Thankful List V (the final chapter)

Though I meant to get to 100 things of thankful, I guess I'll only make it to about 50. But I'm okay with that. I mean, I'm thankful for way more than 100 things. They just don't seem exactly blogworthy most of the time.
41. Those big bricks of white chocolate that I can melt and dip stuff into, like pretzels, strawberries, almonds, my fingers...
42. I don't bite my tongue very often (knock on wood)
43. Tenessa's cheeseball recipe
44. Our pre-lit artificial tree that only takes about 10 minutes to set up (sometimes practical is better than romantic)
45. Getting comments on the blog. Hint.
46. Being able to shop online on Black Friday, and not have to wait in any lines.
47. V says "I love you" to almost everyone. Our friend Steven, Shaun's developmentally delayed clients, the checkout girl at Target...and, occasionally, out of the blue, me.
48. The Shield. Violent, angry, not for everyone. But for me, it's stunningly done. Television as art, truly. Dang.
49. Shaun's ability to keep a straight face when I read him my hilarious old blog posts.
50. Usually, I really really really love being a teacher. A lot of people I know don't love their jobs as much as I do.

Last minute evening craftacularness

Since 2005 (when V was born), I have these intense, crazy nostalgia-filled waves around the holidays. I could go on and on about this (lord knows...) but today I'm going to focus on just one area of nostalgia: The Advent Calendar. At our house, these were store-bought ones with chocolates or other little candies behind each punch-out door. (Apparently, they haven't changed at all in 30 years. Odd). I seem to remember at least one of them hanging on the kitchen door, and in my earliest memories of them, my sister and I took turns opening doors. This happy holiday tradition couldn't last, of course, and soon we each got our own. I remember one year, I was maybe 8, and the chocolate was sooooo good...that I ate about a week ahead in my calendar. Not a solid week, of course, but two days here, two days there...When my mom found out, she didn't get mad, but just said "How sad for you, Jenny. Now you won't have a chocolate today." I was more horrified at that reaction than if she'd been furious.

But enough about my chocolate-based disobediences of yesteryear. With V being fully excited this year about the holidays, I wanted her to have her own advent calendar. We're hoping to slightly limit her choclate intake, so the old-school paper calendar was out. I looked at this, and this, and this, and wound up just making my own, as usual. I went for simple, lovingly made, and not-too-time consuming. The numbers are hand-embroidered, the wool felt is just what I had in the house (I know the mix of colors is not traditional, and most people would not put burnt orange with dusty purple and rose, but I am not traditional nor most people), the ribbon is brown satin from a JoAnns grabbag, and the stockings themselves are machine stitched and machine-sewn to the ribbon. I cut all the stockings out Friday, sewed the numbers yesterday, and machine stitched it all together this evening. Here's the finished shot of the whole she-bang.


And because I can't bear it when people comment on how cute something I've made is if I have just given a wide-angled shot, here are two of the most wonky stockings:
The silver-y thread did not show up well enough on a couple of the colors, so some of the earlier stockings got re-stitched like on #8. And #7? Yeah, I'm not sure what happened to old #7. If we had a dog, I'd blame the dog. But the truth is? As my sister puts it, I'm "not so much into the fine details."

So, ta-da! Our advent calendar. Now I have to think of something to put in for tomorrow. Any suggestions? And, um, please don't say chocolate, because I think I ate it all.

Thanksgiving morning

First, as I was putting the turkey in the fridge a few days ago, V had some questions.

V: What're you doin'?
Me: Thawing the turkey so it's ready for Thanksgiving.
V: A turkey is an animal.
Me: Yep. Sometimes people eat animals.

The next morning, she had clearly pondered this.

V: Mama, people don't eat animals.
Me: We don't? What do we eat?
V: Food.

So...this may be our last Thanksgiving as a family of carnivores.

This morning, as I chopped up celery and onions for the roasting pan, here's how things went:

V: You're using the wrong recipe.
Me: What?
V (smiling): You're using the WRONG RECIPE!
Me: Listen, Sprout, I am the mama, so I know what recipe to use.
V: When I get bigger than you, then I will make the turkey.
Me: Okay. When you get bigger than me, you can make the turkey.
V: But what if I forget the recipe?
Me: You can call me up and ask.
V: Like when you call Grandma?
Me: Exactly.

We're watching the Macy's parade and waiting for our company to arrive.

We got some frightening news last night about my Aunt Sharon, and so this Thanksgiving will be filled with lots of thanks for those of us who are still healthy, and lots of prayers for Sharon and her family, and a bit of wonder at the tenuousness of this whole world.

May you have your fill of good food, good company, and safe travels today.

Thankful List IV

31. V’s excitement at other people’s birthday parties
32. My little sister
33. Holiday Open House at Hornbacher’s (mmm…cheesecakes samples….)
34. Finishing grading a big old pile of papers
35. Coca-cola classic
36. My sewing machine (a Shark. Which strikes me as a funny brand for sewing machines).
37. Janis Joplin
38. Savers
39. The harmonica
40. Hosting Thanksgiving at our house

Recent overheard conversation

V: "I smell something stinky."
Shaun: "Oh? What do you think it is?"
V: "Mama."

What's up pimpin'?

Remind me to tell you the story of this post's title sometime. It's hilarious.

So I was playing around on the blog-o-sphere the other day, and noted that a lot of the blogs I read have ads (often because they're blogs about frugality, and frugal people like to make money). I don't like ads, usually, because they scare me or annoy me or make me feel very 1984-ish (like the novel. not like the hair spray and the neon colors and the Wham records).

Anyway, still, I'm trying to blog often, I put work into this little corner of the world, and I also like to make lists of things my readers might enjoy sometimes. To that end, I've decided to compromise the few principles I had left and join Amazon's affiliates team. This means that I post a link on my blog (see it over there to your right? Under "I'm Amazon's Whore"?) and if you click there and buy anything through Amazon while you've arrived through my link, I get a small percentage. It's such a small percentage, it's probably not worth the time it's taking me to type this. But I'm gonna try it anyway.

It's still Amazon's job to make sure you're happy and so forth: don't come crying to me if things don't work out. I just thought, hey, with the holidays and the whatnot and the economy, maybe I can point you towards some interesting gift ideas you hadn't thought of, and get some credit over with my Amazon peeps. Or something.

If you don't have money to spend at Amazon, please don't. We're not destitute, and I don't want you to be, either. But if you were gonna order some cheesecakes or toys or geegaws and doodads there anyway, why not click through me? What can it hurt? (aside from my integrity, and all that?)

Feel free to mock me for this, or offer constructive criticism. I can take it. And if you like the idea, I suppose you can tell me that too. Mostly, I imagine most of you will ignore me, which is just how I like it most of the time anyway.

The internet is a wonderful thing. As proof, I offer the blog A Year of Crockpotting, by a woman named Stephanie who has posted every day this year with a different recipe using a crockpot. Every day. Now, some of you are thinking, "Whoop-de-doo...I have a crockpot cookbook. Who needs this site?" I'm telling you you do. Seriously. If you don't have a crock-pot (or slow cooker, as "Crock pot" is technically trademarked, I think), it will make you want one.

Some of what she posts is inedible. Well, in looking, I only found one: crockpot crayons. Some of the food recipes are inedible to me because they involves curry or those evil, spicy green peppers. But what makes this different than a crock-pot cookbook is she tries out every recipe, and gives specifics about what works and what doesn't. She takes a picture of her ingredients, so we can see what she's talking about (for you visual learners out there). Also, some (all? most?) of her recipes are gluten-free, and I know several of my readers would find that exciting.

Now, some of her recipes are pretty impractical via crockpot, unless it is your only source of cooking energy. Some of her candy recipes, for example, which only use the slowcooker to melt ingredients, take 1-2 hours in the crockpot but 45 seconds in the microwave. I guess if you're morally opposed to microwaves, this would be good to know.

I just wanted to post this because I love to find new websites to enjoy, and I struggle to think of new things to cook, and thought maybe you would feel the same way. And if you make any of this or this, please remember who told you about this site. And by "remember" I mean give me some.

Thankful list part III

21. Leinekugel’s
22. Quilting
23. Craft blogs that inspire me to do something instead of just sit around and read craft blogs
24. Jamie, my dental hygienist, who makes me laugh and doesn’t hurt me even after I lie to him and say I’ve been flossing regularly.
25. The last four digits of our phone number spell GLAD.
26. The last four digits of my mom’s phone number spell NAVY.
27. CSI reruns and History channel specials like "Witness to Jonestown."
28. It’s November 16 and we have just a little bit of snow. Every day without a blizzard makes winter seem a little bit more manageable.
29. Teaching V the words to "867-5309" (to continue our phone number theme).
30. Erbert and Gerbert’s chicken & wild rice soup

Oh, the humanity

Warning: the following contains graphic photographs, not suitable for most people.

What: Crime scene report
When: 14 November 2008, 2:08pm
Location: Living room: just inside the doorway

A little further in Further still Over that way And here’s some more The victim (The guy with the orange feet has an alibi). Evidence in the victim’s…bodily fluids… The primary suspect I know. Those of you who read this are not surprised. What kind of idiot mother lets her kid have a bottle of syrup as a best friend? I’ll tell you: a sticky one. With sticky socks, a sticky chair, a sticky floor, and a sticky daughter.

Case closed. Please send wet wipes. And valium.

Oh, and someone should maybe warn Little Debbie to stay out of our house.

Happy Birthday, Shaunrona...

This morning I pulled this quilted monstrosity from the dryer and presented it to the birthday boy.

I realize the photo is close up, and I don't have a good wide shot, and it's already dark out, so you'll have to wait until tomorrow (at least) for a better photo. It's a log cabin pattern, in the lazy quilter size of 36” per square. I used the large stripes of black to lengthen and set the squares apart (I could’ve made more squares, but, again, I’m lazy). The fabrics (except for the black) are all things somehow connected to Shaun: music notes, Vikings, baseballs, gambling, bumblebees, and ladybugs. The last two are V’s past Halloween costumes, by the way, and not so much Shaun’s own interests. The center fabric is green with dollar signs, $, for how he signs his name (ala Gene Simmons. I know).

Because the last quilt I made him only lasted 7 years, I tried to do a couple of things differently. (I realize those of you who don’t quilt likely could not care less about this, but I know at least 3 of my readers are quilters, so the rest of you can get over it. or skip the rest of this paragraph). This time, I chose higher quality fabrics, and used 100% cotton thread. Apparently when quilts are made of cotton fabric and polyester thread, the thread can eventually cut through the fabric, because polyester is stronger than cotton. Like rock paper scissors, I guess. Also, I quilted this more heavily than what I usually do. I’m a big stitch in the ditch girl, and enjoy the simplicity and lack of forethought such a sewing pattern requires. But Shaun’s first quilt failed largely on those stitches: now, that’s probably a combination of fabric quality, poly thread, and the fact that he slept under it 2,555 nights in a row, but I still wanted to prevent that if possible. So for the first time ever, I did cross-quilting. On each outside corner through the dark side of the log cabin block, I just sewed six ways from Tuesday. I think you can see it in that picture, above, if you look close. I found it to be waaaay less boring than stitching in the ditch, so maybe I’ve expanded my horizons. Back to the birthday excitement: we had a wild party this afternoon, with Grandma Myra, Grandma Mary, Grandpa David, Jess, Will, and Emmy all coming for lunch (meatballs and baked potatoes and green beans...but that's a whole nother post). We had a bit more excitement than we wanted, as Grandma Myra is not feeling well, but all in all I think my favorite 37 year old had a lovely birthday.

Here's the quilt in action tonight already, with my two Vikings fans tucked in on the couch.

Happy, happy birthday, dear man. I love you more today than the day we were married, and I didn't think that was possible. You're awesome. I look forward to many, many more meatball dinners with you.

November's Thankful List II

11. My beloved friends who know I still love them even when I’m a huge slacker and drop my end of the correspondence responsibility in the toilet. And then wring it out and send it to them and try to blame its lateness on my mail carrier.
12. 99% of my students
13. 100% of my coworkers. Wait, 99%. Let’s be serious. But of the nine I work with most often? 100%. I swear.
14. My crockpot.
15. We are currently cleaning our house, and it’s so much nicer that way.
16. Various antidepressant medications, including but not limited to sertraline, bupoprion, xanax, imapramine, and effexor (these aren’t all for me, mind you).
17. Cream cheese mints, ala my Aunt Barbie.
18. Kringle made by Auntie Bev.
19. Grandma Beulah's chocolate jumbos

20. My mother’s vegetable beef and egg dumpling soup.

Did you see a theme in those last five? Like grocery shopping, one ought not to blog while hungry.

I have no idea what to title this one.

V has a new quasi-imaginary friend. I say "quasi" because this friend has a physical form, but it's not like a toy or doll or such a thing. V came to play with this new friend on her own: I had nothing to do with it, and frankly, I'm a bit concerned as to how this will all play out. This has been going on since Friday, when she and I were home alone all day. V calls her new friend Lady. Lady is often subjected to V's magic wand (which, not surprisingly, is a small plastic doll head on a stick). V will say Ah Hah KaBoom! very dramatically, and then tell Lady that she has been magically transported somewhere. Sometimes it's a swimming pool, or some dark scary woods, or the TV room. Very exciting. Today, V came home from school and said "Lady! How was your day? I was at school." It's sorta heartwarming. Sorta.

Here's a picture I took of Lady yesterday.

I told V that Lady's full name was Aunt Jemima, but that didn't matter. V just calls her Lady. So, um, what am I supposed to do the next time I make pancakes? Should I go back to the store and get some non-personified syrup? Can I in good conscience empty Lady onto my breakfast? Or will that not matter? And why is my daughter talking to food products?

Suggestions welcome.

Happy Election Day!

I get all sappy and sentimental on election day. No, really. I get John Phillip Sousa marches in my head, along with that song of all the presidents that I learned in 3rd grade (Washington, Adams; Jefferson, oh! James Madison....James Monroe! John Quincy Adams, ooh-ooh...doin' homework with you....) I think back to my first election, in 1992, when I turned 19 and lived at the Christus House and DJ, Lisa, and I hooked arms (because it was winter and icy and also we liked each other) and slid down the hill to some church 3 blocks away where we cast our ballots. It was a tingly-right-of-passage thing for me, somehow, and it continues to give me warm fuzzy feelings, even when I'm scared to death of what the outcome might be some years. I hope you get warm fuzzy feelings, too, and get yourself to a voting booth. Seriously.

I'll be back shortly with a less political post. Have you voted yet? How 'bout now? Now?

I'm pretty sure this is proof she's already smarter than me.

Every other Friday marks the beginning of a long weekend here at our place. Shaun’s part time job allows him to clock 17 hours every other weekend. And since he works 6 hours every Friday, this means that twice a month, V and I get a whole lot of quality time. Alone. Together. Without a car to drive ourselves someplace where we’d be distracted from our often sizeable mother-daughter conflicts. So, we do projects. I find that if we have something unusual to do, V is less likely to get screechy, and I’m less likely to get screechy back. Sometimes we’ll make cookies, or paint dolls, or work in our studio on fabric projects.


In fact, yesterday was a fabric working day. I’ve been working on a very special quilt for Shaun for a bit over a month now, and V has been helping almost every step. She helped choose fabric. She was there when I cut the fabric, and though I sewed the majority away from her, she helped me lay it out on our dining room floor Friday. Laying out and pinning a quilt is my least favorite part of the process (aside from quilting the middle, shoving all that bulk through a machine…), and our dining room is less than ideal, because it’s just slightly smaller (with furniture) than a queen-sized quilt. But V was great. She pulled the backing taut, and helped roll out the binding, and oohed and ahhhed like a pro when I laid the top down. I started pinning in the center, working my out, and she largely hovered around the edges, talking to me and talking to her daddy’s new quilt. More than once I stopped and said “Now listen. Daddy doesn’t know about this, okay? It’s a SURPRISE. Which means we can’t tell him about it until he opens it on his birthday.”

Yes, she nodded. She just had a birthday, she reminded me, and she remembered being surprised. I was very heartened by this. Of course she knows about birthdays! Of course she knows the importance of surprise!

You all know where this is going, right?

Last night, while I made a run for milk and pull-ups (the two most necessary things in our house right now), V and Shaun sat in the TV room. The TV was off, and V was quietly reading books to herself while Shaun read something online. Suddenly (and Shaun of course told me this story, and he swears up and down that this revelation was unprovoked by him), she got up from her chair to stand beside him, and said “Mama’s making you a quilt. It’s a surprise.”
He looked up and said “What?”

She said “Mama’s making you a quilt. And it’s not a surprise…it’s a present.”

Now before you write in and tell me it serves me right for trusting a three year old with a secret…um, I know. But in some ways, it’s even better that he found out about it this way, rather than that boring open-a-present-and-suspect-nothing deal we attempt every year. This quilt’s story is richer for the way he learned about it, and it illustrates my sometimes ridiculous optimism.

He still can’t see it until his birthday, though. Besides, it’s just pinned. I need to spend several hours shoving that thing through the sewing machine before it’s ready to sleep under.


If you're reading this, Shauners, stop now. Don't look at the picture. I mean it!



For the rest of you, below is an early shot of quilt progress, laid out in our friend Kathy's front yard. I'll post a finished photo sometime after November 9. Unless V beats me to it.

November's Thankful List

Despite the fact that I am mercilessly mocked by my family when I try to get them to say what they're thankful for at the Thanksgiving dinner table, or perhaps because of that, I'm presenting my own list here. I hope to come up with 100 things I'm thankful for by the end of the month. Hopefully it won't be too boring. If it gets too boring, will somebody please stop me?
1. V.
2. #1 is healthy & usually happy.
3. We live near both our families, near enough for daytrips, even.
4. Bacon.
5. The excitement of a new presidential election.
6. Said election will only last a few more days (hopefully).
7. Red maple trees.
8. My nephews and niece and step-niece.
9. We still don’t have snow, and it’s already November (whoo!).
10. $haun, who is usually healthy and occasionally happy.

There. That's enough for now. I'm not saying, necessarily, that bacon outranks Shaun, but then again, I'm not saying it doesn't, either.

What're you thankful for?

So Jesus, Medusa, and Buzz Lightyear with an alien head walk into a bar...

Six weeks ago, V proclaimed that she wanted to be Buzz Lightyear for Halloween. Luckily, Tenessa had a Buzz Lightyear costume lying around, so that was easy. Then, a couple of weeks ago, V and I were in a thrift store, and she found a mask, put it on, and walked around saying "I am an alien" in a low, freaky voice. It made everyone at the thrift store laugh, so we bought it, if only to entertain ourselves. But then V decided she needed to wear the mask for Halloween, too. Rather than change her plan, she adapted, and decided she'd be Buzz Lightyear with an alien head. Behind her is, um, Jesus. Well, it's Shaun dressed as Jesus. Perhaps I should explain a bit. See, Shaun's main priority in Halloween costuming is ease. For example, the first time I had a conversation with him was at a Halloween party in my apartment, and he had taken a ballpoint pen and drawn a swastika on his head, transforming himself into Charles Manson. Last year, he went as a guy in a funny yellow suit, because he happened to have that in his closet. So I turned to him about a couple of weeks ago and said, "You know, you kinda look like Jesus, with your long hair and long beard." And this year's Halloween costume was born.
I...I worry that folks will find this offensive, but if you know Shaun, you understand the spirit this was meant in. So I'll just leave it at that.

As per the post title, I was Medusa. Earlier today, as we were getting ready to go out, I told V I had to put some snakes in my hair.
"Snakes? Can't you do something else?"

"Why?" She's never been afraid of snakes before, and I couldn't understand what her issue could be.

"I don't like snakes. Isn't there something else?"
"Well, no. I'm Medusa, and she had snakes for hair."
"Maybe you could be Jessie"(the cowgirl from ToyStory 2).

"I don't have a cowgirl hat."
"You could get one."

At this point, she was almost pleading, which is really odd. Suddenly, I realized what she was thinking.

"Oh, honey, I'm not going to use REAL snakes."

"You aren't?" She seems incredulous, and full of relief.

"No! Here, look. Just little plastic snakes."
"Oh, okay. You can do that then."

So I did.

Family is as family does

When I went to college, I experienced the usual culture shock: for example, I could not believe that I lived on a floor with people who had never tasted lefse. More significantly, though, is when my floor mates referred to family, they almost always meant their nuclear family: parents, siblings, maybe the dog. But when I talked about my family, I meant the whole thing. Mom, Dad, and Jess, but also grandmother, 9 sets of aunts & uncles, 22 first cousins, and, by the time I was in college, 10 first cousins once removed. Because I grew up in the town where my parents grew up (they were both born in that town, population 300), and because 8 of the cousins and 4 of the cousins-once-removed grew up there too, “family” applied to a lot of people in my daily life.

Beyond that, though, twice a year or better most everyone on my mom’s side of the family would get together, usually for a family reunion in July/August and again at Christmas (or Easter, or perhaps Thanksgiving). In between, it seemed we were always spending the weekend in Brookings or Eagle Bend or White Bear Lake. When we weren’t gallivanting to see the aunts and uncles and cousins, they were coming home to see us (and the grandparents we shared). Even the California cousins, the ones we knew the least, were never far from our thoughts, because our dad had been really close to them while they were growing up (long before he thought he’d be a father himself).

Many of my college friends/friends in general couldn’t name all their cousins without help; I can give you most of their middle names and birthdays. Five cousins in particular, all boys, were especially important while I was growing up. My family had a very fertile year in 1970-1971, and so I had these five boys two years older than me. All my life, they had gone out into the world, just ahead of me, and reported back on what they found. Even when they weren’t personally reporting back, their mothers were reporting to my mother. I had this whole posse of big brothers, without the conflict that comes with real big brothers. Jonathan, Nathan, Chad, Deron, and Patrick, you guys had more impact on my life than you’ll ever know.

As our shared grandparents died, and we all grew up and married and had families and careers and mortgages of our own, many of our traditions fell away. It’s not as simple as a weekend trip anymore, though all five of them live in Minnesota (well, close enough, Nate) now. The family reunions are more sporadic, and holidays together (can you imagine having 40-50 people over for dinner? We were crazy then. And now it would be closer to 100) are something my mother misses deeply every year. I’m not in close contact with any of my cousins anymore, not on a regular basis. Still, my heart is connected to each of them, and especially these boys, now men in their mid-to-late-thirties.

Since I was a child, we’ve known that Deron had cystic fibrosis. My mom organized bike-a-thons every spring, and my sister and I rode in them. If anyone had a fever or ear infection or sniffles, Deron had to stay away (or, on one memorable trip to Brookings, we stayed in a hotel, because my sister had developed bronchitis on the way down) for fear of infection. Otherwise, though, he was just like the other boys. He played with us, outside and in, and judged coloring contests (fairly, I might add) between his sister and me. For the longest time, it seemed, we knew his life expectancy as 12. This disease was a looming, scary part of his life, but it was also just part of reality. Chad has brown eyes, Nathan has blue, Deron has CF.

There have been frightening turns, from any time Deron had a cold to the more serious, hospitalization-requiring infections. The life expectancy of CF patients has increased over the years, but Deron is nearing the edge of that number once again. He’s near the top of the list for a lung transplant now, and blogs about it and other things here. When I first found his blog (through his comment awhile back about twins) I was suddenly horribly self-conscious. How can I blither on about shopping and coupons and Vegas when he’s blogging, quite literally, about life and death?

Turns out, I can’t. I mean, I can, and I will, shortly, revert back to blithering. It’s what I do best. But I really struggled with this. In the end, the only thing I can do is to ask you, dear readership, to send as much positive energy as you can spare toward Deron. He would rather you pray for him, I imagine, but I know some of you don’t do that, so I’m asking for whatever you have to offer in its stead. Good vibes, karmic light and hope, wishing on stars, whatever you can muster. Check out his blog, if you like. And if you and yours aren’t organ donors yet, for the love of pete, get on that. I hope truly that no tragedy ever touches you, but it will, and when it does I hope you will choose to donate all organs possible to those who need them. It’s not enough to have it on your driver’s license. Tell your parents and/or spouse and make them pinky swear that they’ll follow through with your wishes if it ever comes to that. Because otherwise, if while we’re here we can’t even learn to share what we no longer even need, what hope do any of us have for this life or the next?

Late autumn/early winter plans

I am famous at our house for having big plans and then getting terribly disappointed in myself when those big plans don’t come to fruition. In many ways, I epitomize my Grandma Minnie’s saying, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” Anyhoo, I thought I might be more likely to actually accomplish things if I wrote them down and shared them publicly.

· Think of something easy and impressive for Shaun to be for Halloween (hint: send suggestions. Stat).
· Make this lovely blanket. My sister’s allergic to wool, so she won’t steal it from me, and that’s always a plus. I have some already, but also welcome your donations of sweaters that are at least 75% wool. In case you were wondering.
· Get the air conditioner out of our bedroom window. You’d think I wouldn’t have to write this down, since it's almost November. But you’d be wrong.
· Meet Violet, my friends Josh & Tami’s daughter, who was born in freaking May (“freaking” because I cannot believe how bad of a friend I am, having not yet met this child).
· Make curtains for the family room. (We have nasty bent up blinds right now, and they have really started annoying me).
· Write at least two blog posts a week, with a few about crafty things I’m working on.
· Make some Christmas gifts, and only post about ones for people who don’t read this blog.
· Clean the house: we’re hosting Thanksgiving.
· See my cousin Deron with new lungs. And my friend Heather. Then figure out why I know two people waiting for lung transplants.

This last one isn’t really in my control, but it’s something I’m desperately hoping for, so I’m listing it anyway. I’ll post more about Deron in the near future (unless he objects).

Okay, I think that’s it. Thanks for listening. And feel free to hold me to these with enthusiasm: badger me, ask me in public, demand results. That’s why I told you, after all. Help me help myself.

And keep your hands off my wool blanket.

Nobody cares what you had for breakfast

As it gets colder, I get a hankering for hot creamy food. My mom's bean soup, or dumpling soup, or scalloped potatoes, or...well, you get the idea. The easiest hot creamy food to make in this world is Cream of Wheat. So I made some. Then I added a little butter, a little milk, and a lot of brown sugar. Mmmm. Hot, creamy, and sweet. There is nothing wrong with that.

When I was a sophomore in college, after I'd moved out of the dorms (and into Christus House, actually), autumn came along and again I felt like having some hot creamy food. I bought a box of one minute Cream of Wheat, made up a double batch....and something wasn't right. I followed the directions exactly, stirred and timed and used fresh brown sugar and butter and milk...but since it still wasn't right, I did what every self-respecting 19 year old woman would do: I called my mom.

"Hi Mom. Listen, I made some Cream of Wheat, and it's good and all, but it's just not right."

"What do you mean? Did you burn it?" This was a reasonable question, sadly.

"No...it's just...it's not like yours."

"Well I don't know what to tell you. I used that same kind at home." My mom is a brilliant cook, and learned to cook from her mother, who learned to cook from her mother...I didn't have her skills, but she was good at talking me through things when I needed her to.

"But, I mean, I followed the directions and stuff, and I even used a wooden spoon like you do, but...how do you get your Cream of Wheat to have those lumps in it?"

She hung up on me.

But I was serious. I still haven't managed to make lumpy Cream of Wheat like my mother used to.

V and I watching the last Presidential Debate

These are the actual conversations V and I have had so far, 30 minutes into the final presidential debate. Before they started, I wanted to explain a little bit of what was going on.

"So, V, in this country, the United States, we have one leader of the whole country. This person has more power than anyone else in America, and gets to help make and enforce laws, and decide how we as a nation spend some of our resources. Every four years, we as a country get to go and vote and decide who will get to be the president."
"Mm-hm. Is Columbus the president?"
"Uh, no. When Columbus was here, we didn’t have presidents yet."
"Okay. I hate Columbus."
"What?"
"I hate him."
"You hate Columbus?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I don’t know."

"Who’s the red guy?"
"You mean the one in the red tie?"
"Yeah."
"That’s Barack Obama."
"Who’s the blue guy?"
"That’s John McCain."
"John McCain is grown up."
"What do you mean?"
"He’s big."
"You mean old?"
"Yes. He’s old and big."

"See those two men?"
"Yes."
"Which of them do you think would make the best president?"
"Barack Obama."
"Why?"
"Because I love him."
"Why do you love him?"
"Because he is tall."