Tag Archives: daughters

On Whining and Wining

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Warning- I’m about to whine.  Not wine (okay..I’m doing that too!).  I’m whining like a sick baby.  Remember when I got the “man flu”? Well…it’s still there. It’s been 4 weeks.  Ugh!  I had an xray on Thursday and it’s still pneumonia.  Another round of antibiotics.  I took all of 3 sick days.  That’s ridiculous.  I work in a hospital, so they know I’m not really contagious anymore.  Okay- whine over.

So, I haven’t been writing a lot.  Or at all.  Not much going on in that head.  I’m taking moxifloxicillin.  It makes you dizzy.  On top of that, NyQuil.  With wine.  Only when I’m at home, of course.  It doesn’t really make you better, but it makes being sick a lot more fun.

I’m also playing with my new dehydrator.  That is a lot of fun.  The other day, I cleaned out my fridge.  There were some peppers that were getting a little wrinkly.  And some celery that was looking a little floppy.  Sounds appealing, right?  I decided to slice up a lot of veggies, and dry them.  We ended up with the red peppers, celery, green onions, green beans, broccoli and carrots.  Once they were totally dry I added them to a jar with thyme, fennel seed (I just love fennel), bay leaves, bouillon and dried mixed beans.  Some day this winter that will be a nice pot of soup.

That wasn’t the only thing we dried.  On Friday I met one of my senior daughters and Grumpy at Northeastern University.  She’s at the college tour time (my other senior saw exactly one college, fell deeply in love and married it forever and ever.  Sadly, it’s in Charlotte, NC. Sniff).  Anyway…after Syd fell madly in love with Northeastern (we’ll have to wait and see if this love is reciprocated), I had this great idea.  Why didn’t Grumpy go fill the car with gas, while Syd and I took the subway to the Haymarket?  I had promised princess Avery that I’d buy strawberries.  They had beautiful berries there, and we bought 4 pounds for $3. That’s right- we are awesomely lucky with shopping (and to quote my dear friend Dr Mikhail: “sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good”).

When we got home I cleaned and sliced the berries.  Most of them fit into the dehydrator.  I meant to get a picture of all those strawberries inside the dehydrator.  I’m not sure what happened.  I remember so little about things sometimes.  I’m blaming the NyQuil.  Totally.  Anyway, there were about a quart of dried berries when they came out.  Not bad.  Then princess Avery discovered the jar.  This is what was left.  About a cup at the most.  Ugh.  She ate the equivalent of 2 pounds of strawberries.  Is that even healthy?

Not all of the strawberries fit, by the way, so with the rest I rewarded us for surviving another day by making my favorite cupcakes- the ones with the strawberry-buttercream  filling that I told you about in the post “Insomnia“.  Don’t they look amazing? You can make them with any type of cake, but it’s a really light buttercream frosting mixed with about an equal amount of finely diced fresh strawberries.  I pipe the frosting into the middle of the cupcakes, dust them with powdered sugar and put half a berry on top to cover up the evidence.  Go back up there and click on “insomnia”(yeah- the blue one) for the actual recipe.

So that’s what’s happening around here.  Time for NyQuil, moxifloxicillin and a little bit more wine.  G’nite all!

 

 

 

Three reasons I’m smiling…

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Just a quick note to float out there about why I’m smiling at the doorknobs today.

Reason #1) We’re hatching more eggs.  We tried to hatch a dozen guinea eggs for his farm. I don’t know what went wrong, but all 12 failed.  I’m really afraid it was the incubator. They’ve been in the incubator for 8 days now, and it’s been mostly in the 99-100 range, but on a few occasions it went as low as 97, and briefly to 102.  That 102 really scares me. They may have been baked.  I’m watching it like a hawk, and I’ve 3 (yeah- OCD=3) thermometers in there.  I wasn’t even sure they were fertile eggs. Jack thought there were no more eggs available this season.  I actually (gulp) found a seller on Ebay.  She was really sweet, promised me “at least 12″ and sent 18. Today, I picked up a couple and candled them quickly: fertile! I can’t get a photo while I’m holding them, so I’m borrowing one from a volunteer site:“Guineaalert.com”.  

See the darker spot at the top? That’s an 8 day fertile egg.  Our eggs are the same age, and look like that.  Or at least a couple of them did.  I really, really, hope we can give our friend Farmer Jack some guineas this time!  He has no idea that there might be 18…..

Reason #2) I’m waiting on another special delivery!  This month, I joined a group called Foodie Penpals.  This is a group that was started by Lindsay, aka http://www.thelonggreenbean.com.  In her own words:

-On the 5th of the month, you will receive your penpal pairing via email….
-You will have until the 15th of the month to put your box of goodies in the mail. On the last day of the month, you will post about the goodies you received from your penpal!
-The boxes are to be filled with fun foodie things, local food items or even homemade treats! The spending limit is $15. The box must also include something written. This can be anything from a note explaining what’s in the box, to a fun recipe…use your imagination!

We has soooo much fun deciding what to send to my penpal Debra in Birmingham AL.  Unfortunately, I kind of forgot to take photos.  I’ll paste them in when Debra opens her gift at the end of the month.  I’ll also add photos about this when we receive our package from Mei-i.  I’m not sure which part is more exciting! Way more fun than just a letter alone!
I really do recommend that you check out the long green bean’s site, and also think about trying the penpal thing.  Maybe I’ll get you in the draw next month!

Reason #3) My daughter now has a twin sister.  Yup- I have another child under my roof.  My dear friend is moving to NC, and she’s leaving me her eldest child. It’s a gift of love.  Her daughter (and my other older twin) is going to be a senior this year. Can you imagine moving almost 800 miles away from your friends to a new school for your SENIOR YEAR??? So our Miss B has moved in.  Last night I also had my #1 son, Matt for a visit.  We walked around closing up the house last night with my 24 yr old, my blond twins, my 13-year old daughter and my 12-year-old son under one roof.  I’m telling you- I’ve never felt my heart so full.  I wish they’d all never leave.  I can’t wait until the first day of school.  I’m planning to dress them alike; buy them girly matching twin dresses with hair thingys and make them wear them all day and take a picture for B’s mom.   You think these dresses will come in their size?   I can’t wait!

(Thanks to Crowe Photo for use of the pic- they do gorgeous work)

How to survive Blistering Heat, Sad Farewells and Scouting with Ginger Beer

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It’s just tooo hot.  This weekend was a great lay-on-the-boat-and-do-nothing weekend.  I only wish I were there.  Instead, I’m running around trying to help my friend move away.  And helping my new daughter (given to me for a year by same friend) move into our home.  And going through the usual musical rooms routine that we seem to do every few months.  In and out of the attic with furniture that is just “wrong”, rotating with furniture that might be alright.  All in a home that was built 110 years ago, before central ac, when insulation was one of those new-fangled things that would never catch on.  In short: It’s just tooo hot.

I shouldn’t whine.  At this very moment, I’m taking a break in front of a window fan with a tall, chilly glass of my new favorite (non-alcoholic) beverage.  Homemade ginger beer.  Sugar free. Oh my.

For about 10 years I was a Girl Scout leader.  I never liked scouting when I was a kid.  Then it meant weekly lectures and coloring.  Blah.  When I got to be the leader, though, I made the rules.  We got to do things.  Real things.  We made things to sell for real money. 

Then we donated some, and with the rest we went apple picking. Every fall.

And skiing.  Every winter.  Most of the girls had never been skiing, and didn’t have a chance to ski other then on our annual trip.

We also went to a Dude Ranch.  The horse I was given to ride was named Big Mac.  I tried to not take it personally.

But mostly we went camping.  A lot.  I loved it.  It was everything Girl Scouts was not in my childhood.    We mostly stayed in tents like this one, just high enough above the lake to enjoy some nice cool breezes at night.  Always sleep with your tent flaps open.  Trust me on this one.  And beware of the prankster- every encampment has one.  This was ours.  I am seeing this photo and it just takes me right back there. She’s a hoot.  I can’t even begin to tell you how much fun we had together.  If the GS nazi’s new they’d ban us from scouting for life.  Maybe two lifetimes.

It was on one of our many, many camping trips that I discovered Ginger Beer.  One of those hot, steamy days when the last thing I wanted to do was go off camp to a market.  We must have needed something dreadfully, because off I went.  There, in the (maybe 40 sq foot) so-called market, I bought an icy cold one.  I was hooked.

I’ve toyed with the idea of making my own ginger beer many times.  The image of dozens of glass bottles exploding in my pantry has held me back.  Recently, I found a recipe for homemade ginger ale at MyOldSchool.com.  This recipe involved simmering ginger and making a syrup, which was then added to seltzer.  How absolutely brilliant!!!  No fermenting.  No exploding glass.  I decided to adapt this, make it a bit stronger and sugar free, to create a sugar free ginger beer syrup.

Here is all you need:  Ginger (2 lbs)  ; Limes (optional)  ; Stevia 1.5 cups (or whatever substitute sweetner you prefer)  ; Seltzer

Start by peeling 2 pounds of ginger.  It’s really easy; just scrape the outer skin with the side of a spoon and it slips right off.   After peeling, slice all of the ginger and place it in a saucepan, just barely covering it with water.

Simmer for about 45 minutes, do not bring to a boil. Remove from heat and cover with a lid.  After it cooled I refrigerated overnight.  The next morning, I strained it (save ginger and candy it later) and added the Stevia, whisking gently over low heat until it had completely dissolved.  After cooling, It’s ready to use.

Fill a large glass with ice.  Add 1/2 of a lime (squeeze that thing for all it’s worth).  Pour around 1/4 full with syrup.  Top off with seltzer.  You can use more syrup, or less if you prefer.  It’s so gingery and refreshing. Takes me right back to that first icy cold ginger beer, lying on a cot in a tent with a gentle breeze off the lake. 

Queen of the Road

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The most important thing I can teach my girls is independence.  They should experience being in charge of their own lives.  Travel overseas.   Drive around our country.  Go with friends, but don’t go with a guy.   Not to learn independence.   I once drove cross-country with a guy-friend.  My car, my trip.  I planned to camp all the way from San Diego to Boston.  He came along for the ride so I would be “safe”.  It made my friends and family feel better.  Maybe I was safer with him.  But it was Hell.  By the end of the trip we were no longer friends.  We fought over every decision, every stop for food.   We couldn’t eat at any place he hadn’t heard of.  Can you imagine, driving for days along those great American highways and eating at Denny’s?  Or the Sizzler?  Miles of cute mom-n-pop diners, Mexican places, BBQ and he wanted drive thru!  I later made the same trip, twice, with my son when he was a small child.  What a difference!  He never pouted when it wasn’t his turn to drive.  He didn’t care where we ate, or if we made an unscheduled stop.

Now my blondie is itching to make the same trip.  She wants to travel with friends (or even alone) along those iconic roads.  She’s pushing me to let both my blond girls (herself plus my dear newly acquired daughter-from-another-mother) enjoy a road trip this summer.  Holding me back is a natural anxiety, to be expected from any doting mother.  Also the fact that neither of them are adults.  How do I let 17 year old girls hit the road on their own?  I can’t even imagine.   On the other hand, I KNOW how much they’d love the trip.   I’m toying with the idea.  Not cross country.  They want to drive to North Carolina.  That’s over 700 miles of excitement, distractions and danger.  Maybe, just maybe, I could let them drive a shorter distance.  They could go for an overnight to a friends’ summer home.  It’s only a couple of hours away.  Maybe that’s a good starter journey?

This is sooo hard.   I want them to be independent.  I really do.  But not just yet.

Where am I and What Happened to Monday?

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I’m suffering from holiday confusion.  What was a Tuesday felt like a Monday.  Tuesday morning actually felt worse than a Monday.  It felt like one of those Sunday mornings from my 20s.  I’d grade that day a “D”.   From Drunk to Deflated, Drained and Dragging.  It was really deserving of an “F”, but I’d better not start up with that.

I think I had a conversation with someone and they gave me an idea for a post.  It was brilliant, really.  I do wish I could remember.  As Pucket said (with her sweet-as-sugar accent) “that girl… she’s just not right”.

I even forgot the Tuesday trip to the farm.  Those cows make all that nice fresh milk and I forgot all about them.  Fortunately,  Mrs Kathy had her wits about her.  She bottles the stuff and refrigerates it right away.  By the time I got through with all the Wednesday things, my girls were around and they came to say Hey to the cows.   That’s the cows saying “Hey” back.

When the girls come to visit the cows come running.  Literally.  The girls bring bovine junk food: white bread.  They just love that stuff.

I know it’s not great for these cows, who eat only healthy grass and some nutritional supplements (the grass here is a little light in selenium). 

But once it a while…in moderation…I guess it’s pathetic to try to justify this.

I’m a soft touch when it comes to them.  Just look at those eyes.  How do you not bring them treats?

It’s funny, but my “day off” started at 5am.   It’s been nonstop ever since.  I’m forever trying to fit 10 lbs of shxt into a 5 lb bag.  Going to the farm for milk takes another hour out of my day.  It’s so worth it, though.  Not only do the kids have fresh milk, but somehow going out there to visit the cow-girls takes all the stress out of the day.   I may just make it through the rest of the week after all.  Thank you sweet cow face!

The Ho Code

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The other day, my girls hit the mall and came back with “The Bro Code”.   It was a gift for another of their Best Girls- they’re like that.  That got me to wondering…Who really writes this crap?

The first rule in the code is “Bro’s before Ho’s”.   Not only is that ridiculous- do you KNOW who really says this? I do.  A few years ago, we were at my little boy’s 9th birthday party.   At an amusement park.   One of his friends, another little 8 YR OLD KID, cut in front of his sister and uttered that comment.  To an eleven year old girl.   This was a 3 foot tall, snot-nosed Bro-wannabe.  Yuk.

Now the thing is- even though it’s filled with the sort of things you’d expect some neanderthal (no doubt suffering from testosterone poisoning) to write, the book was in all likelihood probably written by a woman. I know, I know, Barney Stinson, blah blah blah.  But I don’t believe a man ever had a hand in this.  First of all- it’s a book.  How often do men write books on etiquette?  Second, it’s a list of directions on male behavior. Most men don’t even read, and certainly not directions!   Men don’t read rules, discuss rules or acknowledge them unless it’s in the safe framework of a sport.

Females, however, are another matter.   We need friendships, because the world is a harsh place.  Some are lucky enough to have a close bond with their mothers.   Mother’s aren’t the same as girlfriends.  I really hope that all young women can have girlfriends.  And I hope they are all smart enough to care for and support their friends too.  There are rules, and sometimes we live through many painful years before we realize them.  In this case- the Ho Code is about how to be a friend and not a HO.  The Ho Code is like the 10 commandments of girfriendship.  It’s like this:

#1) You shall have no other FRIENDS before me.  Okay, You can have other friends, but your old friends should never be made to feel less important.  Don’t exclude them.  Don’t keep secrets from them. 

#2) That carved image thing- well, it’s not okay to put things before your friends.  Things are just things.  That said- I still remember when my old roommate wore my grey cashmere sweater and actually sweated in it.  It was never the same.  Not cool. Ahem…

#3) Do not take their name in vain- means don’t be talking trash about your friends.  Ever.  You can’t say mean stuff behind their backs.  You never belittle them in front of other people.   And certainly not in front of Bro’s.  Girlfriends don’t do that stuff.  Not even Ho’s would do this.  Well, maybe Ho’s would.

#4) Remember that Sabbath part?   I’m not getting into everyone’s belief system here, it’s just a good idea to take time and appreciate. Show respect.  You need to take time to appreciate your girlfriends too.  Don’t just forget to call them when you meet a Bro.  Those girls are your support.  They’ll be there for you when he’s gone.  Make time for them.  It matters.

#5) Honor thy father and mother.  And your friend’s parents too.  Parent’s are treasures.  Your friends parents will be there for you, they care for you more than you know.  And your parents, as uncool as they are, can be a help to your friends.  Get over your fear of embarrassment and let your friends and your parents get to know each other.

#6) That murder thing? Kind of goes without saying.

#7) That would be adultery- and it would be #1 if this list wasn’t trying to copy those commandments.  Seriously-  do NOT EVER go after, hook up, flirt  with or make out with your girlfriends ex (and that includes the future ex).  That is what Ho’s do.  Period.

#8).  Stealing- see #7.

So you get the idea.  We don’t really even need ten rules.  Remember to be kind.  Compliments are always welcome***.  Make time to build memories.

*** Thanks to Linda, and Bobbie, and any other friend who was kind enough to tell any boldfaced lies about my body’s ability to fight gravity, the ravages of time or whether that dress makes my butt look big. XXX

Kittens, little girls and superheros

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I’ve been dragging myself through life for the past couple days.  Sooo tired.  Out early, back home late.  I was still at work, looking out the window at the grey day, when my dd Sydney called. 

She doesn’t usually call at work.  It was an emergency.  Life or death.  Her friend’s friend’s cat had free kittens.  She really, really wanted one.  I explained that free kittens were the most expensive kind.  You have to take them to the vet for a check up and shots.  And worming (do they actually have worms?).  And then you have to take out their private gender defining bits.  And have some krytponite chip implanted under the skin to make them superpets.  When you were finished with all of this the free kitten would cost more than my first car.  Or my second.  Or my last.  I really need a better car.

Syd was not impressed.  I reminded her that we already have a cat.  Her name is Boo. She is a wonderful cat and an awesome mouser.  That’s a lie.  Boo is a great cat.  And she can catch mice.  We’ve gone over this, however.  She gives them to her friends, the dogs.  She likes dogs.  She’s weird.  She likes to go on walks with the dogs.  She doesn’t like other cats.  I told her Syd wanted another cat and you know what she said? Neither do I, but this is the face she made when I told her. That’s not her happy face.  That’s her “why me” face.  She doesn’t meow, she doesn’t hack up fur balls, she just spends her days patrolling the town and keeping us safe.  And this is her thanks.

Syd was not deterred.  In fact, the more she went on, the more anxious she sounded.  It was “Mom, we have to” and Mom, you don’t understand”, “We can’t wait”… It was giving me a feeling of deja vu.  What was it? 

Then I recognized that thing.  It was the same desperate, excited, high pitched sound she used to make years ago.  Every afternoon, when she was about 3 or so, the ice cream truck would drive by.  The frenzy, the pleading that would happen.  “Pullleeaaazzee! Get money fast Mumm. He’s leaving!!!!”.  She didn’t believe that he’d come back.  Ever.  It was surely the last ice cream on the planet.  And I couldn’t bear to break her heart.  She’d use those big blue eyes and blonde curls for all they were worth.  We’d scoop up the money and run outside.  She’d dither every time before she finally bought the powerpuff girls popsicle.  The nasty one with the face spraypainted on the front.  And a rock-hard gumball in each eye.  She never actually ate much.  It would just melt all over her. But it was her favorite.

And now she was doing it again.  She’s so excited about that kitten.  I almost don’t have the heart to say no.  I really don’t want another cat.  I want chickens.  And a new car. 

You know what, though?  She brought me right back to those hot summer days, the ice cream man and my little girls.  I’m feeling much better.  I’m probably not going to let her have the kitten.  But I think I might be on the lookout for some powerpuff girl popsicles.