Groovy Mom

The weather is turning temperamental. Sunday it was 40 and warm, today it was 5 and cold. The snow has diminished significantly, leaving behind what looks like a dirty grey snow-cone emptied over the city. All that beautiful snow, melted. We need more snow.

Yesterday we took a trip to a county park and had a Winter Picnic with some friends (who were kind enough to share their special “spot” they had discovered a few years ago). You park, then hike over a couple small hills to come to a clearing where there is a large fire pit, complete with logs for seating and tables for picnicking and paths cut for cross-country skiing. But the best part? – A small cabin, in which, if I were younger, I’d surely break into a Laura Ingalls make-believe festival. The cabin has wood stacked, lined and ready one side, and a small-bellied stove for a fire, with space on top to boil water – or beans, or coffee… windows on each side, and two large picnic tables.

We spent the first half of our time at the outside tables, roasting wieners and brats on sticks over the open fire and snacking on cheese, fruits and dips watching the kids sled. Later it began to rain (oh how I wish that it would have been snow) and we retired to the cabin, my friend and I, as the kids and the men stayed outside for a bit. In the cabin we had one small lamp and the fire. It was comfortably dim, inviting. Cool air, but warm with the scent of a burning fire. The kids came in and out, grabbing cookies or warming in front of the fire where steam would rise off their wet coats. We sang some songs, told some spooky stories.

The rain continued and the temperature dropped, so we thought it wise to start traveling home before the roads got too slick. I was toasty in my snowpants and jacket, and was reluctant to leave. It was a wonderful way to round off the weekend. The kids thoroughly enjoyed themselves, as did the adults. I forgot my camera, or I’d show pictures. My girlfriend took some, though, and I hope some turned out OK and I can share.

Winter in Wisconsin can be rather tiring unless you find some things to do (ski, sled, etc.). As long as you keep warm, you can enjoy a lot of summer’s activities in the midst of Winter, though – like a picnic.

Francesco, the oldest twin, is our most enthusiastic tree-trimmer. Last year he assigned himself as the Star Hanger, and this year assumed the role as well.

Last year we were going through a stressful time, this year, the same. It takes a bit more effort to muster up the energy to get our decorations out and trim the tree. So the kids took a larger role in doing so – which is wonderful!! In the past the tree has had a large cluster of ornaments kid’s-eye height, which I would rearrange after they went to bed. This year – I didn’t touch a thing. And there was no cluster.

I’ve been de-cluttering our Christmas decorations over the past few years, as well. So many were broken or useless that it was silly to pack and unpack them. Realizing I had done this, though, I thought I would replenish some this year. Goodwill was my biggest helper in that. I’ll post pictures of my finds in another post.

Here, he admires the star…

Every year, as soon as possible after Thanksgiving Day, we go to the same place to pick out our Christmas tree. This year it took us a little longer to get out there to get one. But not longer than a week later. Generally we don’t put a whole lot of time into the process.

The mom and pop greenery isn’t far from home. We always have a little giggle at the signs they have tacked up around the lot.

“Pay inside only!! Do not pay outside help.”

Must have been a lucrative season at one point for the outside help, huh?

They small barn-like shack where you pay is almost as cold as it is outside, smelling like fresh cut pine and motor oil. dThe tree prices are reasonable, they take checks and they hand out a Tootsie Roll to anybody that comes in. It is a small gesture, but it makes for a nice memory in a family tradition.

Last night I stayed up late to finish a scarf I’ve been working on. It was kind of a trial run, knit in the round simply to have a new project to knit, with the hope that I could also use it.

I probably should have spent that time reading the book I’m supposed to finish for bookclub this Friday, but I’m just not into it. So, instead, I threw myself into the knitting. I’d like to try this same pattern with some different yarns, or maybe with just two colors. Or with a horizontal stripe instead. This one I bound off a bit too tight and it has a slight curve to it. Note to self: chill out on last row before binding off.

My mother would really like another scarf for Christmas. I don’t know if I have the time or energy to do it, though. But I’ll see what I can do.

Snow Day. Slept in, stayed home from work. Unpacking Christmas decorations led me into dusting and de-cluttering the various surfaces of the house in-between doing loads of laundry.

Lunch was grilled cheese (pepper-jack and cheddar) and tomato soup. No grumbles from the kids – a favorite lunch. After that, the youngest three sat down with their math workbooks; I helped them with a couple pages. The twins worked on rounding up to the nearest tens, hundreds, thousands and ten-thousands. Fun stuff.

I washed the dishes, happily looking out the window at the snow (we got dumped on today – hence the Snow Day). I pondered on my contentedness. Just… being a mom, a homemaker, whatever you want to call it. Some weird sort of me, even though I’m working part-time outside the home, still considers myself a stay-at-home-mom. I guess, I guess it is because that is where my heart is; that is what I’m most content with, what feels centered at my soul.

Frank came home from work and all the boys went outside to help him shovel snow. I stayed in to dust and clean a bit more. After that was done, we all went sledding – something we’d anticipated all day. We had a great time, each taking turns. After about an hour we came home, made dinner (potato chip tuna casserole – Loo wanted to make that, specifically for dinner… lots of improvisation there).

Layer of chips in a casserole. 1 semi-cooked package of frozen broccoli, 5-inch square of Velveeta, cubed and stirred into the hot broccoli to melt (we had to nuke it for a few seconds to help it along). 1/4 cup of chopped onion, 1 pepper chopped, 1 package of spaghetti noodles (broken in thirds and cooked), a couple handfuls of shredded cheddar cheese., 1 large can of tuna (or 2 small ones, drained). Mix everything but the chips, spread over the chips in pan, sprinkle with garlic, add another layer of crushed chips. Bake at 350 for about 1/2 hour. Done. Good stuff.

A good day. Nothing spectacular, just… a good day. Snow Days can be crazy, hair-pulling days. But today wasn’t. It was a slow and simple day finished off with a movie, putting the kids in bed, Christmas music, knitting and a glass of wine.

When did being a brat become a desired attribute in children?

I was with some friends who were having a small get-together and one of the children, a young girl, was a little prima donna. “Get me this, I don’t like that, I want this…” Calling the hostess (who was not her mother) by her first name as if it were a follower on the playground, demanding things be done HER way.

In her defense, the brat’s mother did freely acknowledge her little kidd-o was indeed a bit bratty. She made her say “thank you” after getting what she wanted. As the mother watched her daughter walk away, she rolled her eyes and said that it is so annoying to her (the little brat’s attitude), but the little girl’s daddy thinks it is cute. What to do? Sigh. I think she expected me to say something like, “What? No!! – She rocks – totally cute!!” or “No man will ever do HER wrong!!!” or something to stroke her misguided ego, affirming the strange notion that her kid’s attitude would someday make them all filthy rich. YeahNO.

Cute? Really? Really. Well, here’s a clue – it isn’t cute. It’s atrocious, disgusting and sinful. Now,  I know there are outright hellion children and freaky never-ending energy-filled boys (I’ll raise my hand on this one), but I’m telling you, nothing, in my opinion, ranks higher on Annoyance Radar (as far as kids go) than little adult-like Paris Hiltonesque miniatures ordering their parents (and any other adult they can force to succumb to their will) around as if they are cattle. Oh yeah. Wait. There IS something almost as annoying as the bratty little demons – their parents. Yes. The parents feeding into the little game make me nearly bust a vein.

You know what? When you’re a guest at someone’s house and your kid samples the food, scrunches up his or her little face and says, “Ew, no. I do not like that.” It is neither adorable nor endearing. It is insulting and ill-mannered. When you are in the middle of a conversation and your child comes up, interrupts with a hand on the hip demanding you to get up and get/do/help, don’t put your palms to the sky like “silly ol’ kid” and shrug. And for the love of all that is good on this earth, if you are letting your little girl either dress like or play with these demonic abominations? Ask yourself if anything by the name of BRATZ is going to contribute to your child’s brain development and not damage the little brain cell common sense pool.

Every year, come Christmas (or the month prior to), you will find at least one carton of eggnog in our fridge. The kids like it, I like it, hubby likes it (although I like it best with a little brandy in it). I prefer the organic eggnog variety, and can’t handle more than a serving at a time. My husband could probably chug an entire gallon by himself.

I’m considering taking a try at making homemade eggnog. But then I read the ingredients and change my mind, opting for grabbing a carton from the grocer’s cooler.

Eggnog was never a part of our Christmas tradition growing up. Somehow, though, it became part of our family tradition now. Last year, I substituted eggnog for milk in a pancake recipe. Though it sounds good, I don’t recommend it.

Christmas is right around the corner. I am ready for the holiday, I just haven’t started shopping. Figure that one out. I haven’t been able to mentally (or monetarily) wrap my brain or checkbook around it – neither is quite capable of it right now.

So I instead turn my attention to the white blanket of snow covering the ground, which is always a welcome addition (in my opinion) at this time of year.

A Christmas without snow feels out of sorts to me. I’ve always lived in a part of the country where there are seasons, and in Winter, there is snow (sometimes LOTS of it – see Buffalo NY Blizzard of ’77). Yes, snow is par for the course.

Bundling up with snowpants, mittens, boots, hats, and scarves – building snowmen, sledding down the tiny hill in our front yard, making snow forts… but hating having to put a jacket on to go to school – the kids have a love/hate relationship with Winter. As do I, to some degree. Putting 30 gallons of gas into our van while the wind whips at your legs and face like a schoolyard bully is no fun. Having to get into a vehicle that feels like a deep freezer when you’ve hardly finished your morning coffee? Again, no fun. But, as they say around these parts – the snow makes the cold worthwhile.

What do you think? There is more information on the ObamaCrimes.com website.

The three main examples of questioned citizenship of Obama (link to full PDF):

Exhibit A: The Grandmother’s tape
Barack Obama’s own grandmother said he was born in Kenya. While politicians are known for it, grandmothers seldom lie. It’s recorded on tape: “I was in the delivery room in [Mombosa,] Kenya, when he was born Aug. 4, 1961.” – Sarah Obama, Obama’s paternal grandmother

Exhibit B: No Original Birth Certificate
Experts have called the Certification of Live Birth posted online a forgery. Berg reported “It’s clearly been altered,” which invalidates it, according to the document itself. Add to this the Hawaiian law at the time which allowed people to register for this non-hospital short form certificate (without a doctor’s signature) up to one year from the date of the child’s birth.

Exhibit C: Indonesian citizenship
Only Indonesian citizens could attend Indonesian schools at the time Barack Obama attended the Indonesian school where he was registered as Barry Soetoro. His citizenship was listed as Indonesian, his religion as Islam, and his father as Lolo Soetoro, M.A. There was also no dual citizenship at the time. If he was adopted by his Indonesian stepfather, he would have forfeited any U.S. citizenship he may have had, just as when a child is adopted in America, he or she becomes an American.

What do YOU think? Does it hold water, or is it hogwash? I’ve heard a few bubbles about it before, but am hearing about it more and more. If it is untrure, can’t he just show his birth certificate and get it over with? I don’t understand.

Not long ago I mentioned my problematic bathroom towels. Naturally, I went searching for new towels shortly after – my family was in desperate need.

Because I hadn’t given much thought to towels in the first place, I didn’t want to over-think my purchase of towels. I had unsuccessfully looked at Walmart and decided against their offerings. The next stop was Kohls, in hopes the towels were on sale. And they were. I didn’t want to spend a fortune on towels, but I wasn’t against shopping above the rail. I wanted colors that complimented my bathroom. I wanted a soft, “thirsty” towel, like the advertisements were always boasting. I looked, touched, compared. Narrowed down my choices. Checked price tags and labels and finally settled on two different kinds. One of them was Casa Cristina (I liked the brown towels).

After putting the towels through the wash, (I did not use softener on the them, as the softener seems to make the towels less absorbent), I was ready to test out my purchase.

They were soft, alright. As a blanket, they would be perfect to curl up on the couch with. But they were not as absorbent as I would have liked. After numerous washes, they still feel like there is something synthetic about them, some sort of coating that makes them feel like polyester pajamas on a warm day, sliding over my skin, leaving a film of moisture behind. Not a big surprise, though. The most absorbent towels, I find, aren’t always the softest ones. They’re the ones that are washed and then dried out in under the hot the sun, dehydrated like beef jerky; those towels are some “thirsty” towels.

So, my search for towels continues.