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Good Food Friday: Episode 14

2/27/2015

A huge robin just hit my front window. I think it ricocheted and flew off. The cat glanced up from her spot in front of the fireplace, too lazy and comfortable to investigate.

It's raining at a good clip today. I had to go walk in it because I love walking in the rain, but I didn't take the dog because of the whole wet dog issue one ends up with. Let me say it now for those who think it needs to be fixed somehow - I do not want any rain gear for my dog. She does not like it, I don't like it, it makes a nice walk miserable. She can stay home once in awhile.

However, she thinks she still wants to walk because she's incapable of remembering how she hates walking in the rain, but she goes crazy when she sees I'm leaving without her. So I put her out back to go potty and headed off on my walk. There's a covered patio and what we call her "hobo box" to lay in, so it's not like she's cold. But she can't see the front porch from the side fence. That means she doesn't know if I actually walked.

She was whining and barking to get back in when I walked in the front door (she can't see the front door from the back door). I took off my shoes (because she knows when it's walk time based on the shoes) and let her in. "You smell like air!" she said as she pointed a paw at me. "I think you walked without me, but you don't have the shoes. Did you walk without me?"

I ignored her, although as I go in and out of Pooh Corner to pack up my stuff for the craft and hobby retreat, I will have to say "NO" every time I walk through the door. She'll just skitter around, "Now? Are we going now?" And since my Achilles heel is bothering me (yes, that's really a thing) I have to wear my walking shoes all the time until it stops. I'll wear my slippers until I'm ready to leave so she's not totally confused by my intentions (or rather, non-intention - no walkie).

Anyway, all week I've been thinking about Good Food Friday and the phrase that keeps resonating in my mind is Keep it Simple, Stupid (KISS). My Cooking Buddy's recipes aren't particularly difficult, it's one of the things she likes about them, but there is the ingredient issue - having all the right ingredients.

So although I didn't try any "new" recipes per se (I looked that up), I did figure out how to roast a simple pork loin (not to be confused with a pork shoulder, roast, or tenderloin). What's the big deal about that? Well, it's not as easy as you think.

I like to buy pork loin at Costco. They're huge so I cut them in half and freeze the halves individually. But keeping with my desire not to spend a lot of time cooking on shopping days (I did it on Monday this week because I wasn't available last week), while kowtowing to my husband's recent declaration of not liking prepared Costco deli-type food, I decided to cook up one of the halves.

Simple is not browning the outside, simple is not turning the oven up to 450 then down to 350. Simple is quickly preparing the thing and throwing it in the oven. I did, however, have to do research.

I learned that all these years, people have been so afraid of undercooked pork, we've been eating dry pork. It only takes 137 degrees to kill the bacteria that lives in pork, so cooking it to 140 (145 if you're squeamish) is sufficient. Let's face it - when you overcook pork it usually becomes shreddable, then it's just pulled pork, which we cover up the dryness by saturating it in barbeque sauce (although it is a rather tasty and often used recipe in my house, it takes a long time and while simple to cook, has to be shredded).

After reading several "simple" recipes, I threw up my hands and did this with the half pork loin:

Rubbed Johnny's seasoning all over it, put it in a 9x13" pan (fat side up to keep it moist), cut up potatoes to fill in around the pork loin, sprinkled them with Johnny's and baked it, uncovered, on 350 for an hour.

Perfect! Yes, an edema nightmare for those with too much salt intake issues, but you could use any seasoning for the rub. Next time I think I'll cut up the potatoes and put them in the bottom of the pan and place the loin over them. I was worried they (the potatoes) wouldn't have any flavor, but they really picked up the flavor of the pork with its few juices, think what would happen if they were underneath the pork? (Can you say yum?)

Then on Wednesday, I turned around and packed some pork for my oldest (freezer worthy), cut up the rest and made pork fried riced:

Cook rice (I use brown rice)
Scramble up some eggs in oil (I used coconut oil - it's slightly sweet, but I usually use olive oil), seasoning with salt in a wok or large fry pan. Set them aside on a plate.
Saute veggies in more oil, again seasoning (whatever you want - I used onion, carrot, then threw some frozen peas and corn after the other two were soft), set aside in a bowl.
Add more oil and put cooked rice in and saute it up a bit, then add pork, eggs and veggies, stir it all around until fully heated through, also adding some minced or pressed garlic, more seasonings to taste (again, I'm a salty gal, but you could season with anything you want).

Simple, easy, quick and lots of leftovers for us and a couple servings in the freezer for my oldest. This recipe I often make to use up leftovers like pork, chicken or even seafood; also any leftover veggies is good in it too, like broccoli or brussel sprouts.

So there you have it. Sometimes you just have to KISS the week goodbye.

Today is my day and I will have my day

2/26/2015

Once again I'm doing the FOB shuffle. That is to say, the remotes for my HHR, which is now my youngest daughter's car, have fallen apart again. I think we're on the sixth one. Or is it seven?

It's irritating to continuously have to buy new remotes, they aren't cheap. And you may wonder why we bother. What's wrong with the old fashioned way of just using the key to open the door? Yes, it works and all involved would be perfectly happy doing that, but when you use a key to open the door, the car honks. As far as I can tell, there is no way to turn it off; at least the manual doesn't tell us how to do it.

Sure, all the hassle above is bad enough, but to get the darn thing programmed is probably the worst part. It has to be taken to a dealership and all dealerships are not created equal. It costs money to have these devices programmed. The one thing they all seem to have in common is that it's the same price whether you have one or ten remotes to program.

At the dealership where I bought the car it costs $25, but they say I need an appointment - it takes like 5 minutes to program. I called another dealership that was close to where my husband worked in Renton. They said I didn't need an appointment, but the cost was $65.

When I told him the dealership in Enumclaw only charged $25, he said, and I quote, "Well a house around here is $600,000 and a house in Enumclaw is $140,000.

If his face was in front of me, I would've laughed in it. I live near Renton and my house isn't anywhere near $600,000. Where does he think he is? Mercer Island? Seattle? It must be some freakin' big ass house to be $600,000 in Renton. And I'm pretty sure, with all the farmland and beauty of Enumclaw, you could easily find a house for $600, 000 there too.

I'm laughing about this now, because what the heck does it matter what the home prices are compared with the cost of programming remotes? Someone is trying to pull my leg. Now not only will I not be getting my remote programmed at that dealership, but I won't be buying any cars there either.

My husband ordered a FOB online, because they are a bit cheaper than the dealership; however, I have been sternly warned it only has a 30% chance of working. Because the car is now in my youngest daughter's possession, I have to time it when I can take it in for service. I'm a busy person, she's a busy person. But today was my day.

She has an orthodontist appointment and rather than face the scary attendance office ladies (who apparently trash-talk all day - no wonder they're crabby) on her own, I told her I'd drop her off and pick her up for the appointment in the afternoon, then I could take her car all the way to Enumclaw and get the remote programmed.

Two days ago I called for an appointment. They had nothing today. Nothing? It's a 5 minute job. So I made one for Friday. After I hung up, I was mad because I couldn't believe they couldn't take 5 minutes and get someone to program the remote. I have things to do tomorrow all day; it's the craft and hobby retreat at our church. So I canceled the appointment.

It had been a frustrating day of phone calls - no one available, no one calling me back - and I was just steaming by the time my husband got home. He told me he'd take care of it. I let it go.

But this morning, I thought, "Today was my day to do this and by golly I'm going to do it if I have to show up and camp on their doorstep. Where's the customer service at this place that they can't get a measly remote programmed in a decent amount of time?"

"Sorry, ma'am. For that big of a job it's two weeks out. We have to mentally prepare our guys for such a technological endeavor."

Hey, my husband works for the lazy B and I happened to know there is always that guy who just hopes something simple like programming a remote will happen at the last minute so he has an excuse to sit down for 30 minutes. They just come out with a small, computer reader, get in the car, plug it in and it does it's thing. I know, this is the 4th time (or is it 5th?) I've had to do this (the two original remotes were already programmed).

I got on the phone at 7:30am today and kind of bashed them for needing an appointment for a 5-minute job. "Well, ma'am, by the time the technician is available and he comes out, turns around 10 times, sits in the car, tunes the radio to his station, checks to see what cds you're listening to, checks for updated insurance and registration, plugs the machine in, loves it, holds it, pats it and calls it George, you should plan on 30 minutes." (He didn't really say it, but it's so ridiculous he may as well have).

But what do you know? HE had an appointment for this morning. Now why was he able to get me in at the last minute, but the person I spoke to two days ago didn't have an opening? Perhaps their "Crazy-Lady-on-the-Phone-Get-Her-In-and-Out-as-Fast-as-Possible" alarm went off.

We will never know. But today is my day and I will have my day.

Tapped out

2/25/2015

I was so hilarious yesterday (my family thought so anyway) that I feel I've tapped out on my comic relief for the week. I'm still wondering what Good Food Friday is going to bring, if anything. Maybe it will be a week off. I haven't been compelled to try a new recipe this week, choosing instead to keep it simple with quick preps.

Why is it I have my early morning routine down so well, then come time for office hours I'm tapped out? Not with my energy but with my motivation. I get sidetracked so easily by household duties, kids, husbands (well, I only have one, but sometimes it feels like more), who is where, when and how that I forget what I'm doing. This is totally illustrated by my little tantrum yesterday.

Yeah, I admit it, it was a tantrum and it tapped all the energy I had. I'm over it now. Kinda of; I'm over it FOR now (by adding the "for" I somehow gave myself the option of having it again).

A few months ago (maybe two?) when I determined I really needed to start office hours at noon instead of in the morning I did so well for a couple weeks. I realized in the morning I eat, pray, walk, sort laundry (on Monday), empty the dishwasher, blog, shower, sort mail, pay bills. I couldn't settle into writing (I know I'm writing now, but the blog doesn't count toward office hours because it's part of my personal meditation. Welcome to my head) until all the surface chores were out of the way.

But a few weeks go by with the chaos that's probably mostly in my head and "oh yeah, I have a book to try and get published." So I sent my first query yesterday. Then I ate a row of Girl Scout Tagalongs because I had a mini, emotional meltdown.

One of the reasons I let myself get sidetracked from working on publishing my book is because I'm worried I'll do it wrong. However, this time I spent good money to have someone steer me in the right direction. I had to send it off and let it go.

The person I sent it to was recommended to me by my writing coach, so I felt he at least knows her style. Plus, her website said she'd get back to me in two weeks. That's totally awesome because many agents have a cable-guy kind of window: between the convenient months of mid-February to Christmas.

And what do you know? She responded immediately. It was a rejection, but such a nice one. She didn't roar out of the computer and grab me around the throat or anything. She explained her rejection and it had nothing to do with me personally.

Although she pointed out an uphill battle I will have finding an agent who will place this book because the parenting field is so competitive, my bottleneck has been released and I'm excited to start collecting rejection letters.

I don't know why that made a difference for me, but it did. I should start posting my rejection letters in my WWED blog on this site. WWED is "What Would Erma Do?" as in Erma Bombeck. One can never claim to be a legend like her, but she's my hero and I can aspire to such greatness.

So before I get tapped out on the emotional high of my rejection letter, I will move on with my morning so I can start my office hours.

Who's more productive now?

2/24/2015

It must be spring. All the dogs that are not normally out during my early walk time were out and barking. Pip hates it when dogs bark through their fence at her. It makes me wonder what they're saying. She sets her ears back, stoically pushes her way forward and will wind around behind me for protection if we're walking too close to the fence.

But enough about her. I've kind of been in a panic these past few days over my future in relation to my children's futures. With my youngest thinking of going to college in California and my oldest now talking about getting an apartment with her current roommates for the summer for the next school year, my psyche has them as good as gone.

I mean once my oldest gets a taste of having her own space and my youngest goes off to California to go to school, where she'll probably end up working after she graduates, why would they come back?

However, my youngest is only a junior and still has another school year, 113 days, 13 hours and 40 minutes left before she graduates from high school (but who's counting?). It just makes me realize that as hard as I've tried to build a life for myself, I'm still tightly connected to my kids.

I've often touted how I look forward to when my kids are out of the house and on their own, "Look at me (she says as she struts up and down the street with her peacock feathers in full plume), I'm not going to be an empty-nester. I'm okay with this because I am a writer and I have a life outside my kids."

Not.
(I realize that is an outdated expression, but it totes fits the sitch - see what I did there?).

It reminds me of when my oldest was a toddler and would pretty much eat anything. I wanted to brag to the parenting world so they'd all see what a rocket scientist parent I was that my kid would eat anything, "All of you are misguided. You just assume your kid won't like real food so you haven't tried. See my kid? She eats anything because I give her everything."

Then my youngest was born.

Nothing gooey; only mac and cheese with elbow macaroni and spaghetti with spaghetti noodles, noodles are not multi-tasking types of food; plain hamburgers; no rice on Tuesday when the moon waxes gibbous or wanes crescent even though she liked it the previous week.

I worked very hard at getting her to expand her food horizon. Dinner was dinner and she ate what was put before her; no making separate meals. I made sure there was one food I knew she liked, but she had to try a bite of everything. My hard work paid off and she eats pretty much everything now (except celery which I think she coins the spawn of the devil or something). She's horrified to think she was ever like that ("remember when you quit taking me to nice restaurants because I didn't like anything on the menu?").

Anyway, how much more can a mother take? - kids growing up, wanting to leave home, thinking all independent-like. My oldest said, and I quote, "...when it comes down to it i feel more satisfied and productive living on my own than i do when i'm at home, even though i do love you guys and being around you."

Pfft. I'M more productive when no one's at home; tell me you're more productive when you're not at home, will you? I AM your productivity. How independent can she possibly be when she doesn't even capitalize her "i" when she's Skyping me?

However, I cannot deny I walked by her room this morning and thought, "If she's going to move to an apartment full-time, she'll want all this stuff from her room. I think I'll have her take her single bed and buy a double bed for this room and make it an official guest room."

Hmm? One school year, 113 days, 12 hours and 50 minutes until my youngest daughter's room is empty.

The party is just getting started

2/23/2015

It is with a sad heart I share that one of my mom's dear friends and a friend of my family has passed away. Gigi was 81 years old.

Gigi was a big presence in our lives; one of those people who you never consider will ever leave this earth. She was a champion to all us girls in my family and my mom's close painting friend for the past 10 years. She will be sorely missed.

My mom and I saw her in the hospital her last couple days of being lucid. My mom baked her favorite dessert, apple pie, and had the pleasure of watching her joy as she took a small bite. She wasn't able to actually eat it, so we mashed it into apple sauce texture, but the taste was there.

I brought my manuscript and read her a few chapters. At one point, she threw her head back and laughed so hard I thought she was going to have a heart attack.

Joy. That's the feeling one got when Gigi was around. She was always joyful, always smiling, always ready to share a joke. She spent many an Easter at my house on her way to caring for her ailing husband.

She was also a lady. My oldest daughter summed it up when she said, "She was the only person I know who could [pass gas] and have it be okay. Really though, after helping her garden, we were sitting on her porch swing and talking and she [passed gas] and just said 'excuse me' without any frills or embarrassment or anything. I've never seen someone do that before and I didn't even realize it was an option."

That statement made me laugh out loud and Gigi would have so enjoyed the laughter. She would have said, "Really, it's human condition and we shouldn't be embarrassed about something everyone does." So self-assured and lady-like she was.

She was quite the caregiver also. So attentive she was when her husband went into assisted living, which she only agreed to because she was a tiny little thing and he was a big man. She couldn't physically help him anymore. At our Easter feasts, I'd pack up goodies for her to share with him.

She buried two husbands, one in his 30s, leaving her with six children; she also buried three of her own children, one stepchild, and her sister, her only sibling. In spite of her hardships, she was always joyous, always making sure everyone else was okay.

At her last painting session with my mom, she finished her painting and took it with her. Just a week or so after that, she was diagnosed with lung cancer, which had spread throughout her body. I'm thankful she didn't have to linger long and suffer too much.

The last time we saw her, she was no longer conscious. We felt she was there. My children, my mom and I bid her teary goodbyes. We went to mass that night and my mom and I cried together throughout. My mom said she felt her slip in beside her like she usually did just as mass was starting.

She passed away on Ash Wednesday, such a poignant moment to go to our Lord. My mom and I went to mass the following Saturday night. And although she was on our minds, we did not feel her presence. She made sure everyone was okay, then she went home into the arms of God and all her loved ones who went before her.

Rest in peace Gigi. I know the party is just getting started

Good Food Friday: Episode 13

2/20/2015

It is once again late for me to be blogging; 10:25. I'm in my evening bedroom spot instead of the big red chair (I should update "About Gleigh" to reflect the furniture change), because I'm hiding out from the bunch of teens who descended on my house last night.

My youngest decided to cut all her hair off. It wasn't super long, about shoulder length; she apparently has been thinking about it for awhile now. It surprised me because she had gotten bangs once and decided she would never go back to bangs. With short hair you kind of have to have bangs, but she was determined.

Okay, full disclosure here: she wanted one of her best friends to go with her for this drastic change. I was kind of bugged about it, partly because we had to wait for my daughter and this friend to get a chance to meet up (she lives in a different town, different school district, different vacation), but also because suddenly just Mom's opinion and support wasn't good enough for her.

Then Wednesday she told me two of her other friends wanted to get their hair cut too. They wanted to get together on Thursday (by passing the original friend who was not available), get their hair cut, then spend the night. This was all okay with me, I planned to spend the day with my daughter, go to see the Hobbit with her, pick up her friends, get their hair cut and bring them back to the house for pizza.

Somehow she failed to mention two additional friends were also in on this and one of them wanted to get her hair cut. Now I suddenly had five teenage girls on my hands; the original friend not being on vacation by this time. Apparently, my daughter needed a "pack" to make a drastic change to her hair.

The frenzy of it all descended on me as I also needed to sit with my Cooking Buddy, so we canceled the movie plan. I have to admit, I was pouting internally over this chain of events and decided I wasn't going to participate. She said she wanted me there, but truthfully I think she didn't care one way or the other. I told her it was good for her to do this on her own (which mean without me), I explained to her how to pay and tip and sent her on her way. But between the lines, I still felt burned.

However, when she walked out the door earlier than she had planned, I did have that moment of "since they're early I should go too," but then settled into the ecstasy of not having to sit in a hair salon with five teen girls.

I was more than happy to escape last night to my Cooking Buddy's house to make some delectable Sweet and Sour Deviled Eggs. When I walked in the door with them, one of the girls saw me come in: "Is that food?"

"Not for you!" I said. They'd eat me out of house and home if I let them.

Now I'm hiding, because this was a get together that blindsided me and I have a rule that I don't cook unless it's a party. This same group has been here for my daughter's birthday in September, Halloween and New Year's Eve, they've gotten enough of my coddling and cooking. They are perfectly capable of cooking themselves breakfast (hiding is working, I hear them in the kitchen cooking).

[I took a commercial break here to reset the internet]

Episode 13 is a lucky episode not only because I was able to save all of the above before the internet crashed, but I was at my Cooking Buddy's last night and have another couple recipes from her to share with you; I had nothing before I went there. She also provided me with a paper copy so she doesn't have to keep making addendums to my Good Food Fridays.

Sweet and Sour Deviled Eggs
12 hard-cooked eggs
1/3 cup plus 1 tablespoon mayo
5 tsp sugar
5 tsp cider vinegar
1 tsp prepared mustard
1/2 tsp salt
1/4 tsp pepper
Paprika and minced, fresh parsley for garnish

Slice eggs in half lengthwise
Remove yolks and put into quart-sized Ziploc bag and set whites aside
Lock the bag, mush yolks with your fingers until all the lumps are gone
Open bag and add the rest of the ingredients.
Lock bag and much the rest of the ingredients together (this is a wet mixture, so don't mush too much; you may want to hold back a bit of the vinegar until you have the right texture or put mushed results into fridge to stiffen).
Cut corner off Ziploc and pipe egg mixture into egg white shells.
Sprinkle paprika and parsley over egg for garnish

Although we didn't make this next recipe, she shared it with me and I'm very excited to try it. I'm not particularly good at meatless Friday's during Lent and this will give me a good, easy option to try.

Tuna Burgers
2 cans drained tuna
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 heaping tbls dehydrated onion

Line a cookie sheet with foil, leaving double the foil trailing out the end of the cookie sheet.
Place 8 hamburger bun bottoms on foil
Spoon mixture evenly over bun bottoms
Put a slice of American cheese over the top of each burger
Put the bun tops on
Fold foil over the top and crimp around the edges
Bake 20 minutes at 350

You can carefully pick these up and eat them, but they are messy and you should have a fork ready.

We just had another commercial break for a dropped internet. Now it's almost noon. I hope you've enjoyed this episode of Good Food Friday as much as I've enjoyed trying to write it and writing it and writing it.

Dult

2/19/2015

I've averted disaster once again with my oldest daughter. She needed moral support and a good session with her advisor. I'm pretty impressed with the resources DigiPen offers to their students. They know how intense their programs are and they not only offer advisory, but they have free professional counselors and a program for kids with ADD, anxiety and other such mental issues.

One of the great things about having such programs in place is it gives my daughter the realization that she is not the only one. And you know me, I'm for open communication. The advisor even suggested she open a line of communication with her teachers so they know what's going on with her. The teachers are used to existential crises from their students.

My sister and I were giggling about the little conversation with my daughter I wrote about yesterday; thinking she was supposed to be doing adulthood well now that she's almost 20. Then my sister and I went on about all the stupid things we did when we were "adults" in our 20s.

I mentioned we could tell her the secret that no adult feels like they are an adult, but then it wouldn't be a surprise. My sister reminded me of one particularly "adult" incident when I didn't tie a mattress down to the top of a car, thinking it would stay.

I told her it was a small pickup and it fit perfectly in the back and I was with a college friend who was way more philosophical than I, therefore more at fault for not thinking of that consequence. The problem was we put the mattress on top of the box spring and it was just enough air to float the flexible mattress up and slip quietly off somewhere on the highway.

We went back and looked everywhere we had been and we never found it. No one honked, no one seemed to notice or care that we had lost that mattress. Even I knew more than to just set a mattress on top of a car.

My sister said, "Are you still on that? The mattress is gone."
Me: "It still wakes me up at night."

Oh yeah, we are still haunted by all the things we did as "adults" in our 20s. Perhaps society should rethink when we officially launch our children out into the world. Parents should be driving their kids to the University or get more involved with the bus system. Driver's licenses shouldn't be issued until they are 25 when brains stop developing and common sense finally takes over. We should follow the health care age of independence that says our children could be on our health care plan until 26 and then we should be able to write them off our taxes until such time as well, not when they turn 17 and can't legally own the car they drive.

All us so called adults should be afraid, very afraid that we have unleashed our 18, 19 and early 20 somethings into the world and called them adults knowing what we know about being those ages.

We have the terrible twos, I've determined there should also be terrifying tweens. Now I'm adding "dults." Those are the ages between 18 and 25. So my daughter is officially a dult.

Now I just need to figure out where I fit it.

Give me a few years

2/18/2015

My "vacation" is not turning out the way I planned. The only thing I've seemed to succeed in is making a mess outside.

I had intended to have all my pruning finished by now and my query letters for my book sent. Instead I've only written a column I'm not sure I'm going to use yet because it's about my oldest. I also drove my mom to an appointment yesterday (I wrote said column while I was waiting) and now I'm heading off to deal with my oldest daughter's existential crisis.

I have to admit, I wasn't actually going to get either of those intentions I mentioned above done today. Since my husband is working overtime tonight, I decided I'd take my youngest to see The Hobbit; her fourth viewing.

I'm not too into the series, but I like to share in those things my kids are interested in. It will be a true "the snacks are better than the movie" viewing for me. It's not that they are bad movies, I'm just not interested. I do, however, like the cinematography of them; so I won't have a bad time.

We'll table it until tomorrow so I can help my oldest through this next phase of decision making.

She asked me last night if I was better at being an adult at 20 than she is. BAHAHAHA! Are any of us adults good at being an adult? My daughter's not even 20 yet and she's worried about her future.

I went to a four-year private college and when I was finished, the only thing I was qualified to do with my English degree was being a word processor. I worked my way from there to a desk job because a friend's mom got me a job working with her. I switched positions within the company a few times, following other interests, but I never knew what I "wanted" to do for a living the whole time I was there. Although that was when I discovered I was a good writer as I worked my way into a technical writing position (it wasn't an official position in the company, I just did it for my group).

I left there after my oldest was born and I've been a stay-at-home mom ever since. I thought I was going to put her in daycare with a woman who lived around the corner from me, but after I had her, I felt better than I had felt in years.

I have Multiple Sclerosis (MS) if you don't already know. I don't talk about it a lot because I don't want to be known as the writer with MS. I've had it for 24 years; I was diagnosed on Halloween of 1990.

It was always in question whether I could handle working and mothering. But after I had my oldest and even after a strict routine of feeding her every 2 1/2 hours because she lost weight at her 10 day visit, I felt wonderful. The only thing missing was those other people I called co-workers and the stress of dealing with them. So my husband and I decided I should stay home (okay, I just told him I was going to, but he was fine with it).

I've really lucked out in that way; making motherhood my full-time career, but I often wish I had kept my hand in the pot now that I'm trying to enter some sort of a professional world again (but not too professional). I worked a couple different jobs while my kids were growing up, but wasn't particularly happy doing them.

Once I started blogging and writing for the local newspaper, I found my niche. I've been doing it for four years and it makes me happy. So far I haven't made any money doing it, but my time's coming.

So was I good at being an adult at 20? Not even close.. nor in my 30s or 40s. Now that I'm 50 I'm still not sure I've got the hang of it. Give me a few years.

Not a priest

2/17/2015

We (my daughter and I) aren't the only ones who like a little sleep-in on this Presidents' week vacation - also known as mid-winter break because we need a rest after only 7 weeks of school). Our dog was out cold when I went in to fetch her from my daughter's room at 9:45 this morning.

I need to leave the house at 10:30 and I figured I'd get her out of bed, feed her and let her out so my daughter doesn't have to get up and do it. I don't know when she went to bed, but she was coming alive around 9:00 last night. Apparently, getting up wasn't an issue for the dog.

I'm not sure what her deal is, except she's quite old at 13 years. According to a doggy calculator, she's 68 years old - it depends on breed and size; http://www.pedigree.com/all-things-dog/dog-age-calculator/ - you're welcome. That's quite a bit younger than the 91 years the normal 7 years per human years we have come to know as the way to calculate dogs. She's 72 years old if I give her the 14 years she'll be come June.

I know many vital 68 and 72 year olds. She probably just likes to sleep. I didn't wake her for a walk because I'm in a hurry this morning to get out the door.

Me? I think I'm sleeping in a sugar stupor with all the Valentine's chocolate; I'm going to have to back off if I'm going to make it through this vacation and get anything done. Not only am I drummy in the morning when I've had too much sugar, but I wake up a lot during the night, because chocolate has caffeine in it. I've become sensitive to caffeine as I've gotten older and have to quit drinking it by 1:00pm. I sleep best if I just quit after my two morning cups. Occasionally, I need an afternoon pick me up, then I'll have tea, which doesn't bother me as much.

Last night my chest muscles were sore and I was wondering what my problem was, I hadn't been working out. Then I remembered I was pruning on Sunday. It's time to whack the butterfly bush and the barberry.

Last fall, my youngest noticed a plethora (because I like that word) of bees coming in and out of the weeping pussy willow. So late November I dove in there after the leaves had fallen off (no bees by then) to see what kind of a nest it was hiding - no nest. But I did notice how many dead branches the inside of that tree was sporting.

That tree gets so full and huge we call it Cousin Itt; you know the hairy creature from the Addams family?

I Googled information about pruning a weeping pussy willow and apparently we're not the only clever people who call their tree Cousin Itt (nothing worse than finding out you're not unique said the dust speck). It said to prune it when it started budding so you know which branches are dead and which are alive.

Sunday I dove in and after about an hour after following the tangle of branches and figuring out how to prune them (to the trunk), I thought, "I'm no priest. I can't hold my arms up that long." (cuz it's one of the tasks a priest has to do during mass).

It's no wonder my chest hurt last night (it always seems to take a day to really settle in). I didn't even finish the job and I'm reluctant to go out and complete it. But the tree leans a lot and although it hasn't started using the fence to support itself, it would probably enjoy being a little lighter.

The tree doesn't pretend to be a priest either.

Like that will ever happen

2/16/2015

It's late for me this morning as I luxuriate with a day off from getting up early [and it's taking me forever as I get up for a snack, to change the laundry, deal with an animal, answer a child's question).

I had to arise a bit earlier than I had planned. I was just kind of waking when my youngest let the cat out of her bedroom. She enjoys having the cat sleep with her, but on these days off, when the cat is ready to get up, my daughter just gets up and opens her bedroom door and lets her out. Then what does the cat do? She comes and meows at my door because I am the mama and everyone, including my daughter, knows I will get up and let her out.

During the Christmas holiday I told her to either not let the cat sleep in her room or get up and let her outside herself. But as I talked about last Monday, direction toward children is not chiseled in their minds as something they necessarily need to follow and after all, it was last year when I told her; two whole months ago.

It was 7:00. Definitely not too early for me to get up, but there's a certain comfort in lying in bed until you're fully awake, enjoying the coziness of the blanket and for me the now warm and pliable memory foam body pillow cuddled up next to me (sorry, honey).

After I got up and dealt with the cat, who for some reason has to make a few laps around the house before settling into the reality that what she really wants is to go outside, I crawled back into bed on the principle of the thing. Then the guilt began to descend: I don't have time for this, the sun is shining, laundry, more pruning, I haven't written my weekly column yet, the dog I'm dog sitting needs a walk, I need a walk, I really want to say all my rosaries today, plan dinner (it's not a day off for my husband), it's not a day off for my husband - get your butt out of bed and all the other things about running a household that don't take a vacation.

So here I am at 11:17 finally finishing up my blog. I need to write my column still, which I thought about skipping this week until I ran into the neighbor across the street. She wanted to tell me how much she enjoys it.

Such is the way, just when I feel like I'm wasting my time, I get messages that I'm not. But this brings up another question - if she can get the Covington Reporter delivered to her home, why can't I?

Hmm? I might have to add that to my list, for when I have a spare moment and there is nothing else to do. Like that will ever happen.

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