The Aftermath

my house is a mess. It's not because I haven't been cleaning it. I've cleaned every room at least twice every day. Christmas makes it's own messes.

We had boxes in the livingroom and no space for them in the garbage. Those are out on the carport now, but not until after a discussion about and an attempt to build a playhouse with said boxes in the previously messed up livingroom. That party ended with the first fight . . . five minutes after playhouse construction began. I do hope my children do not try to become home contractors.

We also have many new books. Joshua got two, Sarah got three, Rilla got one, Matt got two and Libby got five. We already had no space for the books we do have on the bookshelf. I know it's time to do some thinning out, put some away until we have room for a second (or third) bookshelf, but it's hard to bring myself to do it. We love all our books.

We now have a house full of dinosaurs as well. Matt got five. He likes to make them roar. Because Matt likes dinosaurs, Libby does too. She makes them roar. It's a cute, small roar, though. We got her two Little People dino sets. Those are dang cute.

All in all though, my house is in chaos. This isn't a new thing. I will be glad to get the peace back when the older three go back to school. I am enjoying them now though. It's fun to see them playing together and the crazy stuff they come up with. I had no idea there were that many themes you could choose for a club. They have a new "club" everyday and the only members are themselves. That is a good thing in my mind. They think of themselves as a group. All together and working toward a common idea. Which is exactly what we wanted when we decided to have a large family. It's nice to see it coming to pass.

adding to the candy repetoir--Penuche

I have no idea how to pronounce this (and a little help would be apreciated on that, lol), but it's good stuff. Penuche is a brown sugar fudge. It has the flavor of carmel and the texture of fudge. If you are a carmel lover, or if you have a hard time getting carmel to the right texture, this would be a great recipe to try.

If you've used my recipes before, you'll recognize this as a modification of my grandma's vanilla fudge recipe.

Penuche
3 T butter
1 1/2 c sugar
1 1/2 c brown sugar
1/4 c lt corn syrup
1/2 t salt
1 c cream
1/2 c milk
2 t vanilla
1 c chopped nuts

If you like a less intese flavor, use 2 c white sugar and 1 c brown. To make the fudge: combine butter, sugar, karo, salt, cream, and milk in a 4 qt. heavy bottomed pan. Cook over med heat, stirring constantly until it boils. Cook and stir occasionally to stoft ball stage (236 degrees.) Remove from heat and pour into a mixing bowl. add 1 t vanilla. Cool to luke warm (110 degrees) beat until it loses its gloss. knead in the nuts. Press into a 9x9 buttered cake pan. cut, then cool. makes about 1 1/2 lbs.

if you haven't made homemade candy before you may want to check out the full series in my sidebar (it's under the "what we're reading" section.) There are posts on many different kinds and lots of tips on how to get good results the first time you try. Have fun!

Maybe he's not dreamy but he is a lot of fun

On Wednesday nights I help out with my church's youth group. This last Wednesday, we had a game night. Playing Apples to Apples with a group of 12-14 year old girls is a very intresting thing. They do not vote for the cards you think they would and they say insane things like "who's Sean Connory?" (a sure sign of the degeneration of the educational system in this country, along with the non vote for "Victorian England" played on the "unnatural" card.)

The best part of the night happened after a play of "dreamy" for the green card. A discussion was started as to whom is truly dreamy. The 12 year old next to me looked through her cards and declared that two of them were, in fact, quite dreamy.

"I really like this one, he's totally cute." she said, showing the card to another adult.

The adult looked at the card and replied in the nicest way she could, "Um. That's not a person. That's an event."

The girl had been crushing on "Mardi Gras."

Can't say dreamy is an adjective I've heard to describe that . . . .

My Secret Desires Fulfilled or how I got over that dream

This last Saturday, Steve spent the entire day somewhere else. It was rainy and cold and I was in charge of children who had too messy of rooms and too much energy not being put to clean said messy rooms. I also had 12 loads of laundry to do. I'm not kidding.

It wasn't a good day.

late in the afternoon, I was stressed enough I needed a break. I headed for my room (um, stormed might be apropriate, but I'm not admitting to it.) I shut my door forcefully and collapsed onto my bed to read. I had a nice relaxing couple of chapters with Miss Woodhouse who was still getting over her embarrassment for misreading Mr. Elton's signals. After a few more deep breaths I was ready to enter the fray again.

I turned my door knob. Door wouldn't budge.

Turned the knob a little harder and tugged harder. nothing.

Pulled and tugged. nothing.

Kicked it. nothing, but then I wasn't expecting that to help.

Pulled again.

Tried to pull the door knob off and it was pretty firmly attatched.

The door knob, 50 years old and original to the house, had finally broken. I had asked Steve to replace it over a year ago and even bought a door knob which has since disapeared because it wasn't used and that's what things do when we buy them and then don't use them for a year. It's like a time activated black hole.

Steve's points value was swiftly plummeting in concordance with the rising screams of contending children from the other end of the house. The end of the house I couldn't get to because I was locked in my own dang bedroom.

It was at this point that I realized I had the best excuse in the world for spending the rest of the day in bed hanging out with Miss Woodhouse as she trips through her pebble-y social life (not rough enough for rocks.)

Then Libby screamed. again.

It suddenly occured to me that I have two ground floor windows in my room and the locks are conveniently on the inside.

I did wonder as I pushed out the screen what my neighbors would think of seeing me climb out my own window. Were they looking for smoke from the roof? Checking for bruises and an angry husband? Thinking I finally went mad?

I spent the next hour completely ignoring the last five loads of laundry. I was not about to go climbing through my bedroom window again just to get the laundry baskets.

Steve was a smart man and sent me out alone to buy a new door knob while he did laundry. I bought a pretty one.

I could save them time with a repeat button

The other night we were at Walmart buying gifts for cousins and I snagged a Blue's Clues DVD out of the bargain bin. My hope was to add some variety to our tv watching. Libby has reached the Blue Obsession stage of her toddlerhood. We have two VHS and one DVD with Blue and I was getting a bit tired of the constant repeats. I don't know what I was thinking because what has happened is exactly what I should have expected to happen: they watch it constantly. The thing gets over and they hit the play button again. At the current rate of viewing the DVD should be worn out in 2.3 weeks. I'm starting to miss Rugrats. (Babies! Repar! raaarrr! says Libby.)

I do have to admit it is cute when she does the Blue impersonations, though. "bo-bo-bo!" All my kids have done that. They got it from me. Blue is the only "voice" I can do and I do it well. It's such a common thing to hear for them that most of them have called Blue "bo-bo." Yes, it's cute. Have you ever met a 2 year old who wasn't cute?

On the present front: nothing. I'm two days behind on the schedule I made out so I wouldn't stress out anymore. However, the cousin presents are all wrapped. that's something isn't it?

ARRRRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!

Why the primordial scream? It's December! This year I decided to be a creative mom, a crafty, cool mom. Why am I speaking in italics? Because I'm that stressed. Deciding to do two home made gifts each for five children and a sister tends to stress you out when December 1st rolls around and all you've managed to complete is the one thing for your sister (who you are hoping desperately isn't reading your blog and thinking "she made something? Oh crap. I'm getting a scrapbook." because even if the gift isn't a scrapbook, and I'm not saying at this point whether it is or isn't, you don't want someone thinking that about your scrapbooks.)

I have left to make: two twin bed quilts. two red velvet dresses, five pairs of pajama pants, although I would love to have time to do seven, a necklace for my oldest daughter, a Gameboy case for my son, 14lbs of candy for my in laws, 5 more lbs for friends, etc.

See, I'm stressed. Wouldn't you be stressed too? Especially when you add on an unfinished website that I'm designing myself because I'm too freaking poor to pay someone or even buy a crappy template. (www.amyrbrownphotography.com please be aware that I don't have my portfolio active yet, because I don't even have the photos chosen and resized yet.)

Why do I let December stress me out? Why? I always do this. I get grandiose plans and then crash harder than the Red Baron.

My high school graduating class voted me most organized. HA! (This of course speaks volumes about how much my graduating class really knew me, but that's beside the point today, although it would make a good blog entry . . . in January.) The point is, I'm not organized. I just talk big and dig myself into big, deep, dark pits that are impossible to get out of while still maintaining a full head of hair. Which begs the question: how did my husband manage to go bald when he never, ever does this to himself?

Ok, I've used up my italics quota for the next two years. You can now get them over with in one post and you don't have to suffer through them again. Isn't that a nice, homemade gift? Merry Christmas.

Teddy Libby

Libby has a strange mind. Lately she has decided she needs to sleep with the stuffed animals at night. Now, I'm not talking about a teddy bear or a baby doll in her bed with her. No, I'm saying she wants to sleep with all of them . . . in their bed.

The stuffed animals at our house sleep in a baby cradle my father made. Since we no longer have babies to put in it, we have set it up for the girls to put their stuffed toys in. Libby thinks this makes a comfortable bed.

I just got tired of fighting her on it. She would throw big toddler sized fits over being refused this wonderful experience, so I let her do it. Every night. Yes, I'm a bad mom. We put her to bed in the cradle, carefully cuddled and supported by twenty stuffed toys and the odd plastic doll. Then after putting her back there fifty times, she eventually falls asleep and we transfer her back to her own bed.

The teddy bears seem to be rubbing off on her though. About three or four times a week, she wakes up at 3 in the morning and comes and finds me. She climbs up in bed with me and cuddles close. She used to wiggle and squirm, keeping me awake, so I would have to take her back to bed. Now she lies still, curled up next to me sleeping, the perfect teddy. I love laying there next to her, smelling her sweet, baby scent, just enjoying my last toddler in a quiet moment.

So if putting her to bed with the teddies means she'll stay my teddy just a bit longer, I'm going to keep doing it. I wanted my oldest to rush through growing, to get to the next stage. I cheered her on. My youngest I want to hold back. Don't rush headlong through life. Toddle. Nice and slow. Stay little. Stay sweet. Stay. Just stay.

Learning to Spell

Bubba: Mom. Mom. Mom. I know how to spell Mom.

Me: really? how do you spell it?

Bubba: A . . . M . . . Y

Me: : )

My Protege

I have a few talents. Things I've worked hard to improve on in my life. I can take pretty good photographs. I make a mean chocolate chip cookie. I can ignore housework like nobody's business. However, the talent that bemuses my husband the most is my ability to stack dishes in a dish drainer.

He and I both grew up in homes without a dishwasher. (Ok, my parents got one when I was a teenager, but that still counts as doing dishes many years without.) You would think he would understand the usefulness of such a skill. Nope. He teases me about my leaning tower of dishes and the pots and pans that bump the bottom of the cabinet (my cabinets sit about two inches lower than average.)

I can see why he's so fascinated with my stacking skills, because the man can not stack at all. He sticks the tall plates in the middle of the drainer and the big bowls in front of the small bowls and can't figure out why nothing wants to stack for him. In other things he's got great spatial perception; he just doesn't use it when standing over a sink of hot soapy water.

Lately, my stacking skillz have been allowed to rest because I have passed the dishes torch onto my oldest. I'm only doing a couple of batches of dishes a week and it's heavenly. Most of the time, she does a decent job. Every once in a while she tries to have her water too cold and we end up with greasy dishes, but other than that, she's not bad.

One area she's managing to excel: stacking. Her dish drainer sculptures make my heart proud. The other day I went to get a dish and almost took a picture. She had carefully stacked a pot on the backing racks, extended them out over the edge of the drainer, and set something else on the other end, perfectly balanced.

She has learned well, my Grasshopper.

Rationalizations

I keep thinking about things I could blog about, but then I remind myself that as a mommy blogger I must report on Halloween. Since I haven't done that yet, I can't talk about anything else. So my Proustian musings must wait for another day.

Halloween was stressful. I did way too much running around and I had too many things I was trying to take care of and not enough time to do it in. It definitely made it hard to enjoy the day. Everyone had costumes this year and we only spent $12 buying a ninja costume for Joshua who was quite happy with his store bought costume and not at all sad I didn't stress myself out more to make something.

Which is good, because Sarah came up with her costume idea at the last minute. She came out her bedroom the evening of the 29th and said, "I know what I want to be for Halloween." finally, thank you. "I want to be a Greek goddess. Maybe Aphrodite or Athena, but Aphrodite is the goddess of love so I don't really want to do that. Maybe Athena. What's she goddess of?" Because of course, we have to choose our dieties carefully, don't want to choose something potentially tease worthy. Athena is the goddess of war, wisdom, and industry, so we were safe with that one. (I think it says something about my daughter and the Greeks that they find those three areas logically connected.)

Monday morning I researched ancient Greek costume so I could historically acurate. We can't put a Greek diety in a Roman toga, after all. Thankfully, the Greeks weren't anymore up on sewing than the Romans were. A Greek dress (called a Chiton) is basically two rectangles sewn in a couple of places and belted. We found an old white bedsheet and cut it up for her dress. I sewed the shoulders with two inch seams so she had the little scarf thingys at the sleeve and we belted it with bronze colored decorator cording. We wrapped the cord at the sleeve too. Then we found some leather strappy sandals on clearance at Walmart for $5. We did her hair with a high bun for half the hair and ringlets for the rest. She looked very pretty.

Rilla was supposed to be Little Red Ridinghood except mommy somehow lost the hood. At the last minute we had to switch to Snow White using a dress that was missing it's yellow ribbon. We did still have the cape. (stressor number three.)

Libby's costume ended up being a last minute thing as well. I basically put her in a onsie and leggings and tied her tutu over it: instant ballerina. She refused to let me put her hair in a bun though. (Stressor number four.)

Matt borrowed his cousin's dragon costume. non stress. I needed that.

We spent the day at my mom's trying to help with doughnut making. I forgot my camera so I don't have good pictures of either the doughnut making or the kids. The plan was to leave Mom's in time to make it back for our church Trunk or Treat. We left late and I misrembered the time by 30 minutes, so we basically missed the entire thing. They got the dregs, but it was cold so they really didn't want to be out much longer than they were anyway.

Next year we will have to make changes in the schedule. It was too hard to do things that way. I know it doesn't sound like much, but there was a lot I'm not saying here. It wasn't a good day for me, but my kids had fun and that's what matters right?

Motivation

Steve and I are both trying to lose weight. We both have the same amount to lose and of course, he's doing better at it with a total of 15lbs to my 5lbs. I think it has to do with motivation.

When we first decided to try again at this, Steve came up with a whole series of motivation rewards for himself every 10lbs along with a reward at 25 and another at goal. He knew what would get him to work on the weight loss and it really does. When he's faced with food choices, I can see the wheels in his head turning, remembering the motivation. It's very cool to see him work hard at this.

Not that it helps me any. I have no will power and aparently my motivation reward is not good enough. I only picked one for a goal reward. It's not very motivating. The problem is it's too far off and doesn't feel close enough to reality. I guess I need to choose something to motivate me, but the only rewards I want that are non food related are also too hard to accomplish. things like a lunch out by myself somewhere, new clothes. Things that are totally dependent on the situation we are in at the time. I still don't think they would motivate me like Steve's do him.

Honestly, I want to lose weight. I do. it just feels so unreal though. I've been struggling with this weight for five years and I've gotten nowhere with it. I exercise regularly and it doesn't do anything. I watch what I eat, doesn't do anything. I just feel stuck. I've been tested for hypothyroid before and came up negative. I have all the same symptoms I did then, so I doubt the results would be different. Somedays I just feel like I will always be this size. Always have the awful fat rolls on my stomach and the butt that's way too big for one person. I do know I'm fat. There's just not a lot more I can do about it right now.

Anyway, I didn't start off to write a downer post. it's just something that's been preying on my mind lately. I just wish I could lose weight like Steve. He tends to yo-yo, but at least his yo-yo goes down half the time. Mine just goes up.

We would all like to think ourselves unique

But unfortuantly, statistics have shown that our name isn't. I've been faced with that reality since a small child. It's sort of a joke to me actually. Now I can make my total genericness completely official:

HowManyOfMe.com

There are: 4,201 people with my name in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

My only comfort is that Steve is one of 7,284 and is therefore even more generic than I am.

Although, I'm starting to wonder if giving my youngest a name shared by over one million other women was a good idea.

Grapes

I have grape juice in my house. Lots of it. 20 quarts. I processed 7 quarts of juice. I also bought six boxes of pectin to make jelly. I've never made grape jelly or cooked jelly of any kind, so I'm a bit nervous. It should be interesting to say the least. I always put off my Holly Homemaker stuff to late and the stores are sold out of canning lids. I have to hunt some down today.

I'm not ready for this.

Sarah is in middle school this year. Sixth grade. She informed us at the beginning of the year that there would be dances at school. We decided that she wasn't old enough to go to school dances yet. She's still young. She has her whole life to worry about boy/girl stuff. We don't need to rush it.

So Friday she came home and told me about her day. One of the boys at school asked her to go to the dance with him. An eighth grader. She told him she wasn't allowed to go to the dances. She then said she would have told him no anyway because he was so much older than her.

I guess we have been neglecting part of our parenting. It never even occured to her that going to a dance with a boy is a date and she's definitely not old enough to do that.

But hey, it's nice to know she's not attracted to older men. I sure hope that lasts, at least through high school! LOL

Write More Please

When I write I say things I don't say outloud. These conversations I have with my blog are not conversations I usually have with anyone else, so I guess you could say you can see in my head a bit when you read these entries. I don't very often have anything intresting to say. I'm not funny or terribly clever and I definitely won't ever get the views that Finslippy gets (google her. she's good).

But I'm not doing this for the views.

It's like thinking outloud. You know, how when you are shopping in the grocery store and you are standing there looking at the soups and the woman next to you starts talking. "ok. so where did they hide the cream of mushrooms . . . not there . . . I hate it when they move stuff around . . . ok . . . found it . . . man, prices are going up . . . now I need . . . rice . . . ." and then she wanders off pushing her cart and you look to see if her clothes all match and that she's not sporting a Blanche DuBois-like vague look, following behind to be sure she doesn't say something about depending on the kindness of strangers. Yeah. That was probably me.

And that's what I find facinating about blogs, not the whole crazy woman at Walmart thing, but the thinking outloud thing. Blogging weakens that filter we have on our brains, the one that keeps things in that should be said. Which is how I'm managing to get the point of my entry here. All this is to say: Steve, please write in yours more. I love reading your thinking.

If you haven't read his blog, the link is to the right. He says things in ways I never would have thought to say them. He also says things that we never say face to face, even though we often stay up an extra hour just talking after we've turned out the light at night. There are things that are easier to type to a blank page than say outloud, so that's how we say them. But these are things I want to know. So blog, would ya?

Oh and it's good writing practice, Mr. Songwriter. ;)

You Know You are a SAHM When:

-You can recognize a new episode of Barney after 15 seconds.

-Nap time is a ritual that must not be interfered with for any reason.

-Library reading hour is your big outing for the week.

-Walmart with kids is considered "fun."

The Dangers of Trying to Be Too Cute

Sarah and I bought the same shoe style at the beginning of the year. We wear different sizes, but they look alike.

This morning she left the house in my shoes.

You would think she would have noticed that they were three sizes too big.

Old Traditions

Today I will can green beans. For some, that might seem like a pointless exercise, especially in a world with canned green beans at the grocery store that go on sale periodically. It's a lot of work, a lot of time, and a lot of heat but I do it.

Growing up, my parents always grew a huge garden with double rows of every vegetable you could think of. There would be a huge patch of squash and watermelon, six rows of carrots, a couple of rows of red potatoes, beets, radishes, many rows of corn, peas, and of course green beans. I think my mother is really partial to green beans. She's never said so, but anyone who grows six fourty foot rows of green beans and spends three weeks canning them really has to like them more than the average individual.

Yes, six. Well, growing up that's what we had. One year we grew four double rows of beans. Huge long walls of green that seemed to last forever when you were crawling on your knees trying desperately to get to the end of the weeding before Price is Right was over and a sunburn developed on the back of your neck. Or when you were slowly digging through the vines, bucket in hand partly wanting to search only halfheartedly for the beans but doing a decent job anyway to avoid the embarrassment of Mom or Dad picking behind you and pointing out all the ones you missed. The year we grew so many we sold them to an open market and my parents used the money to help pay for a new tv for the family. Hard work earns you something was apparently the lesson we were supposed to learn from that. I think I mostly just learned to hate picking beans.

But not eating them. Mom always grows Blue Lake pole beans. Somehow these are just better and that's why I'm canning beans today. They are worth the time. Besides there's a sense of accomplishment that you can only feel as you look at rows of green beans lined up on a towel on your kitchen counter. My husband provides for our family, but this is one way I can tangibly contribute to the household. This is my part. Food for the winter, work that is given for the good of the family in the same way my grandmother gave. I do it not for traditions sake, but because the contribution still makes sense.

No Labor Day Plans Here

Steve is a Physical Therapist Assistant at a nursing home. Ooops. sorry, long term care center. This means almost all his patients are quite old. It also means he's never guaranteed a holiday off. Since none of his patients are actually going anywhere, you would think that a break of one day from thearpy wouldn't be a big deal, but Medicare doesn't seem to think so. It is written to not allow holidays.

And all that means in my life is we spend about two weeks before the monday holidays reminding family and friends that Steve will be working that day. Now ask me if it's fun to have your husband work on Christmas. Luckily they arrange things so he only works a couple of hours every three years. Which makes me luckier than the average policeman's wife. Oh and my husband has no chance of getting shot at, so there's that too.

See how easy it is to think positively?

Two

Libby turned two recently. I love two year olds. I know, that makes me somewhat strange, but that's only a small part of my strangeness, so I'll keep it. She is growing so fast and changing so quickly, I don't want to even blink.

She says thank you when you give her something. "tant to," quickly spitting it out as she runs off to play. She also says "k," as in "'ilk? . . . . kay? kay?" I agree and she says "kay! kay!" and jumps up and down without leaving the floor the way toddlers do, her legs bending and springing up to her tip toes and back down again, never with enough height to overcome gravity. Kay means yes. She would ask me something and I would say "ok," so now that's what she says when she wants me to say yes.

See? two is perfect.