it's raining eggs

Surfer Dude and a couple of his friends are members of the brand new Engineering Club at their Elementary School, and last week there was a competition held at the college right up the road. They all entered in a couple of categories, but the Egg Drop was the one that made the biggest splash -at least around here.


I'm sure you're all familiar with the Egg Drop. You take an egg and rig it into some kind of contraption that keeps the egg from breaking when you drop it from a certain height. Early last week there were four boys in my house in feverish preparation for the event. They each showed up on my doorstep clutching a dozen eggs and then disappeared into SD's bedroom to work out the kinks. They were engrossed, they were diligent...they were quiet. I chalked the silence up to an overactive sixth grade work ethic and went about my business.


That was my first mistake.


I was in the kitchen putting dinner together when I heard the sound of something hitting the patio outside with a big gushy splat. When I stuck my head out the back door to check it out, I almost got beaned by an egg hurtling way too fast toward the brick patio. I looked up briefly and then jumped back into the safety of the doorway as it began to rain eggs all around me. Four boy's heads peered out of the only screenless window in Gumby's room and watched intently, hoping (futiley) that one of the eggs landed intact. Meanwhile, three dogs peered intently out of the open screen door and as if they were one, bolted out for a little pre-Easter egg collection. I have mentioned they're Labs, right? Before I could get them rounded up, they had each wolfed down more than their fair share of raw eggs. Pieces of eggshell clinging to their muzzles, I corralled them in the house and went to have a word with the Egg Beaters. They sat upstairs, dejected. Forty eight eggs dropped and forty eight eggs broken. It didn't look like this was going to be such a hot event for them, although no complaints were heard from the canine corner.


Forty eight hours later, cleaning up yet another doggie present from the double ended GI Upset Store, I thought they should change the name of the event. The Egg Drop didn't do it much justice. It wasn't a fear of broken eggs that kept us from walking barefooted through a dark room without turning on a light.


Is Cause and Effect even an engineering term?

giving thanks

Ah, yes. Thanksgiving. It's tomorrow, right?


Like I'd forget. For some reason Thanksgiving is a favorite holiday around here, and not just because we all eat like garbage scows. I'm honestly not sure what the big appeal is, but since it's so hard to get a majority on anything in this house, I'll take it no matter what. It may be my last one until next Thanksgiving.



The food will be what it always is - pretty traditional stuff. Surfer Dude and I will do a bunch of stuff ahead of time today - just like we always do. I did all of my shopping last week to avoid getting caught in horrendous grocery lines, so I've got a second wind for the cooking. We're brining the turkey this year for the first time - cross your fingers. And we've got some friends coming over for dinner - which will make the day especially nice.


The elephant in the room, of course, is that this is our first post-divorce holiday. But in the continuing amiability that is my divorce, we've invited the FX to come and eat with us. This was very important to Gumby and Surfer Dude, so it's what we're doing. I've said all along that if we could get the kids through this relatively unscathed, then it would be very possible to have a happy ending. I'm sure it'll get weird, but what the hell. It can't get much weirder than the rest of the year has been.


One thing I think we'll need to do differently is going around the table and having everyone say one thing they're thankful for. That will probably be better avoided this year, because it could get pretty sticky. I'll say mine mentally, though. Because I know exactly what I'm grateful for this Thanksgiving.


I just don't think it would go over too well.

needle in a haystack

Walking into my back yard today in the process of dragging in my usual $200 worth of food for the week , I happened to look down. There, in an enormous pile of leaves, was Surfer Dude's phone. On the brick walkway that we have all traversed many, many times since he lost it a week and a half ago. In the same back yard that was practically afloat a couple of days ago after a monumental rainstorm. Very near the spot where one of the dogs loves to do their business. I sighed mightily and took it in the house, knowing it was well beyond repair.


But I was wrong. I don't have a clue in the world how, but it works perfectly. It isn't even wet. How can this be? Is it like some cell phone survivor story? Where do I sell the movie rights?


Could it be that my technology luck is changing?

locusts

My mother made a pot roast for dinner tonight. A four pound pot roast cooked in the dutch oven on top of the stove, surrounded by whole potatoes, carrot pieces and an ocean of beef gravy. I made a chicken and gnochi stew with shitake mushrooms, carrots and broccoli. For Gumby, I made the chicken stew with fake chicken, hold the mushrooms. The idea was that we would have food for lunches and dinner for the next couple of potential hell days. The reality was different.


Sasquatch and Surfer Dude polished off an entire four pound pot roast in about ten minutes. My mother, who claimed she wasn't hungry and wanted to wait a while, never had a chance. I hear a lot of complaints that I never make roasts for them to destroy, and this was why. My locusts had arrived. The two of them hoarded beef for lunches tomorrow, while at the same time pointing fingers as to who had eaten the most food for dinner. It was ugly.


As soon as I realized what happened, I made the boys pony up their lunch beef for their poor starved Nana. She declined, half incredulous and half gratified at the power of grandma food. I wasn't incredulous or gratified. I just kept walking around saying, "It was a four pound pot roast. Four pounds." This is why I put mushrooms in everything I want to eat. Locusts don't like mushrooms. At least my locusts don't. It doesn't taste so good when it's brownies I'm hoarding, but at least I know they'll be left alone.


My mom is now eating a bowl of my chicken and mushroom stew, and, fueled by a little pre-debate wine, looks up at me periodically and says, "They really ate the whole thing?"


I raise my own glass as I nod that yes, they did indeed eat the whole beefy thing.


Thank god for shitake mushrooms. I won't starve this week.

yeah, I really do think...

Well, isn't this ironic?


Ever since Surfer Dude and one of his best friends auditioned for a play, it's been a mess. To sum it up as succinctly as possible:


The friend got the lead and chose to do both the play and the soccer - a near impossible feat unless you have a clone.


Surfer Dude was offered the second lead and turned it down, wanting to focus on his number one love - soccer.


The chaos this has caused in our soccer carpool (all the way to the other side of town twice a week) has been enormous. And I'm not for a second jumping on the friend (or his parents) for doing this. I wouldn't do it, but I get it. I totally get it. They're ultimately going to be the ones tearing their hair out, and with the perspective of having older children, I think this is the sort of situation you have to get yourself into at least once - just to make you refuse to ever do it again. To add to this, they changed the times of the soccer practices, which sent normally even-keeled me into such a tizzy that I wrote a scathing letter to the soccer association. (Their response? A very PC version of "bite my ass"). Add in the rain-outs and the rescheduled double headers and it's been a very long season already. And we've only played two games.


So today, after Gumby had to come home from school at 10 am for an upset stomach, after Sasquatch came home from school at 6 pm and got all teenaged and hormonal on me, after Surfer Dude came in from his soccer practice sobbing in pain from a fall (and this kid never sobs. Never), after I spent my night off in my very own ER, the xray has spoken...


Fractured arm.


Out for the rest of the season.

oh, to be eleven again?

Surfer Dude went to auditions today for the upcoming play at our local Art Center. Gumby had planned on going too, but changed his mind at the last minute. He's getting into Junior High in a big way - joining clubs, acting in a school production, even going out for (and winning) student council, and he just decided he didn't want to take on one more thing. (To say this experience is different from when Sasquatch was in Junior High doesn't even begin to do it justice. Trust me on this.)



We knew we were in trouble immediately when we got the rehearsal schedule before they even read for the director. Every single rehearsal is at exactly the same time as his soccer practices. And the performances? Two shows on the same day as the end of season soccer tournament. Sounds like a no brainer, doesn't it? Obviously, you can't be in two places at the same time. But we were there, and he was psyched up, so he went ahead and auditioned. One of his best friends, who has been bitten bad by the acting bug, was there, too. Did I mention that they're also on the same soccer team?



The friend's mom and I sat together and commiserated. (Oh, all right. We cussed, okay? A lot.) This was a real dilemma. And like all dilemmas, there were many sides to it. There was only one given. No matter what happened, the parents would lose.



Her son, let's call him George (since that's his name), has gotten a couple of big parts recently, and has gotten addicted quick. I think he's really got a knack for it. Surfer Dude, who started acting at the same time, has gotten smaller (much, much smaller) parts in the same plays, but has had a blast doing it. He could potentially have a knack for it, but it's not blindingly obvious now. On the other hand, SD has shown recent signs of being a soccer force to be reckoned with. At the game this weekend, I couldn't understand the little acronym the coach was shouting to the players. I was later told that "G.I.T.S." meant "Give It To SD" to shoot. (And no, his initial isn't really an S. But I couldn't resist the thought of the coach yelling about GITS and referring specifically to my kid.)



We came home and had a long discussion. And besides what I think about eleven years olds having to make choices like this about "recreational" activities, I was really proud of how he dealt with it. In spite of the director offering to change rehearsals around if need be, he chose soccer- which he was already committed to - but will take an acting class that won't interfere at all with his practices. He completely got it when I said that sometimes if you overextend yourself and do two things you love that conflict horribly time-wise, you end up being so stressed that you don't enjoy either one. The verdict is still not in on his friend (or the soccer carpool that we do together), but I have fingers crossed.



I don't remember things being like this when I was eleven. And I'm really kind of glad for that.

a mathemathical equation

(1 ) still sleeping after an all night gaming tourney brother, who had somehow made his way into his mother's bed


+


(1 ) wide awake younger brother with a grudge from the previous night and a brand new baritone at point blank range


=


(2) people jumping out of bed in a panic and no need for any further caffeine.


And a possibly permanent hearing loss to boot.

sleepover central

All three of my boys are having sleepovers tonight. Sasquatch is somewhere else and the other two (and their friends) are here. I have to confess that I'm really ungodly tired of sleepovers. They're like a twelve hour long fight/bitch session/"I'm telling"/"why is my friend hanging out with him?"/"he knows I hate that game"/blah/ blah/ blah.


Somehow the message has been planted that a weekend without some sort of a sleepover isn't much of a weekend. (Something tells me that if I showed up with my own "sleepover friend", my kids wouldn't think it was necessary in the least. But I digress).


Gumby's friend is one who has been here many times and we all know well. Surfer Dude's friend, on the other hand, isn't. They've been in class together for a year, but haven't really socialized much before now. I couldn't pick the parents out of a line-up, and if they know me I'm not aware of it. And yet they let him come over and spend the night without any kind of parental connection being made. I kept waiting for them to call and give me the third degree - which I most certainly would have done, just as soon as I finished calling all the other parents I knew for references.


But no. When I got home from work they had all just gotten here. When I picked up my phone messages, there was a message from the new kid's mom saying that he had been supposed to call her when he got here and she wasn't even sure she had the right number. I called her back and said he was here, and was she sure she was okay with this and did she want to talk to him? And she just said oh, no, that's fine...and hung up.


Am I hopelessly anal retentive, or is this just not right?

plus/minus

Plus: Surfer Dude has decided which instrument to play in Sixth Grade Band/Orchestra and he's done it in enough time to take advantage of the District's instrument rental policy, so we don't have to buy it on a moment's notice. Bonus Plus: His dad very nicely took him to take care of all of this when SD called and said "oh by the way, the rentals start in five minutes" and I was at work.

Minus: He switched his instrument from a clarinet to a baritone at the last minute, which means that if he likes it we have to buy a baritone next year at a much higher cost than a clarinet. Not to mention the fact that I get to listen to a baritone all year.




Plus: I had a casserole in the fridge that I pulled out of the freezer for dinner tonight, so when I rolled in the door dinner could be on the table in minutes.

Minus: Surfer Dude forgot to put it in to cook. Or, to describe it accurately, when I walked in he was curled up on the sofa watching tv and said "do you forgive me?" and I said "for what?" and then he fessed up. We ate dinner at 9:15.




Plus: We ate dinner at 9:15.

Minus: I'll be having bean and chipotle dreams tonight.




Plus: The boys promised me this morning that they'd unload and reload the dishwasher.

Minus: That promise went the way of the casserole.




Plus: I've finally made the move to the early shift at work that I wanted.

Minus: Today I have two parent conferences at two different schools and a soccer practice...all at the exact same time I'm getting off work.




Plus: I think the mice are finally out of the laundry room.

Minus: I think they're in the kitchen.




Plus: We have very understanding Unit Secretaries at work.

Minus: It's a good thing. I got sixteen phone calls today.




Plus: My sweet dog is curled up at my feet snoring away.

Minus: He has a big lump on his foot that we just noticed and I'm scared to death it's something serious.



Plus: I'm going to sleep in my fabulous new room.

Minus: I have to do it all again tomorrow.

slap fights

This past week won't be going on any Top Ten lists whenever I finally look back at my life and pick my favorite memories. My Saturday evening wine/chocolate/Hugh trifecta failed to deliver, much to my chagrin. Insult was added to injury when we ended up watching Michael Clayton instead and even George Clooney couldn't help. Now I'm the first to admit that they lit him very badly in this film but still. George and Hugh both? That's bad.


So on Sunday I shifted into Plan B - the fabulous bells and whistles bath. Lovely bath salts and oils, a moisturizing mask on my face, my favorite incense burning, a huge cup of tea - the works. This would relax me, damn it. I was going to insist on it. As the tub filled I took deep breaths and thought calming things. I was repeating my mantra - this too shall pass - when I heard a horrible thump from the living room. And again. I ran out of the bathroom, soothing carrot mask beginning to work its magic on my face, to see what the commotion was.


It didn't take long. As soon as I hit the dining room I took in the sight of Sasquatch and the Red Headed Step-Child rolling around on the floor, grunting and making inarticulate noises. The RHSC had a huge hunk of SQ's hair clutched in his hand and SQ was swinging blindly at the RHSC's head. Gumby and Surfer Dude were watching transfixed from the living room. This was a new one.


Channeling my inner mommy superhero, I grabbed them each by the collar and dragged them apart, shrieking at the top of my lungs the entire time. (I'm more used to dog fights and was wishing I had a water hose). Bear in mind that SQ is 6'1 and RHSC has a good three inches on him. No sooner did I start getting the story (a classic case of he said/she said) than SQ picked up a frickin' chair and swung it toward the RHSC's head. I deflected it with my arm (ouch) and proceeded to quietly go insane on him. Okay. Maybe not so quietly. The thumping I had heard was the two of them brawling on the stairs on the way down, knocking out spindles as they descended. I have a glass front door at the very bottom of the stairs. I was not amused.


I sent SQ to his room and drove the RHSC home. I wanted to call Laurie/Elly Mae on the way to give her a heads up on why I was bringing her son home in a battered state, but he was in the car so I couldn't. And even though we have a pact to treat each of these boys as if they are our very own, I somehow thought that looking like I had beaten him senseless was taking it a step too far.


I dropped him off and he ran upstairs in tears. I came home to find Sasquatch upstairs in tears. When I realized I still had the carrot mask on my face I wanted to hide upstairs in tears. And my bath water had gotten cold. Damn. The scent of soothing incense was in the air but I wasn't feeling the love at that point.


The reaction from people close to the boy brawlers was interesting. This was certainly a first. Our buddy Stacey, who knows them both far too well, said she imagined it would have been like a girlie-girl slap fight. (We might have taken this the wrong way, but we all knew that her son would have been the third girl in the ring). Paternal units were nonplussed. (And conveniently not home at the time).


But the exclamation point on the whole episode was provided by Gumby. As I walked back in the door from taking the RHSC home, Gumby stretched out on the sofa, grinned at me and said


Mom, you're a betting woman. If you hadn't pulled them apart who do you think would have won?


I took my bath later. Strike three.

kryptonite

My two younger kids take a lunch to school every day. It's not that they can't get a hot meal in the cafeteria, but they turn their noses up at the school food. To tell the truth I don't blame them a bit. The nutritional info is horrifying and all the food looks like it's been sitting under a heat lamp since the Fourth of July.


So every day we pack up their lunchboxes and send them on their way. I'm lucky in that all of my kids love leftovers, so what we normally do is fill a thermos with (planned) leftovers from dinner the night before. They get a hot lunch, I know they're getting decent food (that they'll actually eat) and everyone is happy.


Well, almost everyone.


Right before school started in the Fall I went to Target and bought them each a super duper thermos that cost a stinking fortune (for a thermos anyway). The neat trick of this thermos is that you nuke it for a minute when you put the food in and it keeps everything nice and hot until lunchtime. When I clean up after dinner at night I fill them up and pop them in the fridge. The next morning I take the lid off, toss it in the microwave and then pack it into a lunchbox.


We've had some problems with the kids being able to get the lids off when they go to eat. They've complained several times and I've always written it off as them giving me a hard time. It's not like I'm screwing the lid on that tight. I just want it to stay on and not drip food all over the place. I did kind of think that maybe the fact that the lid went on to food that was hot could have been the problem. But like I said, I didn't think there really was a problem - besides kids pulling my chain.


Today as we were walking out of school one of the teachers started laughing when she saw me and asked the boys if they'd told me about the day's events. Evidently it had been a dual thermal mishap day and neither one could get them open. They handed them off to teachers, who were also thwarted. In the end, the school janitor had to take both of them to his workroom and put each thermos into a vise to get it opened. When he entered the cafeteria - victorious - both kid's tables applauded.


As we walked to the car Surfer Dude told me that none of the kids in his class believed that his mom was so strong that she could shut the lid on an unopenable thermos. Gumby chimed in that I didn't even need a car to pick them up, and that his friends all assumed I could just leap over buildings to cross the couple of blocks to the school.


Maybe I let that Superwoman label go too soon.

the acting bug

A couple of weeks ago Surfer Dude's class put on a play about the Jamestown settlement as part of a history lesson. Somehow he and one of his best friends ended up with two of the larger parts, and we were on pins and needles leading up to the performance. We ran through lines until he had them down cold. He emoted from one room of the house to the next. Then in front of a school day audience of parents and lower grade children, their class brought Jamestown to life. Beautifully.


And he's had the acting bug ever since. Like there isn't enough drama in this house already.


His friend may have even been bitten harder, although that's difficult to imagine. The friend's dad (who is a good friend) and I tried to steer them into the same drama class that Gumby is going to be taking this spring, but they were too young. But...there is a play being staged in March that was holding open auditions - and they wanted to go. They were casting adults and children, and from the sounds there were not a lot of parts available, but the kids were determined. They would also be casting some extras and understudies. If you survived the first cut call backs would be Sunday. I privately said to the Film Geek that for $40 a kid to be in the play the producers would find as many parts as kids who showed up. I'm cynical that way. I can't help it. (I also made a point of taking Surfer Dude to this thing myself, since the FG and this director have worked together many times and I didn't think that should be a factor in his decision. On the subject of cynical).


So Saturday afternoon we showed up for the auditions. Self esteem not being one of his issues, he was convinced that he had a lead part in the bag. I tried to insert a little reality into his fantasy, as I knew they were expecting a full house of applicants and that he had no real experience besides school stuff. I pointed out that he had several friends trying out and they all wanted the same parts. I told him it was all about the experience and if he didn't get a part it wouldn't be the end of the world. I said to get out there and do the best job he could and not worry about the rest of it. Most of all, I said, have fun.


The theater was full of parents and kids. There were a bunch of people I knew, including a lot of the kids trying out. It was social hour for the adults as their kids went up on the stage. The director ran them through their paces and then broke them into groups. For three hours he had them run through lines in various formations. I was so nervous I had to take the stitches out of the hat I was knitting two times. I should have given myself a pep talk while I was at it.


When it was over the friend's dad and I privately agreed that, though they had done well, they probably didn't have a realistic chance at a part. There were a lot of kids there with experience. And, most importantly, the big audition scene our guys did was with adults who chewed the scenery and spit it out. Our kids could barely get a word in edgewise. But they had had fun and gained some experience, and that was a good enough thing.


Two hours after we got home we got the call back notification for today. So did the friend. As we were dancing around the kitchen singing at the top of our lungs (and dodging butt biting dogs who get all weird when we dance) I didn't really feel cynical about the reasons. The joy on this kid's face was priceless. I'd love to think it was because he knocked their socks off.


But if every single person who showed up gets a part, I can totally handle that.

Sitcom Surfer Dude

Surfer Dude has been on a real roll lately. I was reminded of this Friday at school drop off when he hopped out of the car and sped to the front door as fast as he could. I saw a girl from his class walking up the steps and thought "Awww...how nice. He's going to open the door for her". Then I watched him fling open the door and race in front of her as she jumped back barely in time to not get clocked. I guess I can put that boy/girl thing worry out of my head for a few years.



When we discovered that he had lice he didn't say much about it at the time. Come to find out later that he had soon after gone up to his arch-nemesis at school (let's just call her Susie Derkins, as in Calvin and Hobbes) and put his arm chummily around her shoulders. "Hey Susie," he said, leering, "guess what I've got?"


On the way home from the lake the last time we made a stop at a Kwikshop to get them something to snack on. Gumby got a bottle of water and some mints and SD got something carbonated to drink and some chips. About half an hour later, SD decided to belch out the alphabet (at top volume) and punctuated that stellar performance with a gaseous explosion from his nether regions. On seeing Gumby's look of disgust (or was it admiration?), he said "Dude, don't you wish you'd bought an antacid instead?"


Then there was Thanksgiving when I was in the kitchen with my budding Top Chef. He really did have a hand in virtually the entire meal and was a huge help. At the very end I was trying to explain gravy making to him. "See," I said, "you take some drippings and you add this flour mixture that you've stirred up very carefully and it makes kind of a roux. Do you know what roux means?" And he peered carefully in the pan and scrunched his brow. "Lumpy?" he guessed.


Speaking of Thanksgiving, here's his take on world politics. "Hey mom, what happens if you drop the turkey on Thanksgiving?" No clue, kiddo, what? "The downfall of Turkey, the break-up of China and the overthrow of Greece."


He's not normal. Maybe that's why I like him so much.

rock and roll

Eight years of apathy and missed chances are all catching up with me today in a big way. Ever since we've moved here my kids have periodically expressed an interest in going to the great big Six Flags type amusement park an hour away. Every summer I say we will and then about July when they ask when specifically I say it's too hot and we'll go in the Fall when it isn't a hundred percent humidity outside.

In the Fall when I'm finally ready to bite the bullet and go, I head to their website for info and do my very best Homer Simpson D'OH sound. Because we're not in California anymore and amusement parks aren't open year round and I suddenly realize that I've promised on my motherly honor (tarnished tho it is) to take my kids somewhere this weekend only to find out it's closed until April. In my continuing ineptitude I've extended this streak for eight years. It's ending today.

In an idea (mine) that I'd like to chalk up to drugs but can't, we're combining Halloween Haunted Houses with roller coasters at the great big Six Flags type amusement park. That's right folks, it's haunted amusement park time and we'll be there in all our glory. God help me. I'm picking the kids up as soon as they get out of school and we're heading out. The plan is to stay until they close at midnight.We're meeting up with some friends there (for parental moral support if nothing else). Last I heard the Film Geek, in all his vertigo prone glory is going too.

Speaking of vertigo, here is a video clip of one of the top attractions on my kid's list.




So for the sake of fun, lets take a closer look at all the participants, shall we? The Film Geek and his problem with spinning rides has been well documented. The man practically pukes at a picture of a merry go round. However, he's alright with heights. The Rotten Correspondent can be quite happily spun around like romaine in a salad spinner, but doesn't like to be any higher than the first step on a ladder. Surfer Dude is positive that the roller coaster hasn't been built that can faze him, but as he's never been on one before that's a matter for debate. He's refusing to go in the Haunted Houses on general principle. Gumby is positive that the Haunted House hasn't been built that can faze him, but as he's never been in one before that's a matter for debate. He's refusing to go on the roller coasters on general principle. And Sasquatch, who is pretty much afraid of everything, will be wandering the park with at least one and possibly two of his friends who will insist on doing everything, and rather than look like a wuss he'll go along until he cracks like an egg and calls me frantically on my cell to come and (discretely) rescue him.

Doesn't this sound like fun? How about if I add this - it's supposed to be in the low 50's with a strong chance for rain. Or this - it's the last weekend of the year they're open. Or even this - have I ever mentioned how claustrophobic I am and how much I hate crowds?

But it'll all be worth it when I don't have to listen to stories all winter that start like this - "Do you remember how mom forgot her promise again to take us to the amusement park..."

I can only imagine the stories they will be telling.

desperately seeking churros

Today is Multi-Cultural Day at our elementary school, and the kids have been encouraged to bring desserts that reflect their heritage. As you might imagine, Surfer Dude is all fired up about this, planning on making some spectacular dessert to wow his classmates and cement his reputation as Iron Chef 2020.


There was a small glitch in this, however, in that he forgot to tell me about it. So Sunday at 5 pm when I rolled in the door from a four hour shift I hadn't wanted to work, (timed perfectly to wipe out the entire day with one short shift), he met me at the door and told me we needed to make crepes for school.I said What? He said Crepes, and then told me the whole story. I said But we don't have any French blood. And he said We can make something from any country we like, it doesn't have to be a country we're from. (Being a chef in the making, he considers French cuisine to be the top of the tier, so to speak, so it figures that he'd pick crepes). I looked at the clock and started totting up everything else I still had to do (grocery shopping, dinner, bake a cake for my friend Stacey's 50th birthday Monday, pick up Sasquatch downtown and get ready to be at work at 7 am) and thought crepes? I haven't made crepes since French class in Montessori school when I was twelve. And even then I don't remember them as being what you'd call successful.


I tried an end run and asked if he'd consider other desserts. I said that the crepes would be cold and probably wouldn't taste so hot by the afternoon when the dessert buffet would be spread out. He wasn't swayed. I said Well, if you're okay with people thinking you make soggy crepes it's okay with me. That hit him in his little culinary heart all right. He asked if I had any other ideas. I said Wouldn't it be nice to make something that actually does reflect your heritage? And before I could say Boo, he practically shouted Baklava! Let's make Baklava!


Now for those of you who have never made baklava (and this absolutely includes me), it's an ungodly time consuming process that involves lots of skill and practice to pull off. I remember being a little kid and watching all my female relatives come over to spend the day gossiping and trash talking and making tray after tray of baklava to put in the freezer. (I also have a clear memory of eating most of a huge tray myself once when no one was looking and puking for days as a result, with my aunt's shrill rebukes raining down on my head while I heaved). All of this flashed through my head and in a reflex move I said my word of the week. NO. Next idea?


But then I had a brainstorm. The FG's grandmother was full-blooded Hispanic and my kids love churros. So I said How about churros? He wrinkled up his nose and said Only if we make them from scratch. I'm thinking Rub a lamp, kid, but I said How about if we buy the frozen ones, but after we cook them you can toss them in some powdered sugar and cinnamon as your personal touch? To my amazement, he went for it. Patting myself on the back for my sneaky/lazy mom ingenuity, we walked off to the store.


They had no churros. Nada. So we came home, got in the car and drove to the other grocery store where I knew for a fact they had frozen churros. Strike two. I had no idea what was going on, but obviously there was some churro fest in town that we hadn't been invited to. My blood pressure was heading north. So, standing in the frozen foods aisle, we desperately brainstormed a Plan B. I'm thinking buy a pack of Twinkies at this point and he's wondering how long it takes to make creme brulee and where he can find a blowtorch. A small divergence of goals, I do believe.


We finally decided on a pie. Why pie? Couldn't tell you. We headed back into the aisles to buy ingredients (does Anthony Bourdain serve frozen pie? asked SD huffily) and then all of a sudden he stopped in his tracks at a dessert display that had, of all things, french pastries in neat little packages. With big, round eyes he took in the puff pastry and whipped cream filling. It was love at first sight. He didn' t even notice his mother doing her happy dance right by the spaghetti sauce because she wasn't going to have to make a pie. We bought three packages with different fillings and he's perfectly content. (I was dying to say Does Anthony Bourdain serve already made french pastries? but I know when I'm well off. One word out of me and I'd be up to my elbows in puff pastry until midnight).


So tomorrow he'll head off to Multi-Cultural day with a dessert that celebrates other people's heritage, but not his own. And you know what? I'm totally okay with that.

I hear you talking...

No
one
in
my
house
ever
listens
to
me.





Not the Film Geek...

RC: What do you want for dinner?
FG: What do we have?
RC: I have a pound of hamburger and it needs to be used. You can have burgers or tacos or meatloaf or spaghetti and meatballs. Your choice, I just have to use the hamburger.
FG: Chicken would be good.


Not Sasquatch...

SQ: Can I stay home from school the day Halo 3 comes out?
RC: No.
SQ: Please? A bunch of my friends might be.
RC: No.
SQ: I don't see why I can't. This is stupid. What's the problem with missing one day of school?
RC: No.
Irate phone call from my friend Stacey, mother of one of SQ's friends: Jules, what's this I hear about you letting Sasquatch stay home from school the day Halo 3 comes out?


Not Gumby...

RC: WHY is there a half eaten plate of food on your bookshelf?
Gumby: Uh....
RC: Have we not talked about that you aren't allowed to eat upstairs?
Gumby: Uh...
RC: How many times do I have to say it? No. Eating. Food. Upstairs.
Gumby: Well, it wasn't really food for us. We weren't eating it.We were just trying to see how many bugs we could catch.


Not Surfer Dude...

RC (watching him practice his "knife skills" on a basket of strawberries): Please don't use that entire basket of strawberries.
SD: Okay.
RC: And please don't load the whole bowl of strawberries up with the powdered sugar.
SD: Okay.
RC (on being presented with the whole basket of cut strawberries completely covered in sugar): Did I tell you not to do this?
SD (holding up a lone mushy uncut strawberry): I didn't use the whole basket, and besides that's brown sugar, not powdered.


Not the dogs...

RC (ready to go to sleep, walks in to find three dogs sprawled on bed)

RC: You all need to move.
Dogs: snore
RC: You all need to move now.
Dogs: snore louder. feign deafness.
RC: YOU ALL NEED TO MOVE.
Dogs (wounded, disbelieving, lazy): get up and move about three inches each before flopping back down again, exhausted from the effort.
RC (slides into six inch space between a dog butt and the edge of the bed, but still can't get the covers away from them): Damn.


And people wonder why I blog.

must love kids

I should have stuck with dogs.

Seriously. If my stupid husband hadn't thought he was allergic and if we hadn't been renting and not allowed to have animals and if my asinine biological clock hadn't started making crazy little alarm noises, I wouldn't be sitting here now in need of either a valium or a padded cell. Preferably both.

On paper it should be relatively calm around here. The Film Geek is on location for the next couple of weeks and his work environment has smoothed down considerably. I'm off work for a long stretch, which is always peaceful. Once I get the kids to school I get to come home and putter. Puttering is just about my favorite thing. Of course it would be better if I could do some productive puttering and get some projects in the house done, but it hasn't worked out that way. At the last Bunco someone asked me to switch my September for her November and I'm still not sure if or when my mother in law is coming, so my September deadline to get stuff done in the house has been extended. I seem to be a little deficient in the motivation department.


I might have more energy if it weren't for the kid drama. I am a limp dishrag from kid drama. It's like the Duracell bunny...it just keeps going and going and going...and I'm like Everready....takes a licking and keeps on ticking. (I'll stop advertising batteries now).


Wednesday night Sasquatch asked me where we might have some free weights. And turned down biscuits with his soup at dinner. I found him some weights out in the studio and casually asked why he'd passed on the biscuits, which are one of his favorite things. Oh, no reason, he said, just didn't feel like having them. A little while later he came to me and asked if I would help him try to lose a little weight. So we had a long discussion about ways to go about this and that I would be more than happy to do what I could. Again, I casually asked why. Oh, no reason, he said, just feel like doing it.


The faint ding of an alarm in my head was getting louder by the second. But they don't call me the Queen of Denial for nothing. I was doing an admirable job blocking it out entirely when the FG called to say goodnight. I told him what had happened. There was a moment of silence, a sharp intake of breath and then


"Oh. My. God. There's a girl."

And I said (hands over ears)

lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala


at the top of my lungs. It didn't work. I still heard him.


Later, I casually asked Sasquatch if he were starting to consider the whole girl thing. He casually asked me why I casually asked. I casually said oh no particular reason and he casually told me that this wasn't a subject he was comfortable talking about. I casually mentioned that if and when he felt like talking he should know that he could always talk to me about whatever he wanted to. He casually said he knew that and we both casually went on to our respective rooms.


I didn't hyperventilate until I closed my door. This is not going to be pretty. It almost makes me long for the Terrible Two's. (Note I said almost). This is not a kid who takes any kind of personal interaction well unless it always goes entirely his way. As I've said before, he makes cinder blocks look flexible. He can be a big exposed nerve ending at times, just waiting to erupt over a slight - real or imagined. He does not deal with rejection well. And he's sensitive as hell and takes everything personally even (or especially) when he shouldn't.


Oh. My. God. Is there a girl?


lalalalala...oh hell.


The next morning Surfer Dude took the baton for his leg of the relay. As he and Gumby were getting ready to go to school he decided, for reasons known only to himself, to teepee his brother. There was toilet paper everywhere. Then he gave him an atomic wedgie. So here comes Gumby, with toilet paper wrapped around his head and the waistband of his boxers up past his ribs, into the kitchen to show me what his brother had done. As he's pointing out various atrocities, Surfer Dude comes in to admire his handiwork. I'm not sure if this is common knowledge, but it's very hard to talk seriously to someone who has his underwear migrating that far north. I was trying very hard not to laugh, because at this point even though it was annoying it was still slightly amusing.


Then SD upped the stakes. When I told them both to knock it off, he developed an attitude as big as my laundry pile and said that I always blame him for everything. He went on, clearly itching for a battle. Evidently, I never blame Gumby for anything and only see what I want to see and always jump on people without having my facts straight and if I were any kind of a mother at all I would be able to see that things are not always what they seem. Gumby, toilet paper mummy mask and migrating boxer band still evident, stood listening.


I said that I'm quite aware that Gumby can be an instigator and that he certainly didn't need to stand still long enough for SD to teepee him and that I'm sure that there are two sides to every story, and that's why I told them both to knock it off. Not just one. Both. He claimed I never said that. Claimed I jumped in with both feet and laid all the blame at his feet. Stood there in all his Taurus bullishness and said that he was sick and tired of being blamed for everything that happens in this house and that I need to "stop talking and listen for a change."


The sound you might have heard Thursday morning was not, in fact, a sonic boom. It was me. Telling my youngest child in no uncertain terms that, in my mother's infamous words THIS WOULD NOT DO. At all. And then, so help me, the kid stuck his fingers in his ears while I was talking to him and I went ballistic. Before I knew it we were having a knock down drag out argument right there in the kitchen. And it was barely eight in the morning, for the love of god. He stomped off upstairs and refused to speak to me the rest of the morning.
It didn't bother me. I didn't much want to talk to him either.

On the way out to school I noticed he'd forgotten his planner on the kitchen counter. You know, the one that his rotten mother always reminds him to put in his backpack? Not today, buddy. You're on your own. And you'd better not even think about calling to see if I'll drop it off either.


Grrrrr.....


My dogs, on the other hand, were angelic during this entire exchange. I barely even noticed them sneaking the remains of the kid's breakfast off their plates while we went nine rounds in the kitchen. Great. Something tells me there's waffle puke in my future.


Feel better, laurie??

diary of a short order cook

This is your brain.


This is your brain in my kitchen.


Any questions?



Let's move on then.


Or not.




I'm pretty sure that you're all more than ready for me to move on topic-wise, but I'm going to have to stay on this one for one more day. The care of my family is not an issue at the moment but the feeding of my family is huge. And as much as I would like to say that it's on the right side of the course - it isn't. Far from it. Every day I slide a little further down the hill into a big puddle of...well, it isn't brown gravy. Not even close. I spend more of my waking days than I care to admit mulling over this whole food thing, so today I'll mull for the masses. Allow me to apologize in advance. I know that none of you signed up for this. The exit is to your right. And I do promise this will be the end of the food saga. For now anyway.


To set the record straight I'm having a hell of a time coming up with meals lately, but it really isn't because people are picky. Well, not unduly picky. All of my children will eat any vegetable you put in front of them with the exception of brussel sprouts and mushrooms, which I'm okay with because it's just more for me. They are adventurous in their eating and will eat Mexican, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Middle Eastern and any form of Italian you can conjure up. They all like spicy, highly seasoned foods, which they get from both of their parents. I firmly hold that pain is a flavor and have been known to put enough red pepper flakes on pizza to kill the delivery man. And me about twelve hours later.


It isn't what they will eat. It's what they won't eat. Or can't eat. This is where all my problems start. Here is a little chart to help explain...


The Film Geek - is a joy to cook for because he will eat virtually anything you put in front of him. His mama raised him right. He doesn't turn his nose up at leftovers and is perfectly comfortable rustling up meals all on his own. Granted he has a repertoire of about four dishes, but still. The problem with him is what he shouldn't eat. Thanks to a genetic cholesterol level that is literally through the roof, he's supposed to follow a low-carb, low-fat, low glycemic index diet. Minimal pasta, minimal rice, mostly protein and veggies. Do I need to tell you that this is not how he wants to eat? He'll freely admit that he doesn't really want to figure it out so he just leaves it all to me. You could even say dumps it on me. Thanks...


Sasquatch - channels my father in his die-hard carnivorous ways. Every day after school when he asks what we're having for dinner his next question is always "Is there meat in it?"And is a bottomless pit of a teenager to boot. If he had his way he would eat triple Whoppers with cheese and extra mayo, king sized fries and a large coke every day of the week. The fact that I don't buy into the whole fast food thing ruins his life, to hear him tell it. He's slimmed down a lot as he's cracked six feet something, but he's not a twig. I was sure, based on his build, that he was going to lose the genetic cholesterol crapshoot, but he didn't. Thankfully. Because he feels so deprived in the meat stakes, whenever there is some he feels he has to inhale as much of it as possible to make up for his earlier deficit. Imagine starved lions tearing into a gazelle. It's an ugly sight, people. Don't try and picture it for too long.


Gumby - decided about a year ago to stop eating meat. He will eat fish, so when we say he's a vegetarian we're being kind of loosey goosey with it. The kid is almost as tall as me and he's eleven. (I'm five ten). His ten year old brother, who is shorter, outweighs him by I don't even want to know how much. (And he's not heavy). Gumby's what we used to call a string bean. The kid is evidently as healthy as a very skinny horse, so I'm not complaining. I was built very much the same way as a kid and I clearly outgrew it. I'm betting he will too. If not, I'll just keep repeating the words "basketball scholarship" over and over again. Except he's a klutz. Anyhow...he's not a big eater at any one time, but he grazes all day. Other than meat he'll eat almost anything, but could live on cheese. Any kind of cheese. And beans. Any kind of beans. He's the pickiest of the three in terms of vegetables, but happily takes a salad to school every day in his lunch box. It's his lunch of choice.


Surfer Dude - my little foodie. He'll eat a good assortment of food, but for him it's all about the preparation and presentation. He once told me his dinner tasted fine but my plating needed work. Imagine a cross between Anthony Bourdain and Dennis the Menace. Without the cowlick or the heroin habit. No food is safe in my house, as he will empty the the contents of the fridge onto the island to "work on knife skills" for awhile. When I get all over him for wasting food, he mixes up these concoctions that are designed to use up whatever it is he's just diced or minced or chiffonaded but are not, often, designed to be edible. Then he plates it beautifully and sometimes even garnishes it. This is all very sweet until he presents it to me with the words I have come to dread. "Try some and tell me what you think." For some inexplicable reason he's decided to give up pork. Only pork. We're not observant Jews. We're not Jewish at all. We never ate much pork to start with due a pork trauma from my past. This has made my easiest last minute dinner - Bacon Lettuce and Tomato Sandwiches - way more problematic.



Let me walk you through why making any meal is such a pain in my house. BLT's are a perfect example. The easiest bacon is the already made in a box stuff that you just nuke, but Sasquatch doesn't like that kind and wants the kind you actually have to cook. Surfer Dude won't eat regular bacon because "it's pork, mom" so he has to have turkey bacon. Gumby gets a soy bacon that is actually quite good unless you overcook it by a second or two and then it resembles roofing tiles in the Sahara. The Film Geek shouldn't be having any part of this except for the lettuce and the tomato, but that's not really a balanced meal in my book. And I'm so disgusted by this point that I'm opening a bottle of Chardonnay.


Okay, let's try pasta. Everyone in my house loves pasta. Sasquatch wants meat in the sauce, but this of course means that Gumby won't eat it. I make meatballs and bake them separately so whoever wants them can have them, but I despise making meatballs and always have. Once again, my husband shouldn't be anywhere near this meal. Even though I do whole wheat pasta (which my kids will all eat) he still shouldn't eat it.


We do a lot of "bar" things for dinner. Taco bars are very popular, as are salad bars and stir fry bars. Everyone gets what they want and doesn't have to have whatever bothers them. I've turned into the stir fry queen, but even with people helping me chop stuff up it's still time consuming to make five separate stir fries. But virtually every other meal has some element that someone can't or shouldn't eat. It's not often "won't", interestingly enough. Except for Sasquatch with the whole meat issue, no one is trying to deliberately throw their weight around.


And where do I fit in this sick little equation? I'll eat almost anything, but I'm with Gumby on the meat front. It's not for any moral, health or humanitarian reasons, I just read something a few years ago that made me physically unable to put meat in my mouth. Gagging isn't an appetite enhancement device. I've never been a big meat eater anyway, due to the aforementioned pork trauma. I'm sure I passed this on to Gumby, although god knows I never intended anyone else to follow along. We do eat fish and we all love it, but how much fish can you eat?


I do a lot of meals where I'll bake chicken and make a couple of nice sides and people can eat what they want. My whole family loves soups and chilis, but the meat eaters start raising their hackles at some point if they're all veggie. Gumby and I have been talking because I'm about at the point of starting to eat chicken again just for the sake of the greater good. I'm pretty sure I could do that now. If we were all on the same page with just that one thing it would help enormously. He allows as to how he has thought the same thing. I guess we'll see. I certainly won't make him do anything he doesn't want to do.



My first comment on yesterday's post was from laurie, who said that in her family growing up you ate what you were served or didn't leave the table until you did. laurie (and others) wondered what happened to this approach and why it seems like so many kids are calling the shots these days. I don't have an answer for this, although I wish I did. I think a lot of children are still being raised with a firmer hand, just as I'm sure there are kids who run their parents ragged with demands. I myself never had to finish eating at the table when I was growing up, but the FG did and has the stories to prove it. His mother noticed a particularly foul stench in the dining room one day only to find last week's brussel sprouts ground into a mush and hidden under the throw rug. No one in the house would accept responsibility for this, but the kids all knew who did it, and much blackmailing ensued. (God, the things I've missed basically being an only child). But as an adult, my husband is way pickier than me and I'm way more adventurous than him, so what does this mean?

What do you think?

a wednesday outing

For today's reading enjoyment, everyone in my household will now be placed under harsh lights and outed to reveal a moment of their past week that they'd rather forget. I'll leave the Film Geek alone just this once. I've picked on him enough the last few days. (I reserve the right to change my mind if the mood strikes).




Sasquatch - Last night was Parent's Night at his brand new High School. I didn't really feel like going but I did. You have to bear in mind that all through his Junior High years I approached these things warily, never knowing which teacher was going to put a contract out on my life. Or send in my picture for the cover of "Loser Parent of the Year" magazine. (Although my money was on his AP Biology teacher). It's not that we don't try, it's that he has a head like a concrete bunker and is fortunate enough to always know better than us. I learned a lesson last night in inflection. Always before the teachers have said, "Oh, you're Sasquatch's mom." Last night, every one of them, with a genuinely pleasant smile said, "Oh, you're Sasquatch's mom." That little inflection changes everything, doesn't it? It tells me he's trying. It tells me he's finally ready to take this seriously. It tells me we're only nine days into the year.



Gumby - Has joined the Sixth Grade Orchestra and will be learning to play the violin. He has been practicing diligently at every opportunity, and makes up in volume and enthusiasm what he hasn't yet learned in technique. At the same time he's decided that our bathroom "ghost" has now moved into his bedroom and is watching him while he sleeps. Last night he told me very excitedly that he'd figured out how to scare the ghost away. He's decided to play his violin for his visitor, you see. To hear him tell it, ghosts don't like music. As he said to me,"I bet I can scare it away forever with my playing." I'll bet you can too, sweetie.



Surfer Dude - Got so carried away eating Farmer's Market pear shaped yellow cherry tomatoes that he told me if it were legal he'd marry one. (They were amazing, I'll give him that. He and I ate most of the pint on the seven minute drive home). This from the kid who said (after attending our last lesbian wedding), "Mom, just once can I go to a wedding where a girl marries a boy?"


Yours Truly - Was helping Sasquatch carry a dilapidated entertainment center out to the trash Saturday and lost my grip, causing it to slide down my shin with enough force to break it apart. The entertainment center, not my shin. However, it took a concave divot out of the Rotten Correspondent off and on from knee to ankle, causing me to hop around in my front yard with blood running down my leg and vile words spewing from my mouth. When the FG saw it he first looked nauseous and then said I should go straight to the ER, at which point I said..."On my day off? Are you out of your mind?" and went looking for clean cloths, hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin. Every time I hobble past him he bites his lip and keeps walking. Wise man.



On the good news front, I racked up my 5,000th visitor to this blog this past week. I can't remember exactly when I put the stat counter on, but it was very exciting to hit that number. So to celebrate I threw on the little country counter to your right to keep track of other fun stuff. It looks a little sparse now, but hopefully will bulk up soon. It could be quite interesting. Make sure to check it out.



And that's all I have for today, folks. Eat lots of cherry tomatoes, listen to some good lesbian wedding music and don't let ghosts carry entertainment centers out to the curb. You heard it here first. And I should know.

Tabloid Throwdown

Some of my best eavesdropping on my younger kids lately happens when they're in the shower. I guess I can thank our mythical bathroom ghost for this. See, neither one of them likes being in the bathroom alone, so they bribe the other one to go in and sit with them while they shower. The door is always left open for a quick exit in case the ghost shows up between the shampoo and the conditioner, so I can hear perfectly. The downstairs bath is right off the kitchen, and I've found that if I do kitchen chores during shower time I get all the gossip. It's always interesting, even if it does sometimes make me cringe.



Yesterday morning was a perfect example. Gumby was in the shower and Surfer Dude was lounging on the toilet, fully clothed, reading a Foxtrot book. Out of nowhere Gumby said, "Who do you think is the craziest person in the world?" As SD pondered this I stopped making cinnamon toast and tried to guess what he would say. We're a fairly well read family, and my kids are very interested in current events, so it could have been anyone. Politicians get defiled on a daily basis at casa de Correspondent so I was pretty sure that was the direction we were headed for. What I wasn't expecting was ...


"Britney Spears," said SD decisively.



"Do you really think so?", asked Gumby, "I think Lindsay Lohan is crazier."



"Well," reflected SD, "really it's a toss-up."



"I don't think either one of them could be any crazier than they are," offered Gumby, climbing out of the tub. "They're out of control."



"You know how you could make them crazier?" asked SD with a sadistic note in his voice. "Lock them each in a room with nothing to do except a book to read. They'd go nuts!!"


As they continued getting ready for school I had to wonder. What in the world do they even know about these two women? And how in the world did they hear it? And why in the world do they care? Why does anyone in the world care? Do they not know the difference between Hollywood crazy and real crazy? Surely people realize that there is a difference. Don't they?


Although I have to give Surfer Dude points for his plan. I think it's a sure fire winner.