Walmart and visited a moment with the greeter, who always recognizes us and takes a good look to see what we look like "before" this adventure.  He's very familiar with our "after" shots--it's probably an entertaining way to pass the time if you think about it.  I wonder how many times each day he sees a fresh, hopeful mom enter the store with her children in tow only to see the same poor disheveled woman stomping out of the store teeth clinched, dragging a howling four year old by the arm with her two foot long receipt waving and her value pack of toilet paper precariously balanced on the mountain of groceries in the shopping cart. 

After visiting with Mr. Greeter, we promise the kids, who have already lodged their protests, that with help and teamwork, this will be fast and painless.  Unfortunately, by the time we reach the back of the store, but not the end of our list, that old familiar feeling is settling in..."Why are we here with everybody--AGAIN??" 

We reach the end of the grocery section and turn to maneuver our caravan (a stroller and a fullish shopping cart and a 10 year old and a 9 year old and a 4 year old and a daddy and a mommy carrying a  28 pound one year old who has decided that she's way toooo cool to be pushed in a stroller-the one year old, not the mommy) through the clothing aisles. 

Traffic had gotten a bit congested in this area so Darrin said, "You take this one and this one and go get the soap, I'll take this one and that one to get his football pants.  Meet me up front."  Agreeing, I set off at a clip and stepped on something which I didn't see because of the 28 pounder on my hip.  I tried to step up higher to step over what ever it was but that only proved to worsen the situation.  Down, down, down I sank onto what ever had tripped me up.  Landing, I discovered that Kate had made a quick cut in front of me and was the object over which I had stumbled.

Stumbled sounds so "garden partyish" compared with what actually happened.  I hit that concrete floor with such a thud that my Man stopped and turned to see what the noise was.  I bought it big time.  Right there in the middle of Walmart.  Molly landed on me and never touched the floor.  She was upset because Kate was upset, very upset.  I had with my first step landed on Kate's ankle and in my attempt to step "over" her I stepped on her leg, then nearly landed on her. 

We looked up to see that a crowd had gathered.  After the choruses of "are you all ok?".  One gentleman said, "At least you fell very gracefully."

Really?  And what does one say in response to that?  "Oh thank you, as I was in mid air trying not to land on my four year old and preparing to have my one year old land on my stomach while aiming my most cushioned part for the concrete, my greatest concern was that my technique was skillful." Bless his heart, he tried.

Before my Man was able to haul my form up from the floor, it was necessary to hand Molly off to a concerned bystander who had what appeared to be a one year old with her also.  This poor little fella was very troubled over the whole incident and came closer to check on Kate.  The drama! 

As the crowd began to disperse, Cole came closer with a pink and white football jersey in his hands and yelling over Kate's screams said, "Hey guys, look at this, it's a GIANTS girl football jersey."  We told Cole, with tenderness, I'm certain, to put the thing back and follow us.

Kate was fine.  Molly was fine.  I was fine.  Appreciating our narrow escape from injury we left Walmart having commandeered our toilet paper and salsa, but having left our pride in the clothing section.  I'm sure our friend, the greeter will take good care of it for us as he surely noticed that we were without it as we exited.

On the way home we renewed our vow for the 82nd week in a row..."Never again...all of us...Walmart...never ends well."

Mr. Sandman, Where Were You?

Last night I took Meg to a Secret Keeper Girl event a few towns away.  Darrin stayed behind with Cole, Kate and Molly and managed a fast food dinner, football practice, and Football Night at home watching our favorite team take the field.  

Meg and I began our evening with a quick stop at Starbucks.  
(This would prove to be a grand misstep.)

Starbucks makes us both feel like real grown ups.

On to the event for a great time and eventually, we returned home to our gang.  My Man and my son were still up seeing our team to victory.  The little girls has been tucked snugly into their beds and were sleeping soundly when I went to check on them.

Off to bed for the rest of us.  Ahhhhh sweet sleep after a long, rewarding day.  Molly, bless her little heart, has been sleeping through the night for many months now.  We've been spoiled I guess or at the very least forgetful.  

Our memory has returned.

At 3:00 am Kate appeared at our bedside declaring that she couldn't sleep.  Darrin returned her to her bed.  I realized that, for the second night in a row in the middle of the night, I had a head ache.  Inner voices began screaming--"It's the furnace, carbon monoxide poisoning!"  So, after my Man climbed back into bed, I vaulted out to replace the battery in the carbon monoxide alarm which caused said alarm to "chirp" a time or two in the process.  Fears relieved, I climbed back into bed.

At 3:30 am Meg entered our room reporting the she'd not yet been to sleep and could she read for a bit.  Go read, go read.  Good night, said we.  

At 4:00 am My Man retreated to the couch to find something to watch, hoping to find sleep again, somewhere.

At 5:00 am Molly sounded the alarm.  I heard my poor, sleepless Man sprint up the stairs in "prevent defense", attempting to halt the noise before the whole party began once more.

At 5:05 am I heroically walked 10 steps into the next room and took Molly from her dad and put her in bed with me. (After My Man's sprint up the stairs, it was the least I could do.) 

From 5:05 am until 5:50 am, Molly pulled at my eyelids, embedded her nose into my face, and plucked my eyelashes. 

At 5:50 I returned my facial masseuse to her bed.  I peeked in on Meg and found her still sleepless.  Poor baby, must've been the Starbucks.

At 6:00 am I returned to my bed, passing My Man who was finally asleep on the couch.  Sleep, oh the bliss.

At 7:00 am Molly woke for the morning, communicating somehow with Kate who joined her in happy morning banter.  My Man with Molly in one arm joined me in our bed followed closely by Kate.  After 15 minutes of being used as human trampolines we unloaded the two girls from our bed, wishing them our best and rolled over to try to capture a minute or two more of sleep.

At 7:30 Cole entered our room saying, "Are you about ready to go Dad?"

"Go where? Where are you guys going?" I mumbled. 

"To the Y to work out Mom, it's Y (MCA) day."

Ohmygoodness...

When the going gets tough. . .

Forever in Blue Jeans

She waited until a crowd had gathered.  She paused until there was a lull in the conversation.  She saw her opening and she pounced,

"Has anyone even noticed that I have new blue jeans on?" 

The response was, I'm sure just what she'd been hoping for.  All eyes turned to her and admiring gazes noticed her new jeans and everything that she was in them. 

I had gone to the store by myself earlier in the day to pick up this and that and had come across a "too good to pass up" deal on her jeans.  I laid them on her bed and promised her that she could try them on after her nap.  There was much discussion about why the tags must be left on until after the try on.  Finally agreeing not to pull the tags, she napped.

I heard her feet hit the floor and minutes later she appeared.  Blue jeans fitting perfectly, tags fluttering in her wake. "They fit really good, except for around the waist right here Mom.  I know that's why they put these adjuster things here.  Could you fix these for me?"  We fixed "the adjuster things" and she found the perfect top, clean and in her drawer.  All was right in her world.

I remember another girl, a good bit older than Kate, who was in need of some jeans.  I do not know the reason why my Dad was given the job of taking me on the search.  I do know why he accepted--he did not know what lay ahead.  I remember entering the first store, and trying on a pair of jeans that were OK, but surely I reasoned, better existed, so on we went into every store in the mall that sold jeans. 

I tried on many, many pairs. 

Dad, ever the long-suffering father of three girls, accompanied me every step of the way offering no complaint.

A few important discoveries were made that fateful day.  First, it is possible that the first pair of jeans tried on during a shopping trip with one's father could be and probably are the best ones for the occasion.  Second, my Dad is a patient but intelligent man.  Upon exiting the mall with my new jeans bagged and at my side, I heard a calm, smiling voice,

"Well babe, you can mark this date twice on your calander."

"What do ya mean?" I asked.

"Mark it as the first time I took you to look for a pair of jeans, and as the last time."

I'm not sure if my sisters, younger both than I, have blamed me all these years for ruining him, though it would seem that I did.  Dad forever handed the "clothing" reins back to Mom and to my knowledge, never darkened the door of the Gap again.  Never. 

But he never missed a volleyball game.  Ever.