New seasons, next steps

For much of our nation, this weekend ushers students out of school and into summer. Right now, America is grilling a lot of meat. We’re placing flowers and flags on gravestones and honoring sacrifice. There is much splashing around.

For me personally and for my family (both nuclear and extended), this new season isn’t just about the weather and vacation. This is a time of change.

For some, it’s a change for the better. We’re living life healthier, adding in exercise and better eating habits and subtracting pounds. We’re finding love and success, peace in our hearts and understanding of others. We’re meeting goals and finishing projects.

For others, the changes come with some degree of worry. Will this treatment work? Where will I be going next? Can my family stay together? Will I have a job? Are my children going to be ok?

I watch us all struggle with what’s in front of us right now. Maybe it looks like too much. Maybe it looks like it’s too far. Maybe it’s large and looming and terrifying.

But our fears can’t matter. Our fears can’t stop us from moving forward.

***

We are a pair of brothers who met beautiful women, married them, and were fruitful with children. We are the grandchildren from those children, raised in close proximity, cousins like sisters and brothers.

We are the great-grandchildren, the oldest about to drive a car for the first time and the youngest not much past taking first steps. We are the men and women tough (or crazy) enough to survive marrying into the ranks, bringing blessings that abound, offering new perspectives, weaving tighter and more richly colored our family tapestry.

There are so many of us: Grandparents, aunts, uncles, parents, siblings, spouses, cousins and children. We are 21 of us on one side and at least as many on the other. We’ve grown up close, and stayed in touch. We’ve disagreed and fought but there isn’t a single person in this clan who wouldn’t drop everything to help if another one called out in need.

***

Dear family, I pray every night before I go to sleep for the four generations of us here, and for the ones to come. I pray “Keep us whole and safe and healthy and happy. Keep us together.”

Whatever you’re facing right now, in this season, I want you to know that I love you. I’m proud of you. I miss you. And I’ll see you soon.

Love,

Julie

Waffle Iron Wednesday: Mexican Cornbread

Once every couple of weeks I make a big pot of pinto beans for my husband. The beans, onions and ham hock simmer throughout the day and make the house smell amazing.

Usually I make a pan of skillet cornbread to go with it, but I thought I’d have some fun with my waffle iron again. My as-yet-unnamed waffle iron. Ahem. Jen? JEN?

This was simple to mix up, but figuring out how much batter to put in the iron was tricky, and there was goop squishing out the sides on the first batch. You might want to take it easy on the first round too.

Mexican Cornbread Waffles

2 boxes Jiffy Corn Muffin Mix
2 eggs
1 can Rotel
1 cup shredded taco cheese
1/2 cup milk

Mix all the ingredients together while you heat the waffle iron. Pour 3/4 cup batter into the center of the hot iron, close and flip.

Wait about 20 seconds after the “done” light comes on to flip back over. Open slowly, lift with a fork, and slide out with a spatula.

Slice and serve with butter or beans or both.

Rating: Splat
*Sidenote – I don’t know what’s wrong with my kid. These were awesome. His father and I ate most of them while he threw them on the floor in favor of salad. SALAD. Double U Tee Eff, kid.

Toddler rating system:
Yummy! – disappears before your eyes
Nom – Not bad. Might share with the dog
Splat – Straight on the floor

Marking the day

My phone began vibrating violently at 5:45 this morning, stirring me from my sleep with that feeling of panic you get when someone calls too early.

I grumbled hello and two little voices answered back with their sleepy version of “Happy Birthday.”

It was the best wakeup call ever.

Throughout the morning my phone continued to throw fits, and I just want to say that I am blessed by the love, y’all.

I’m blessed by my sister and her boys, and excited to see them all soon.

I’m blessed by my mom, aunt and uncle who’ve gifted me with an extended trip to Texas and The Bloggess’ book on CD to get me through the drive. (Even though I’ll probably be laughing too hard to concentrate on the road. If you see a woman on the shoulder convulsing with laughter, say hi!)

I’m blessed by all the other family and friends who have texted and messaged through various social media. Yes, I know Facebook tells people it’s your birthday. Yes, it’s still special when someone writes on your wall.

I’m also extremely blessed to have built over the last year a special friendship with an inspiring woman. She’s showered me with love and attention for this birthday, including writing this post for me.

Greta, thank you. You mean so much to me.

A few things I’d like to share with you guys on my birthday:

* It’s also Kim of Mama’s Monologues birthday!

* I wrote a post over at JDaniel4’s Mom’s place for Pause Life for a Moment. It’s about another blessing, but one that came in disguise.

* Lastly, today marks one year since the Joplin tornado. I’ve been reading stories here and here about the tragedy of those lost and the triumph of the survivors and it’s both heart wrenching and beautiful. Joplin, we remember you on this day.

The Invisible Elephant Saga, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Zoo

On Tuesday I’ll be 33. According to some think tank in the UK, that’s the age most people report to have been the happiest.

I certainly plan on doing my best to support that position with the help of some silly, smart, spectacular people in my life. Several of those people accompanied me to the Omaha Zoo on Saturday, a trip that’s been on my “Midwestern Bucket List” for some time.

The zoos of today are a far cry from the rows of caged, stressed out animals from my youth. Zoos are heavily involved in education and conservation and have made many improvements in their animal display areas.

One such improvement is adding in more space – more space for the animals as well as more space in between them. And that means more walking for us, which, in most cases, we can totally use.

The Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha is a great sprawl of a place. When we arrived we were instantly dwarfed by the huge desert dome at the front. Inside the dome, I stood face-to-flapping-wings with a cave full of hundreds of bats. I walked through a dark swamp with alligators and nutria and felt like I was back at home in Southeast Texas. (Not that I ever actually walked through a dark swamp there. Alligators don’t tickle when you disturb their naps, even if you try to pacify them with marshmallows.)

We visited giant apes, some who were curious about us…

And some who were too busy contemplating the complexities of life to bother with our stares.

*Sidenote: Have you ever looked into a gorilla’s eyes? I got to, and the intelligence behind them was almost overwhelming. I wanted to hug this guy and tell him I loved him. I figure he’s not a hugger though, and I get that.

We took a little time to let our Monkey attend to some, uh, monkey business. He was in such a mood all morning, wanting nothing more than to be left alone in his wagon to eat. He ate nonstop for the first two hours of the visit, but eventually wanted to get out and look around.

Now here is where the aforementioned saga actually begins.

The entire first couple of hours at the zoo were spent in a descent through ramps and elevators, through the desert and swamp and apes and all, until we reached this guy.

At first it looks like he’s all, “Hai! I’m a bear!” but really he’s laughing at us. He’s laughing his dirty bear butt off because he knows what comes next.

The zoo map tells us that up the hill are rhinos and elephants and sea lions, oh my. The kids want to see all these fantastic creatures and so do we, so up the hill we hike.

We see the rhinos, muddy and quite fat. We watch the sea lions swim around in their pool and wish we could jump in because the temperatures are climbing. Then we begin the trek up yet another hill to see the elephants.

Only, the elephants aren’t there. Instead there’s a pretty sign that announces, “Future Elephant Site.”

By now we’re hot and sweaty and pissed because nobody likes invisible elephants. They’re useless. Our friend Tyson quipped that all of Nebraska must be uphill and it occurred to me later that this must be where all of our grandparents lived when they had to walk to school.

Monkey studied the map for awhile as we took a break to recover from the hill hike. I love his friends’ faces here. You cannot imagine the immensity of the effs they do not give at this point.

One of the older members of our crew, obviously seasoned in the ways of the zoo, suggested a train ride so we could rest our haunches and cool off.

I could have hugged this man. Not only did he do most of the pulling of the children up the hills in the wagon, but he saved our sorry selves with that suggestion.

The train route took us back up the hill so we got to enjoy the sights without huffing and puffing.

Little prairie dogs scurried up out of their burrows alongside us to stare as we chugged past. Monkey and I snuggled, waved at them and mugged for the camera.

When we left the train, we were reinvigorated and ready to finish our trip. But then the clouds rolled in, the temperature dropped about 15 degrees and it looked like it might storm, so the entire visiting population of the zoo crowded into the aquarium.

Our reactions to the massive mob were quite different. Some of us (the smart ones) moved quickly through and ended up on the other end enjoying sno cones.

I was not one of the smart ones, and ended up in a human traffic jam with my little six-year-old sidekick. We made the best of it though and got to see monster crabs, deadly jellyfish and happy stingrays.

One of our crew didn’t make it through though. Yup, that’s my kid, passed smooth out in his wagon where he stayed until we picked him up to put him in his carseat. Homedude was done, y’all.

The best days are those where you’re too tired to walk at the end, but you have a head full of memories and a disc full of pictures that will always remind you that you’re loved. Thank you Greta, Tyson, Henry, Ivy, Essie, Ervin, Maggie and Jim for joining my family as we visited all the wild and wonderful creatures Omaha had to offer.

Now, can someone please tell me WTF this is?

Soup’s on Sunday: Meal Planning with Pinterest

By now I’m sure most of you are using Pinterest, if for nothing else than to amass a large collection of obnoxious Someecards.

Or maybe that’s just me?

Pinterest is useful for other things too though, like meal planning. Since I tend to Pin links to recipes all willy nilly, it can be daunting to go dig back through them each evening for a particular link. So, I’ve begun making a weekly menu that has helped keep me organized.

On grocery day I browse through my collection on my Kitchen board, then re-pin any recipes I want to use for that week on my This Week’s Menu board. I make my shopping list from there.

When it comes time to prep a meal, I can access everything with just my phone in the kitchen. This is a vast improvement over the days when I used to haul my laptop in there and try to find a safe place for it among the splatters. Oh, and hey, who remembers those things called cook “books.” So quaint.

Using the Pinterest app for the iPhone, I go to my boards.

If I just selected Kitchen, I’d have to dig around for my recipe. Oh look, I pinned nothing but carbs. How…usual.

This is where This Week’s Menu comes in handy again with its much smaller selection.

There it is, there’s the Pin for the shells I want to make.

When I tap on the Pin, it takes me to the website where the original recipe was posted. (If I’ve Pinned it correctly, that is. But that’s a whole ‘nother post.)

I can even use my phone to take photographs of the food, although I really should take a class in food photography and presentation, ‘cause mine never turn out quite as pretty as the inspiration.

But it still tastes pretty great, so that’ll do. That’ll do.

*If you’re not on Pinterest yet and are looking for a tutorial, may I direct you here or here. Or you can just find me on Twitter or Facebook and I can help walk you through. It’s a great tool for organization and inspiration and doesn’t have to be as overwhelming as some might make it out to be.

New Feature! Waffle Iron Wednesdays

I have a Belgian waffle maker. It doesn’t have a name yet, but I’m hoping Jen will come along shortly and rectify that situation.

Anyway, lately I’ve been trying to see what I can cook in that waffle maker besides waffles. I did the cinnamon roll thing from Pinterest and it turned out pretty good, so I’m branching out.

Tonight after our family walk my son kept tugging at my arm and begging “Snack? Snack? Snack?” We tried to get him to be more specific and were successful in narrowing it down to cheese or apple.

Why not combine both?

Apple & White Cheddar Grilled Cheese

2 slices bread
1/2 cup white cheddar
1/2 small apple, cored, peeled and sliced
1 tsp butter

Heat the waffle iron. Butter the bread. Slap a piece on the hot iron, line with apple slices.

Sprinkle on cheese, top with the other slice of bread. Close the waffle iron. It probably won’t close enough to flip over, so just hold it for about 2 minutes.

Open, slice, feed to toddler.

Rating: Nom

Toddler rating system:
Yummy! – disappears before your eyes
Nom – Not bad. Might share with the dog
Splat – Straight on the floor

To honor and be honored

I’d like to start off by saying that yesterday was a hard day for many people I know. People I love who have buried their mothers. People I love who have buried their children. And people I love who have yet to meet their children, and are struggling with that.

So it was kind of hard for me to read posts about how all some women wanted for Mothers Day was to “not” be moms. I know we joke about needing a break, and that break is well deserved. I myself shirked a few responsibilities yesterday, so I understand that need. But I wanted to take a second and remember those for whom Mothers Day is a day of longing for closeness instead of freedom.

Around here, things started off early. Even though my kid miraculously slept until eight, my mom woke me up with a sweet text message. I guess turnabout’s fair play, eh mom?

But it was ok, because I wanted to make something new for my boys’ breakfast.

Check it  - cinnamon rolls cooked in the waffle iron.

Yeah. So easy. Six minutes. Boom. I even used the cheap brand. Shhhhh.

Then I sat around and watched about six hours of Bones. Don’t ask me why, I’ve never even heard of that show before. What is it about the Deschanel family and their dorky daughters? I just love them.

During that time, hubs changed ALL the diapers. Hubs filled ALL the sippy cups. Hubs handed out ALL the cookies. It was kinda niiiice.

While I was vegging and hubs was hopping, I spent some time on the phone sharing well wishes with my “mommy mafia.” It felt kind of luxurious to have all that phone time without interruption. (Although when it came time to talk to MawMaw, Monkey was on my lap babbling away. We know who she really wanted to talk to anyway, right?)

Later that evening I cooked fajitas for us all, and then hubs sent me on my way to pick out my traditional Mothers Day gift: new bedding.

Ok, so it wasn’t a tradition. But it is now!

See how sad our room was? So blah.

And now? Now we are those people who have too many damn pillows.

Life is good.

How was your Mothers Day? Are you at the “handmade” gift stage? Those are the best. I can’t wait.

A gocky by any other name

My kid’s first word was cookie.

But not “cookie” all sweet like. No, it was a growl, like The Cookie Monster on day three of the Sugar Busters diet.

COOOOOKIEEEE.

Since that day he first growled his request for a snack, his vocabulary has increased quite a bit. He has many words for food (no surprise there) and knows all the names of his family, dogs included.

He’s begun to form sentences, sing songs and give commands.

He’s basically a hungry, musical dictator.

Usually I’m too busy marveling at the miracle of learning that’s always taking place in his head to notice that I’m being bossed around by someone who can’t reach the light switch, so it’s ok though.

***

We’ve had a few mishaps with language learning this year, mostly adult words that he picks up on accident.

No sweat though, I just substitute something else when he repeats our expletives.

“Shit!”

“Yes, son, that is a nice SHIRT you’re wearing. Is that your SHIRT? I like your SHIRT.”

See? Easy enough to redirect since his speech isn’t that clear in the first place.

Today though, I forgot to do something and said, “CRAP,” really loudly.

“Crap!” he repeated. “Crap. Crap. CRAP.”

Clear as a bell, no baby talk there.

***

We’ve decided to use proper words for body parts with our son. So it’s penis, and boy, do I get tired of saying penis. You know when you say a word so many times it loses meaning?

Penis. Penis. Penis.

***

Monkey likes to climb in my lap sometimes and touch my face, naming the parts of it. It’s very sweet, as long as he’s gentle when he gets to “eyes.”

“Cheeks. Chin. Mowwwwwth. Hair. Eeeehs.”

And then he gets to my “beauty mark” on my temple.

“MOLE,” he says, and my husband chimes in.

“MOLEY MOLEY MOLE!”

Thanks, Austin Powers.

***
Somehow, the kid picked up the word “boobs.” He uses it in the correct context. I’m so…proud?

“Boobs, mama.”

“Yes, son. Those are mama’s boobs. Leave them be, please.”

“Mama? ‘Dose Dada’s boobs.”

Well. I guess we know where he learned that word after all, don’t we?

***

Some words he misses completely. No matter how hard we try, he either can’t or won’t pronounce them correctly. So to hell with it, we’ve renamed a few things.

Blanket is “gocky.”

Diapers (Pull Ups) are “boppies.”

Lawnmower is “mow car.” Makes sense, yes?

Oh, and all boys aged six to 13 are named “Josh.” My nephew, the one actually named Josh, gets a kick out of that.

***

Manners are important to us here. “Please” and “thank you” came not long after his first cookie demand request. “Sorry” he picked up after he learned to throw.

I figure “excuse me” should be next, but I can’t stop laughing after he farts at the table long enough to teach it to him, and we still clap when he belches. Parents of the year, I tell you.

What “new” words has your family adopted? What words do you wish your kids never learned?

On Tuesday, May 15th, I am going to attempt to climb the Mt. Everest of blog commenting and visit every damn one of the linkers at YeahWrite #57. This will require lots of caffeine and cooperative children who take long naps. Also several episodes of Backyardigans.

Soup’s On Sunday: Lasagna soup

Y’all, I’m changing Monday Meals over to “Soup’s On” Sunday. I’m doing this for several reasons. One, so I can participate in Stasha’s Monday Listicles, and two because, well, because I can!

Oh, the joys of being your own boss.

(For those of you who’ve never heard the saying, “Soup’s on” is just a way to call people to the table for dinner.)

I came across this recipe for Low-Fat Lasagna soup on Pinterest. I’m not a real big fan of low-fat anything, but I figured this would be a good start to my own version of the soup.

(It’s really more like a spaghetti sauce with broken-up lasagna noodles in it, but I’m forbidden to serve spaghetti around here since my husband claims it’s all he he was fed growing up and he’s sick of it, so this is the closest I can get. If you’d like to make it soupier, increase the chicken stock to 40 oz, or cook the lasagna noodles separately, drain and add them.)

In my version, I replaced the turkey and sausage with ground round, spiced it up with some red pepper flakes, and added onion because the smell of sautéing onion makes me very happy. If Scentsy made a “sautéed vegetables” bar, I’d be all over that.

Although I’m fond of the “lazy spaghetti sauce” my mother-in-law used to make for us without fail every time we’d visit, I think I’m going to trade in the can-of-rotel-can-of-tomato-sauce-packet-of-spaghetti-seasoning cheat and go with this from now on.

Lasagna Soup (serves 4)

1 lb ground round
1 small onion, diced finely
1 green bell pepper, diced finely
2 cloves garlic
1 28-oz can of crushed tomatoes
32 oz chicken stock
8 uncooked lasagna noodles, broken into small pieces
1 tsp parsley
1 tsp basil
1 tbsp oregano
red pepper flakes to taste
salt
pepper
cheese, your choice (mozzerella, parmesan, even ricotta)

In a large pot, combine the stock, tomatoes and seasonings. I like my food heavily seasoned, so you can adjust your measurements according to your taste. Bring to a boil and then simmer on low for 15 minutes.

While the sauce is simmering, brown the meat, stirring in the vegetables about halfway through. Drain the meat mixture and set aside.

Bring the sauce up to a boil again, and drop in the noodles. Stir frequently until the noodles are soft, then stir in the meat mixture.

Give it another five minutes or so to meld the flavors. Stir in chunks of ricotta here if you like it. (I don’t, so I left it out. Smells like feet. Not a fan.)

Scoop a serving of soup out into a large bowl. Sprinkle your choice of cheese on top, then cover with a plate (or give it a couple of minutes under a broiler) to melt the cheese.

Goes great with garlic bread and could be easily double/tripled for a crowd.

When mom and dad let you down

It’s Wednesday evening and I’m pulling ingredients for dinner out of cabinets and drawers. I’m going to attempt chicken fried steak again, my old nemesis. I tick things off the checklist in my head.

Monkey stands at the gate to the kitchen, doing his Stewie routine.

“Mom. Mom. Mama. Mommy. Mom.”

“Yes?” I ask, distracted by the task at hand.

“Cheeto please,” he says.

“No, mama is making dinner,” I reply.

He frowns at me, dimples disappearing. His brow furrows. He walks off to entreat his father.

“Dada. Dada. Dada.”

“What can I do for you, son?” his father asks.

The request is the same.

“Cheeto please.”

“No, Mama told you, she is making dinner,” his father says.

Twice denied, Monkey plops down on the floor. He’s considering his options. He could whine, but that never does any good anyway. He could go get the Cheetos himself, but that gate is proving to be quite the deterrent.

Hm. OH! That’s right. That’s how you get the Cheetos. That never fails.

The revelation brightens his features, the dimples return. He stands up, takes a deep breath and puts on his most charming smile.

“Dada, call MawMaw.”