Why Is Feeding Them So Challenging?

Yesterday my husband asked me if we were going to let the kids buy school lunch this year. About three years ago, we started packing lunches because I kept hearing stories that concerned me about the amount and quality of food their were getting. One of my children had the latest lunch and didn't always get the entree she wanted or enough of the sides because they would run out. At that time, my children also had to go to the before-school childcare program, so I bought school breakfast, too, and that usually consisted of a chocolate muffin and chocolate milk. What a great way to start the day! PLUS, I decided I could come up with healthier choices for less money. I'm quite the bargain shopper.

Packing lunches worked well in elementary school, that is, the kids were happy. Students with bag lunches go straight into the cafeteria and may begin eating. Our lunches are not elaborate by any means. Usually it's a sandwich, fruit and/or vegetable, and a treat, such as my homemade jello, a bag of Sun Chips, or a granola bar. However, last year, when my daughter went into middle school, apparently I wrecked her cool quotient by making her pack a lunch. She claimed that she was one of three students in the 6th grade, probably of 300 students, who brought a lunch. (I was surprised because a lot more students at my school pack a lunch--especially those who do not qualify for free or reduced lunch.) I know somebody is thinking of calling child services right now because of the abuse I've caused the child. I relented in getting her a cell phone this year. You can use hers.

It's been enough drama that I considered letting the kids buy school lunch, although I believe in Jamie Oliver's Food Revolution, too, so as I was telling my husband, "No way!" I was also looking up information on school lunch on the district's website.

While I was secretly considering school lunches, he brought up the argument about the news item that was all over the television a few days ago about how unsafe home lunches are because they are not kept at the proper temperature. When I saw that "news," I was more irritated than concerned. It felt like propaganda bull. Why does the government really want me to stop trying to feed my own kids? My husband did raise a good point because halfway through the year, my son admitted to never putting an icepack in his lunch, and he always ate meat sandwiches. (Neither of my kids likes peanut butter. Brats.) He missed zero days of school from food poisoning. In fact, he missed zero days from sickness. Period.

So, as my husband and I were debating whether a warm sandwich ever killed any of us, and I was hoping my kids, who are vacationing at their grandmother's house, have not been watching the news, I found the district's school lunch website and discovered that it would cost my son $1.75 a day for lunch, and for my daughter it would cost $3.00! Three dollars? That seems like a lot, but the sample menus and restaurant comparisons make it seem quite reasonable, don't they? True. It's difficult to eat out for only $3.00. You can ask my husband. He has no choice but to eat out, and he struggles to do it on the cheap. Honestly, though, even for the price, the food choices are not healthier and more filling that we can do at home. When did chicken nuggets and pizza become staples? Maybe I'm putting the turkey/ham/tuna/peanut butter sandwich on a pedestal, but you know, it's fed people in my family for generations. Right, Dad?

Here's me shooting down school lunch again:

Chicken Nugget Meal (example)
5 pc. Chicken Nuggets
I'm not a fan...even before Jamie Oliver's demonstration. At my house the "nugget" part of the chicken is thrown away.
Crispy Tater Tots
Everything comes in plastic. They are not crispy. All six of them.
Baby Carrots w/ Ranch
Eh. Not bad. Most baby carrots, are not the sweet, young ones, but we eat them at our house, too.
Dressing
The kids prefer dressing, but they usually pack veggies sans dip.
Mini Chocolate Chip Cookies
We sometimes have cookies treats. Homemade is best...
8 oz. 1% Milk
I know for a fact, my kids will always select chocolate milk. It's not just a treat like when I was a kid. It's available all the time.

The chicken nugget meal is listed under the elementary meal, but I would bet that the secondary meal would be essential the same on chicken nugget days.

CCSD Secondary Menu
Low-Fat Cheese Pizza Slice
This is apparently an option every day. (Not the only one, though.) Although, it was a major selling point for my daughter to get school lunch, she did admit that everyone was tired of pizza by Christmas. Too bad it doesn't have meat or veggies on it.
Tossed Green Salad w/ Dressing
At my school, I've seen these few leaves of lettuce "tossed" in the trash each day. It looked more like garnish than a side of salad.
Fresh Whole Orange
Maybe it's my bias, but it's been a long time since I have had a good fresh orange in Nevada. My kids love them, but there are only a few months during the year when we can get any that they will actually eat. I'm betting these are much the same. More often than not, I see apples on the school lunches more than oranges, but they come already cut and packaged. Strange, no? They taste weird.
Whole Fruit Cherry Turnover
Wow! That's a great spin, isn't it? You get a whole turnover or a whole cherry? Just wondering.
8 oz. 1% Milk
Again, mine would choose chocolate every time. It's suppose to have like 30 grams of sugar. For that much sugar, I could probably pack something more filling and satisfying. Or given them a soda. They would love that treat.

I have to admit that just the description and the spin on price seems reasonable enough. Well, for my elementary-aged student it does. Three dollars is too much for food that comes frozen and is simply reheated. (Check out Mrs. Q's pictures. Our lunches look much like those.)

It's more than that, though. It's quality of food. Am I the only one who sees that?

What further surprised and irritated me is when I decided to do a search on bag lunch vs. school lunch, I initially found so much more support for school lunch--from both parents and school/government agencies. Last year, my students did a project where they hypothetically designed a school for a village in a third world country that did not already have in a school. I was surprised by the number of students who felt it was necessary to include a cafeteria. That's when a question popped into my head, "When did it become expected that schools much also feed the children?" I know we are not the only country that has school lunch, and I am not knowledgeable enough to know how many countries subsidize lunches for their students, but I really would like to know when parents gave up that responsibility?

I hate to do the back in the day thing, but seriously, when I was a kid, sure I remember eating school lunch, and it was probably a better deal for my mother (I had to start packing in secondary school, so perhaps it wasn't always a better deal), but I also remember getting a tray full of food that was prepared on site. I won't claim it was all healthy. We had butter. Stuff was sometimes fried, but usually it was baked. Lots of casseroles. We had canned food, but in those days, we didn't have "fresh" produce (out of season) all year long. Honestly, it often resembled what I ate for dinner at home, except my mother never made homemade dinner rolls.

If I had been a mother back then, I would have thought it was a blessing to feed my kids all that food for the money. As a mother now, and I am blessed to be able to afford to feed my kids well (I know so many families struggle), however, I think I can do better than the school district. Why is there so much guilt for that?

Yes, I will try to offer a balanced meal. Thanks for mentioning it, Government Guidelines.

Yes, I could offer something junky from time to time, Dear Daughter, but I cannot afford that junk food and neither can your health.

Yes, I will continue to threaten my son with peanut butter if he doesn't pack his meat sandwiches with an ice pack (and a frozen bottle of water for extra assurance), Media Hype. He'll live.

Thanks for letting me try to feed my own family.

Thanksgiving HappyChyck Style

I hope everyone has had a lovely Thanksgiving. I am thankful for my family, friends, and just my life in general. No complaints here. It's as simple as that.

The kids are with their maternal family this weekend, and we had no other plans, so when I woke up this morning, I seriously had no idea what was the plan for the day. In the end, we had a leisurely morning of coffee and news--if you can call it that because it was such a slow day the newscasters were playing [frozen] turkey bowling--and then we drove over the Hoover Dam Bypass. Uhm...not that exciting. It's very pretty to look at, except while one is on it, of course, and what's worse is that the sides are so high that one can see over it to the Colorado River. I suppose it's for the best, but we passengers would appreciate the scenery.

We contemplated driving an hour to Kingman, Arizona for the heck of it, but I wasn't sure what kind of Thanksgiving dinner option we'd have, so we turned around. On the way back into the city we had Holiday Edition of this Typical Dining Out Conversation:

Me: "So where do you want to eat?"
Him: "Wherever."
Me: "No, really. Any ideas?"
Him: "Nope. You decide."
Me: "I. Don't. Know. Why don't you choose?"
Him: "Whatever you want to do, hun."
Me: "Can't you make a choice about dinner for once? Does it even matter to you?"
Him: "Nope."
Long silence.
Me: "Do you want to go to a buffet or a restaurant?"
Him: "Whatever."
More silence.
Me: Well, we could go to Green Valley Ranch for a change. Or maybe Marie Callender's. They'll have a nice dinner. Oh! Claim Jumpers is open for a Thanksgiving Dinner. Any of those sound good?
And then I waited to see where we actually ended up.

In a classic Vegas move, we went to Green Valley Ranch for buffet. We waited in line for about 45 minutes for some terrible turkey. Bummer! It wasn't in the carving station (Fish and prime rib were); instead, it was in strangely uniform slices in a pan of broth. However, some of the sides, like a spaghetti squash dish, pumpkin ravioli, and a Greek salad with cranberries were delightful. My sweetie ate his fill of crab legs and shrimp. Much like a family Thanksgiving dinner, if one dish is found unpalatable, surely there are many other yummy things to eat.

This evening my sweetie and I are hanging out in our warm cozy home. More coffee. Sappy holiday movies on television. Oh! I should "turn on" the fire place. Blissfully, simply peaceful.

If you are relaxing with your computer this holiday weekend, do as I did and go back and read my Thanksgiving stories from 2006. Start here and follow the links after each one. These old stories of mine make me smile. I hope you enjoy them, too!

What's the Point?

One of the students in my high school proficiency class, a ELL student from Iraq, began questioning the point of the writing exam he will be taking next week. I have a few students who complain, but this particular student usually has a positive attitude.

"This test does not prove anything. What's the point?" he said.

Blah, blah, blah. When they start talking about the hoops they have to jump through, I stop listening. It's the same old stuff.

All the same, I like the kid. It disappointed me that he was wasting time.

"You know what? Welcome to life. There will be a lot of things that seem pointless that you will have to do."

Does that make me a cynic or a realist? I don't know. I work in a system where there is a lot that doesn't make sense. I live in a world where sweatin' the stupid small stuff can suck the joy out of life.

But then...aren't there times when perhaps I've given into complacency simply because it's easier?

Sometimes I wish the kids knew when it was time to question life and when it was time to just suck it up and move on.

Sometimes I wish I knew, too.

The Uncool Mom

It's not that the slumber party was at all terrible. Overall, I'd say it was a huge success. I just hate having so many invaders in my home, and after the incident with the girl drama within the first two hours, I was on edge waiting for more drama to surface. I mean, 12 year-old girls cannot help but bring drama. How I remember from my own youth!

My friend, Heidi, was my saving grace. She texted me early yesterday afternoon asking when the party was. I had considered asking her to come hang out, as I knew she would be home alone for the weekend, but I thought she wouldn't possibly be that bored. Of course, being the lover of children that she is, and the overall fun spirit, (and she brought wine), she was the perfect person to have over while the girls were off doing whatever.

Seriously, I am not even sure what the girls were doing half the night. Well, I mean, I do know, but it boggles my mind how they could play Just Dance 2 on the Wii for six hours. We compelled them to come downstairs for food a few times, but seriously, were they really locked up in the family room dancing that long without food?

Oh, yeah, they did have the giant tub of toxic cheese zombie snacks that my daughter convinced me to get against my better judgment. It was the allowed food upstairs, along with water (Remember, I have issues with sticky messes, and at home this means that children under 18 cannot leave the kitchen to eat or drink. A rule that makes sense to me but befuddles most people I know.) But when there was other tasty food and sweet drinks downstairs, the draw of the Wii was more compelling.

Or it could be that we adults were downstairs. Even sweet Heidi did not impress them much. (Although she did weasel a confession from one girl that she did not like the Silly Bandz as much as the other bracelets everyone is wearing because rumors were going around that they were made our of old condoms. Ah! Thanks for the laugh, kid!) And if you asked our students, they would wholeheartedly agree that she is the nicest and coolest of all of us. (She's not pushover, though.) One of the girls in attendance, whose mother is a friend from work, was excited to see her and ran up to her right away for hugs, but the rest girls who did not know her could not be convinced of her level of coolness at all.

Anyway, back to the adults are uncool thought...I had the feeling that we were unwelcome, and I gave them space and reprimanded my sweetie for harassing them, although it really is his job as dad to freak them all out. Two incidents really drove the point home that we were not welcome in their little world, which, incidentally was a world located in my inviting home.

My sweetie grilled up some chicken on skewers, and because we have more chairs for outside and it was a beautiful evening, we set lawn chairs outside. I thought they might like to chill outside for awhile, but after quickly eating, they went back inside, and locked the patio door, leaving us outside. Perhaps it was a joke, but still...we adults did not react too much: Heidi and I were working on wine and shrimp, talking about her trip to Africa for the World Cup this past summer, and my sweetie was still slaving over a hot grill. We were enjoying the evening. Before they shut the door, we'd also been enjoy some Taylor Swift on the player, but we were denied that joy, too.

We did ask them unlock the door and leave the screen open so we could enjoy the music and get some air into the house, too. (Finally, it's the time of year where we can have the doors open!) When the girls were outside, we had tried to engage them in a little conversation, as people in polite society might, but perhaps they took it as their own grilling session.

Not long after we had to get on them after the 2nd time they locked the door, not because we wanted in, but because we wanted the door open, they wandered back up stairs to return to the game.

After Heidi and I picked up the kitchen a bit, I decided I should go take some pictures of them playing upstairs. You know, some memories for the scrapbooks? I was going to use some sneaky yearbook adviser technique, and quietly turn the knob to see if I could catch them unaware. It's not that I thought they weren't playing Wii, I mean I could hear them, but the door was LOCKED. Locked?! The door didn't even need to be closed. We adults were hanging in a different part of the house. Paranoid, much, girls?

I knocked on the door, and one of the girls, whom we adults had already pegged for being the mean girl of the group, opened the door with a "What?"

How lucky that child was that she lived! I didn't say anything. I remained silent for a moment and gave her the stink eye. I felt Heidi stiffen behind me. In our world, the world where we've been through hundreds of these little twits, we deal with disrespect stealthy. It's different though. This is my home. But you know, the classroom is my turf. I rule it. My home? Still my turf.

The girl back-pedaled a little, and I think my daughter helped her, and as we entered the room I said, "We have left you alone most of the night, haven't we? There is no reason to lock the door. If something happens in here, and I have to break down the door to get to you because you've locked it, there will be hell to pay."

My daughter knows it's true. She didn't know what the hell would be, but I am pretty good at thinking of good ones. That she does know.

And then Heidi and I took up our places on the couch for the next 20 minutes until we got bored watching them.

I could have stayed all night. Hahahahaha! But after we heard all the good songs we could stand, and after I saw a techno version of "Satisfaction," I definitely had to bail. Ick. I thought I was being the cool mom by leaving them alone, and when we were in their presence, Heidi and I tried again to relate to them a bit. Nope. Uncool to the max.

I'm much better at this in the classroom. There are kids who constantly want my attention. Many of them are interested in my stories. At home, I guess I'm just destined to a piriah to all the teenagers who cross my threshold for the next decade.

It sucks being over 30.

Fading into the Night

Planning for the undead sleepover today has nearly made me one of the living dead.

There were many times when I thought to myself, "This is why I haven't thrown a birthday party in a few years."

What I Did on My Summer Vacation

Click the X in the right hand side of the Super Poke advertisement. That's a disappointing aspect of this app!

I still have a few more weeks of vacation left, but a few weeks ago, it did occur to me that when I meet with my colleagues again, we'll have to engage in the traditional catching up ritual when we regale stories of our amazing summers. Awesome, huh? Yeah, except I work with a lot of people who lead more interesting lives than I do. People whose families live in more interesting places than mine do. People who leave the country to vacation. People who do service in the summer. People who might have travel tales to tell.

I can't wait for this scenario to be played over and over:

Nice Colleague: So, how was your summer? What did you do?

Me: Well, I visited Idaho twice and Utah once. Neither of those were vacations I'd had planned, as we had a bunch of family here in June, and we thought that would pretty well be our vacation.

Nice Colleague: Oh, well. That's nice.

Me: Actually it was nice seeing family and friends I hadn't seen in a while. What did you do?

Nice Colleague: Oh, you know, I took a cruise to the Bahamas./ I helped youth build houses in needy areas./ I went to the World Cup./ I went to Disneyland and Disney World./ Created the cure for cancer.

So, shoot me now.

I had a very nice summer vacation, actually. And I'm not finished because yesterday I woke up with a wild hair that I should call my friend in Grand Junction, Colorado to see if I could come visit for a few days. So, I'll be able to add Colorado to my list of exotic destinations.

Okay, now seriously. I have had some great times this summer, and here I will list them for my pleasure, and yours, if you like.

• In June, my eldest step-daughter and her family came for a week-long visit. It was a pretty big deal because there was a grandchild in the house for the first time! And she is just cute, cute, cute! They live in Tennessee, so we don't get to see them often. My mother-in-law came at the same time, and I was so thankful to have such a large home (we just bought in November) to accommodate everyone so comfortably. Although I was nervous to be in a house full of people who are not my blood relatives, we had a blast!

• We traveled to Kimberly, ID, which is a suburb of Twin Falls--like Twin is even big enough to have a suburb--to visit my best friend at her parent's house on the 4th of July. My friend's brother had a big barbecue, and although I was so cold all day, we had a lovely day just hanging outside. The best part was watching my son run wild with other little boys all day. Feed the horses, play kickball, have a water gun fight, walk on barrels. It was a boy's dream day.

• My childhood best friend came to Las Vegas for a conference, and we had a nice afternoon shopping and catching up. I saw her a few weeks later when I was in Utah, which is where she lives. We usually celebrate our birthdays together, but I didn't have much time, we spent another nice afternoon making plans for our birthday next year. We are moving into another decade. It will be a big deal.

• My mom and I took a road trip to see my grandma in northern Idaho. Mom lives in northern Utah, about 7 hours from me , and it was about 13 hours from her house to my grandmother's house. I had road shakes--you know when your body vibrates for a few hours after a long drive--several times in two weeks. Throughout Nevada, most of Utah, and southern Idaho, the scenery is pretty much the same. Desert and sky.
  

• When we first hit the pine trees, we pulled over so I could take a picture for my 365 project. TREES! I didn't get a good picture, but I could have stood there all day smelling the trees. Love the smell!

• On the way we stayed at this little motel along the Salmon River and we saw deer right outside our window! There was a patio behind the hotel, so we sat outside and drank beer, watched deer, and listened to the river. It's hard to find such peace where I live! It was a great evening to share with my mom.
  

• Grandma lives with Aunt Diana, and yet another aunt, Barb, came to visit, so we girls had a dandy old time catching up! One night we broke out the camera and were taking goofy pictures. We tried to take a self portrait of ourselves, but without a tripod and five of us in the group, we found it challenging. I think the best one was the one we took of our feet. It was certainly the easiest one to take!

• I also spent some time with my brother and his family when Mom and I came back from Idaho. I was impressed with his yard and the "green" way they live. My sister-in-law works at a greenhouse in the summer, and she gave me a tour of her work. I know nothing about plants, so I am just in awe of her!
  

• While in Utah, I ran into an old high school friend, Ali, who lives in the Netherlands. We are the type of friends who, unfortunately, lose touch for years, but when we reconnect, it's like we had never been apart. When I saw her, she had just arrived, and I was just leaving, but as it turns out, she was going to be meeting family in Las Vegas! Happy dances! She came over one afternoon, and we drank tea and caught up on too many years. I was so sad to see her go, but that afternoon brightened my whole week. (You know, I've had a standing invitation to go to the Netherlands for 15 years. Maybe I should go!)

I'm sure there are other little things that I'll forget. I've actually had a pretty busy summer visiting friends and family. Nothing too exciting or exotic, and for the most part, I've visited places I've been before, and those places are small, slow-paced towns. Some of my young, adventure colleagues may not understand it, but I've had exactly the kind of summer I've wanted and needed!

The Food that Binds

A few years ago, I blogged about the bonding power of mangoes. When I think of mangoes, I think only of making my specialty, which is mango salsa. (Check out the post for the recipe.) Over the years, and I mean years, as I have been making this salsa for well over a decade that might even be creeping into two, I have tried to introduce this salsa to my dearest friends and family. Frankly, most of them don't get it. In other words, that means that the food I am known for with my best friends has been a complete and utter flop to many, many other people.

Regardless of how picky people can be, the one thing I know is that food brings people together. Furthermore, the more of a tradition the food it, the more it seems to bond. I was reminded of that over the holiday weekend while visiting friends. Miss June, my best friend's elderly yet spunky mother, just had to make her 15-minute chocolate cake. I think there has always been a 15-minute chocolate cake there when I've come to visit, but there was also a family event, so seriously she had no choice but to make the delicious chocolate cake.

I thought of asking for her recipe, which I am sure she would share with me, but it just wouldn't be the same, would it? It's not necessarily the cake itself. It's much more than that. I could say that it's about Miss June and the love she puts into it. I think it might be more about Miss June and the love we have for her. But it might also be the occasions for which she makes the cake. It could be a combination.

Around my hallway at work, I've become known for something other than mango salsa. I make brownies. These brownies are hardly anything special. I use brownie mix that I buy when it's on sale, and half the time I use applesauce instead of oil, so they are more cake-like than chewy. If I have them, I add chocolate chips, and I always add cinnamon. (Miss June adds cinnamon to her cake, too. Try it!) Sometimes it's Brownie Wednesday and sometimes it's Brownie Thursday, but whatever day it is, I'm a hero. I find joy in bringing a few moments of joy during a hectic week, and my colleagues appreciate a few moments to sit back and enjoy something special between lesson plans and grading.

Sometimes the brownies are shared in the back room, but usually they are wrapped in a napkin and carried out to be eaten alone in peace. Yet, somehow, the brownies still bind us together. Strange, isn't it?

What foods bind you with your friends and family?

Home-less or Home-ful?

My sweetie and I are currently going through a rite of passage called "Buying Our First Home."

Actually, it feels like some kind of hazing ritual with everything we've gone through in the last few months. When we first started this process, the realtor made it sound so easy. Well, kind of. We learned very quickly that if we were interested in a house, we had to put a bid in quickly--like within hours of seeing it. At one point, we were putting bids in on houses without physically seeing them first. In fact, that's exactly what happened with the house we are buying. Just in the month or so that we were looking, we definitely had the sense that the market was getting more and more aggressive.

Of course, after our we had a bid finally accepted and we started working with the mortgage broker, things became a little more complicated as we had to supply every important document imaginable. Understandable, though.

Once we sent our massive package of papers to the underwriters, we thought it was going to be easy-breezy. Oh no! The underwriters kept questioning this and that, requiring more and more documentation. Once we would produce the documentation they required, that would just open up another can of worms. Or five cans.

It's been an emotional roller coaster. We think things are going smoothly, and then there's just one more thing we have to produce. And about every other time, it has required money to fix it up.

Just a week ago, I was in tears. We'd already told that our paperwork made it through the underwriters with stipulations, which we thought we can cleared up. We had already put in our notice to the property manager that we were moving by the end of the month.

And then...the documents we provided were not good enough, and there were no such documents that they were demanding. Nope, did not exist!

It was an insane bit, too. The underwriters wanted documentations stating that my sweetie does not pay child support. Pay child support to whom? He has had full physical and legal custody of his children for three years. Their mother has no rights whatsoever. He had two documents stating so, and he also had a statement showing the last time he did pay child support, the balance due and the amount paid. (He overpaid and did not get a refund.) Not good enough. So, he had the California family services fax a document stating that his account was paid and closed. Not good enough.

And this is what I was in tears over. We'd paid a lot of money, and put in a lot of time to get some of our hurdles cleared, and now we were at a stand-off that made no sense.

We found out that it was Veteran's Administrator underwriter who was hassling us so much, so my sweetie started making phone calls. He reached a supervisor who understood how California courts worked and agreed that we had provided more than enough documentation. Furthermore, he was willing to review our files and talk to the other underwriters, too. Phew! Wonderful.

But while on the phone with the nice supervisor, a new question, "Did you have a termite inspection?"

What? Nobody has ever said anything about that! Much like the insurance hassle, where, two days after paper work was submitted to my insurance agent, the underwriters decided we needed flood insurance, too. I could have told them we were in a flood zone since the back of the house neighbors a wash. Yea, we don't get a lot of rain, but we do have have monsoon season for real some years.

And two days after I went to the insurance agent to sign the paperwork, I found out I had to pay for the flood insurance up front for the year. Nobody could have said anything so while I was waiting 45 minutes at my agent's desk while he tried to get the paperwork figured out that perhaps I could go ahead and pay? That would have been considerate of everyone's time, right?

And so it goes...termite inspection. Just another thing.


As far as I know, things are pretty well ready to go, but tomorrow I'm expecting that we'll need to have a seance to check the house for restless spirits. And then perhaps a shaman will need to cleanse our almost-home.

Or perhaps we'll need to pay for UFO insurance, as I'm betting we're in the flight path between Area 51 and Nellis Airforce Base.

So, anyway...

Rite of passage.

I've had a few friends tell me that the struggles and hoops we've gone through are pretty typical. Funny, nobody ever bothered to prepare me for the mental anguish I was about experience when I embarked on this journey.

Thanks a lot.

Back to Nesting Woes

My silence might indicate that things are pretty dull around here, but actually, since we came back from vacation, my sweetie has been on a mission to buy a house. Sometimes it feels like I’m the only one I know who doesn’t own her own home, and I regret not buying one when I first started teaching. I didn’t think I could afford it, but in retrospect, I probably could have gotten a nice little home for myself for $40,000, which would have a been a good start on equity to get into another house along the line. Things might have been tight, but after moving to Las Vegas we found out what tight meant when our wage didn’t change much, but our housing costs increased $600 a month.

I’m not entirely convinced that owning and selling a small home in rural Nevada would have helped me buy one in Las Vegas, as we moved here during the housing boom. Now that the housing market has crashed, people like us can now get in on bank-owned house deals for $100,000 less than homes were going for just a few years ago. Apparently, the market is great for middle-classers like us who can finally afford homes without making any deals with the devil. Sweet!

I’m not sure if these house prices are a deal or not, as when I first moved to Nevada in 13 years ago, Las Vegas had notoriously low housing (and living) costs, and a lot of teachers I knew moved south to teach here. By the time I moved here, housing prices were ridiculously high, so it’s hard to tell what is realistic for this area. I just know what’s realistic for me, and until now, renting nice apartments and homes has been a much better deal. I've had no regrets about our living arrangements in the last five years, but I am more than happy to move on to a space of my own!

Of course, finding a home that is suitable for us is complicated. It’s not that there aren’t plenty of homes to choose from; it’s that there are so many factors to consider. I went through this a few years ago when we were trying to find a larger home to rent.

• Schools.Finding a 9-month school is no longer important to me. It would be nice, but it narrows things a lot. Plus, schools can be rezoned and have changes in schedules because of enrollment--in those neighborhoods and across the district. One of our kids is only in elementary school for one more year, and the other for 3 more years.
  
• More on Schools. I'm trying to decide how important meeting AYP is for a school. In many of the areas where we'd like to live, the schools have not met AYP. Sometimes by one factor, and sometimes up to five factors. Our school doesn't always meet AYP, but that doesn't mean that teachers aren't bustin' their buns teaching students.
  
• Commuting distance is a consideration. My sweetie doesn't care about his commute, but it would be nice if mine were close to where we live so I could pick up the kids from school. Last year, they spent a lot of time in the after school program because I'm overloaded with work and grad school, but it doesn't always have to be that way.
  
• Time to trust our kids? Most elementary schools I know of do not have bus service (there are a lot of elementary schools!), so picking up our kids is necessary, but if we chose a house within walking distance where they did not have to cross a busy street (like where we live now), we would consider letting our kids be latch-key kids, which would save us a TON of money each month. (Think car or student loan payment amount!) This idea about starting to leave our kids home alone a little bit has been a child-rearing conversation this summer.
  
• Older or newer? Older homes have such character, but some that we have looked at will require some work in the next few years, such as new windows and bathrooms. We don't mind that idea, but if a new home doesn't require all of that, then why would we want an older home? I have been concerned about the quality of some of the newer homes that were built in the housing boom, too.
  
• Yard space. We do not plan on a grass yard, except perhaps astro turf, but we would like at least a good-sized patio. Older homes have space, but new homes are so close to each other that you can stand between two houses and touch both. Claustrophobia!
• Space inside. We are at odds about the allocation of space. I don't mind smaller bedrooms, and I don't need a giant master bedroom (walk-in closets, yes!) which all the newer houses have, but I do want large living spaces. My sweetie would like the bedrooms to be larger so our kids have lots of personal space. I think this is a good idea, too, but not to sacrifice common living spaces, where I spend all of my waking time.
• A functional kitchen. I haven't seen any kitchen that are amazing, but none of them have been bad by any means. I do not want a galley kitchen. I have tolerated some bad kitchens over the years, so I can put up with a lot, but I do not think I should have to. (Did I ever tell you about the house that had the washer next to the sink and the dryer next to the fridge? That was bizarre!)
• Vibes. This plays an important part, but I can't explain how. Let me zip that requirement to the broker: "House must have a good vibe." Crazy, I know. But in the end, when there are a lot of houses that would pretty well meet our needs, it comes down to vibe.

I've moved every 2-3 years in the last 20 years. The reasons for moving were all logical, such as leaving the area or needing a larger space because my family grew. One thing I know from moving so much is that I can make a home anywhere. "Where I am is home," is what I say. Now that I can choose something permanent, I need to remember my philosophy on what a home is, but can you blame me for not wanting some perfection?

You Need More Than Christmas Cookies

Not a lot of time for reading yet. I'm The Mom. That means I spent the weekend doing Christmas shopping. It's not that we're even buying a lot this year, but it takes time to navigate traffic on the streets and in the stores. Both Saturday and Sunday I came home simply exhausted and desiring a nap.

I'm back out on the streets today to pick up the major gifts I could not buy because I had one of the little elves by my side the whole weekend. And then to the grocery store. Ugh. The grocery store. Not just for holiday food, either. We are out of bread, eggs, milk, coffee, fruit, vegetables--just about everything--and have been for a few days. That has nothing to do with Christmas and everything to do with being The Mom who is overextended in life.

Oy, but the holiday food! What am I making for dinner? I'd like to make something nice, but I'd like to not spend a lot of time doing it. That's my feeling toward most dinners, thus we eat a lot of soups and stews--we usually get two dinners for the effort of one. "Merry Christmas, dear family. May I present the special Christmas stew?" Uhm. Maybe not. As for the traditional meat on sale at all the markets, I like ham sandwiches, but I don't like my house to smell like pork. So actually buying any form pork requires cooking is out, out, out.

My fav market has all kinds of veggies on sale. How about a nice Christmas ratatouille? A little work intensive with all the chopping, but I have some elves who would love to help with that!

Oh! What about a Christmas meatloaf? My family likes meatloaf, but...maybe not.

Or fish! No, not lutefisk. (Thankfully, that was never a family tradition. Let the other Lutherans eat that.) Tuna steaks. Marinated with some simple soy and wasabi. It's green and red! My kids will eat wasabi, but not rare tuna. Weirdos. They do love my talapia, though. We might be on to something. Simple, but good.

I wish I had some connections to a mom who makes tamales. Christmas tamales. Yum.

What about Christmas fajitas? That would be very festive with all the reds and greens, right?

Enough procrastinating. I'll just have to stand in front of the meat case until something pops out at me like I usually do. Or, maybe that's not a good idea. That tactic often results in spaghetti without meat sauce or eggs for dinner. Something tells me that's just not going to fly.

On Family

Because I married a man ten years my senior, who had a daughter when he was too young and two children when he was too old, I am a stepmother to school-aged children and a step grandmother to a baby. It's my life. It's my family. Sometimes it's still weird, though.

With the younger kids, my role as step mom has been awkward at times, but since their parents were only together a few years, I doubt they remember a time when I wasn't in the their lives--especially for the younger one who was still in diapers when I first met him. What makes our relationship even easier in recent years is that I am now their primary mom, as we have full custody, and their mother has no input on how they are being raised.

I'm thankful that our relationship hasn't been tumultuous, and it's been a long time since they tried to throw it in my face that I wasn't their mother--that I wasn't the boss of them. I've had frank talks with them--when needed--about what my role and responsibilities are. I may not be their mother, but I am a mother to them. I'm the one responsible for them on a daily basis. There has been some struggle, but both the kids seem to accept the function of our family and the role I play in their lives. And...when push comes to shove, I have brought out the this-is-MY-home card!

Now, when it comes to the relationship I have with my oldest stepdaughter, it's a different story. She was already an adult when I met her dad. In six years, I've seen her only a few times. Distance has been a major problem, but she has also gone through some bumpy times over the years, and there were long periods of time when we didn't even know where she was. I cried after the first time I met her because she was just so messed up, and I felt so awful for her dad, my husband. She needed so badly to be saved from herself, but she was the only one who could do that. She was raised an only child, daddy's girl, but she had grown distant from her dad. So what was I to her? Nothing.

Imagine my nervousness as my sweetie and I traveled to Tennessee last week to visit his daughter--and especially his nine-month-old granddaughter. It had been at least four years since we'd seen his daughter. She moved herself out of a bad situation in California a few years back into a more hopeful situation near her mother in Tennessee. When she called last summer to announce her unplanned pregnancy, we were apprehensive. So much for getting her life back on track, right?

Over the course of the year of pregnancy and motherhood, it appeared that her life was more on track than ever before. She and her dad talked on the phone several times a week until calls were became a daily ritual. Throughout all of this, I've been on the outside looking in. I collected news through her dad, and I helped pick out gifts for the baby. (My sweetie is quite inept in the gift-giving department. Did the darling daughter really think her dad picked out the crib we sent to her on his own? Hardly!)

So, how did the visit go in Tennessee? Oh, it was awkward at times. She has a history with her dad. I have a history with him, too, but those histories don't cross at any point--until now. I'm not a mother to his daughter, and I never will be. I'm thankful. Six years ago, I distinctly remember a sticky breakfast at Denny's with my younger stepchildren, before I'd ever met their grown half-sister, when I said to my sweetie, "The oldest one can cut her own pancakes, right? She can eat on her own?" During our visit last week we spoke to each other, woman to woman. Sometimes merely cordially, as could be expected from people who don't really know each other. We warmed up to each other, trying to find our fit into each other's lives. It felt like I was the one doing most of the molding, but I wonder if she feels awkward in how she fits in her father's life--she barely knows me or her half brother and sister-- just as I feel awkward about fitting into her life.

So, I'm not her mother. It's even weird to call me a step-mother. She doesn't really need mothering. (Sure, I nagged her a bit about going back to school, but I do that to a lot of young people who need my unsolicited advice. It's a teacher thing.) In simple terms, I am her family. To me, family can be of two definitions. It's the people you are connected to through birth or marriage, but it can also be the people you love and draw into your life. Through whichever definition you choose, with both definitions fitting, my oldest stepdaughter is my family.

For the Love of Cars

In 1963 Dad bought his first car, a '54 Ford, for $60. Back then cars weren't as costly as they are now, but $60 was still a lot of money that wouldn't get you a lot of car. My grandmother signed the transaction papers for him, as he was still teenager. I can imagine it was much like the first cars many of us had. It had wheels, and it would go, but one had to tinker with it a lot. It was still beloved.

My dad has had many cars over the years although he isn't one to have a new car sitting in his driveway every season. When he was single, there were some hot rods he owned, but after he had a family, the cars he owned served more practical purposes like transporting the family and hauling firewood from the mountain. Don't fool yourself into imaging minivans with graham crackers under the seats and pickup trucks dented and banged up from countless loads. No matter the purpose, the cars were clean--still beloved.

Over the years I've heard my dad reminisce about various cars he'd had in his lifetime: "I wished I still had that car!" When I was younger I wondered why he didn't keep those cars he loved so much, but now that I've gone through a few cars I miss, I understand the practicality of trading cars you love so much. (I missed the Mustang I traded for a kid-friendly car while I was driving the new car home.) My dad is exactly the kind of man you'd would expect who would enjoy restoring an car. Why didn't he buy and restore one of those old cars he'd loved so much? It seemed to be one of those things he intended to do someday.

Someday arrived after he retired at an early age and had time on his hands. He found a '54 Ford much like the one he first owned from a local dealer. It was in great condition and needed just a few things done to it. Or so he thought. The more he started tweaking with it, the more work--major work he founded needed to be done to restore the car in the condition he wanted. The car was more lemon-scented than what he thought.

Over the last few years, as he was waiting on mechanics who were too busy or scouring E-Bay for parts unfound, he regretted buying the car. I didn't take him too seriously because I thought he'd been waiting decades for the hassle of restoring a car. Perhaps the tinkering and the frustration isn't what he missed from the nostalgic driving of his memories.

Finally last fall, everything came together well enough for a car he can cruise in. There are few things that don't work as well as he'd like, but they're so minor, he lives with them for now.

Elda Mae, that '54 Ford named for my grandmother who helped Dad buy his first car, meets with other cruisin' cars twice a month for a couple of spins on Main. When the streets are quiet, perhaps on Sunday mornings, she takes a drive around town to see what's happening. She doesn't have an exciting life, but she is beloved.

Waiting for...Porch Sittin'?

In the last few weeks, I can't even tell you what I've been doing. Maybe I've been waiting for today. Today is the day the ball gets rolling on some summer fun.

Tonight one of my best friends, Miss D, is flying in from her her summer travels in South Carolina. (There's a cute little grandchild out there!) We're going to chill out for a little tomorrow--if it is even possible in the triple digits. Tomorrow's my birthday, too. I keep having to mathematically figure out my age because I just can't believe how old I'm getting. We don't have anything planned, but we can surely work on that. The kids want to stay home and bug us, but they'll be going to the urban budget summer camp Boys and Girls Club as usual.

On Friday we--family and Miss D--are driving to southern Idaho where we'll drop off Miss D at her parent's house for the last bit of her summer vacation. (Ha ha! Sucks to be an administrator!) We'll only spend a day there, but I'm sure there will be plenty of porch sittin' going on. I've visited Miss D's parents in the winter more often than I have in the summer, but the times I have gone in the summer the porch, which is bigger than my living and dining room together, was put to frequent use, with the porch swing being the best seat outside the house to watch the squirrels.

Apparently there's going to be a cook out early Saturday afternoon, so we won't be moving on to my parent's house in northeastern Utah until later that afternoon. I hope it's a quick 5-hour trip home! I can feel it already--I just want to be there already!

We have planned three days with my parents before returning home. Oh it seems so short! What happened to the summers when I spent so much time visiting that I thought my dad might threaten to claim me on his taxes again? I'm sure there will be more porch sittin' in the mornings and evenings. I'll have to remember to take a sweatshirt because it's sometimes too chilly for me--the daily lows are forecast for the 50's, but even the 70's give me a chill since my blood because so thin from living in southern Nevada.

Dad has finally finished restoration on an old car--forgive me Dad, I can't remember if it's a '54 or '55 Ford or Chevy. I just know it's special to you, and it looks goooooood! I do know that every time I've been home in the last few years it hasn't been time to take a ride. It was in the shop...it didn't have seats...it was too cold. I think it's time to go cruisin'! Dad, remember the summer of 2001? All the miles we logged onto my Mustang just driving around in the country? (We also stopped at the coffee shop each night, but I won't even bother asking to bring a drink along!) I don't expect that we should drive your cruisin' car all over the county, but draggin' strip a few times would sure be nice!

The Gift Psychic

My dad has this uncanny--and irritating-- ability to guess his gifts before he opens them. Sometimes his abilities aren't so impressive when the gift is obviously a book or the socks he wanted. (He is a practical man, afterall.) For those reasons, we often go to great lengths to disguise his gifts. For future reference, many things can be wrapped in a coffee can, and then the container can be used in the garage!

There have been times where his abilities are quite impressive. Back in 1990, I bought my Dad an stylish digital alarm clock radio that was shaped like a cube. I didn't tell anyone he was getting it, and he didn't need it. I was simply desperate, and a clock is always practical. When I arrived home from college on Christmas Eve, I showed my dad his gift, and he guessed what it was. I was so irritated with him! How could he know?

Yesterday morning, while we were waiting for the rest of the household to wake up, my dad and my stepson where poking and guessing at the presents under the tree. Dad tested out his skills on a few obvious gifts, like books, so my son attempted to stump him by giving him the gift from him. My dad asked him if he made the gift, and my son told him that he had painted it. After some dramatics that included smelly it, gently poking it (breaking the paper is absolutely taboo), and finally holding it to his forehead with his eyes closed in concentration, my dad annouced, "It's a birdhouse!"

You should have seen my son's face. Completely dejected! Poor kid! In another truly miraculous event, Dad guessed the most obscure and unwanted gift. How could he have known he was getting a homemade birdhouse? He didn't need one, and he didn't ask for one. I also was impressed with my Dad's amazing gift. I had to laugh--I couldn't help it. I know exactly how my son feels, but I'm still awestruck on how my Dad does it. After my poor son recovered from his disappointed, he too was impressed and entertained by my Dad's talent.

Why I Make a Bad Soccer Mom

Education comes first.

And I obviously cannot plan a logical timeline.

Yesterday after school I needed to go to the post office, and I wanted to go redeem my 25% coupon at Barnes and Noble for an audio book for our trip home, and I wanted to the office supply store to exchange binder I bought for a larger size. I also needed to meet my sweetie on the other side of town when he got off work so we could drop one of our cars off for repairs by the time the shop closed by 6:00 p.m. And, all of this had to be accomplished between 3:15 p.m., when the kids were out of school, and 7:30 p.m., when I needed to leave for night school.

(That is much more than I ever attempt to do on a week night, but this going-out-of-town-for-Christmas business throws the whole schedule off.)

Before I could accomplish anything, I thought it was important that we run home for bathroom breaks, snacks, and homework time, which is typically about 30 minutes.

Big mistake.

That put us in a line at the post office at 4:00 p.m. Apparently everyone in front of me was trying to mail bombs to Guam or something because I was in that line for 45 minutes, and I was only about 10th in line when I started.

After my 30 second transaction at the counter, where I felt a little cheated that I didn't get as much time with the postmaster as everyone else, that put me with the 5 0'clock traffic to cross to the opposite side of town. Freeway or surface streets? Either way, my life sucks.

(Reason #456 that being a teacher is awesome: no evening rush hour traffic!)

Every ten minutes my sweetie called: "Where are you now?" At a never ending light. On the freeway looking at brake lights. Behind 30 cars waiting at a stop light. Am I behind an accident and don't know it? So close, yet so far away.

We made it to the dealer service department in time to drop our keys off to a real person, rather than a drop box. (The appointment was in the morning.) The trip back across town wasn't as long, but there was no time for a book store or office supply store stop because kids needed to be fed and bathed before getting ready for bed.

Most days, those few hours between the end of the school day and bedtime are pretty short and hectic, without errands or activities. How do those soccer moms do it?

I'm Thankful For...

• My harmonious family
• A stable life
  
• A rewarding livelihood
• Supportive friends
  
• Freedom to read, learn, and grow
• A cozy home
  

Back from the Dead: Ghosts of Thanksgivings Past

Here we are on Thanksgiving Eve! I'm spending my evening on the couch just hanging out with my sweetie. No cares in the world! The kids are with their grandparents for the holiday, so it is quiet, and I have no obligations. My sweetie and I are playing this little game to see who is finally going to give in and turn on the furnace for the first time. (It's down to 56º outside right now, and for us that is close enough to freezing!)

We have no big plans tomorrow. When we get hungry enough, we'll make a decision about which buffet we should go to, or maybe well just go up the road to the old-fashioned neighborhood diner. Who knows? Maybe turkey won't sound good, and I'll go ahead and make some steamy cabbage soup.

Blasphemy. I know.

(However, it would be acceptable if I were to "Save a turkey! Eat tamales!" as my students suggested today, right?)

It's time to review my history of Thanksgivings, which I wrote about in a special Thanksgivings Past series last year. I present them in the random order in which they were triggered in my head in a kind of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie fashion.

So...

It all started with a picture that my stepson brought home. Something about that turkey wearing a pot leaf triggered a memory about a melancholy Thanksgiving I spent with a friend of mine.

Thinking about that day triggered a memory of the year that I hosted my first Thanksgiving, but The Moms had difficulty relinquishing control.

Although my Thanksgivings have been pretty awful, I did stop to think about a particularly pleasant time when my parents and brother came to visit me here in Nevada.

Last year I did discuss the idea of having my own traditions, and the next post in the series tells about some lovely times I have spent in rural Idaho with an adopted family, but then the post takes a bittersweet turn as I reflected on the pains of motherhood, which as a new full-time stepmom, were very fresh struggles for me last year.

I finished off the pity party with my very first terrible Thanksgiving. You know the one where I met some very nice firemen and wished I could have met a nice locksmith, too.

Happy Thanksgiving--Present!

Cold As a Frozen Turkey Butt

Would you stand outside in the frigid winter air for an hour on a Saturday morning for the chance to win a turkey? Would you do it for five Saturdays in a row? Would you keep up the ritual for decades? My mother would.

Every year between the middle of November to the middle of December, my hometown hosted Turkey Drawings. On Saturday mornings, people would gather in a parking lot where they would receive a ticket upon entrance and wait, hope, and pray that their number would be called to receive a free turkey.

The odds seemed pretty good with 25 free turkeys each week only about 300 people lined up to possibly win. Not impossible odds at all, right? Sure. There was hope.

There was no income requirement to participate. You didn't need an invitation. If you didn't mind turning into a human Popsicle, you could come. My mother didn't mind, so we went. Bundled in multiple layers of clothing, we knew better than to complain. The best we could hope for was that Mom would win early and we could leave.

When my brother and I were old enough to stay home alone, we were also old enough to possibly pass for 16 years of age, which was the minimum age requirement to get a ticket at the entry, so we still had to go to the Turkey Drawing. I know the lies of omission about our ages was just wrong, but we're talking FREE TURKEY! How happy Dad would be we we won a turkey! Oh Tiny Tim, what if there were no Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner? We need a free turkey! It tastes so much better!

In retrospect, it was such a thrill to win a turkey that I wonder if turkeys were expensive in the 70's and 80's.

You know when you find yourself in a miserable, yet temporary situation how you psyche yourself out by thinking, "This will be over soon. It's only an hour. That's nothing. Think pleasant thoughts. Don't think about your frostbitten toes. Your scarf has not just frozen to your face. You can do this"? (Okay, maybe without the frostbite part?) Well, I mastered the skills of tolerating misery as a kid while waiting for my mom to win a free turkey on frigid Saturday mornings in northeastern Utah. Endurance, man! Move around a lot. Stand still. Huddle in with the crowd like a bunch of penguins. Nothing changes. It was still 20 degrees.

And on especially cold days do you think we stayed home? No! Other people might stay home (wimps!), so there'd be a better chance of winning! Turkey Drawings are not for the weak.

Did my mother ever win a turkey? I think she must have at some point over the years, but I cannot remember that miraculous day at all. That memory never thawed.

Hotdish is All That!

I asked my stepdaughter what she'd like for her birthday dinner this weekend.

She thought for a bit before answering, "That macaroni, hamburger, and tomato dish."

I couldn't believe it. "You want hotdish for your birthday dinner?"

She grinned and nodded her head vigorously.

"Of all the things you can choose, you seriously want hotdish?"

"Yep."

Oh, boy.

I grew up eating hotdish several times a week. When my mom went to work, I made hotdish several times a week. My parents might disagree with how frequently we ate it, but it seemed like we ate it all the time.

The way I make it is with ground beef cooked with chopped onions and green peppers, added to cooked macaroni and mixed with tomato soup and mushroom soup. And lots of garlic powder! Sometimes I add a vegetable to the mixture, but other times the vegetable is served on the side. I always preferred making the creamy kind of hotdish with the soup added, but many times I had to make it with stewed tomatoes instead of the canned soup. I didn't like the runny tomato in my hotdish. Too soupy.

I'm sure that all that hotdish cookin' shaped the kind of cook I became. I know many people bake their hotdish, but once I mix all the ingredients in a saucepan, I don't know why we just can't eat it. Simplicity is best. You can bake the leftovers in the oven tomorrow night if you really want some crunchy macaroni from the oven.

As my Minnesotan co-worker reminded me just last week, there are many kinds of hotdish. Honestly, I'm no expert on hotdish. I just know we ate it all the time when I was a kid. (I know I mentioned that already. It's important.) I also know that it was boring. So, I was forever adding things to it, thus each time I made hotdish, it was technically different from the time before. You see, hotdish lends itself very well as a leftover dish. Leftover roast beef? Throw it in! Leftover green beans that aren't enough for another full meal? Throw it in! Spaghettie sauce? Barbecue sauce? Yum! Before Iron Chef became cool, I was making meals out of whatever the feature ingredient (aka leftovers in my house) might be. I am proud of how I can make something out of nothing! I call myself creative and resourceful.

I actually stopped making hotdish years ago. In my early 20's when I was single, and then later in my first marriage, I tried to make hotdish, but I could only make a big pot of it, as I was programmed to make it for a family plus have some for leftovers. And, for some reason, it didn't taste the same.

A few weeks ago, my sweetie said, "You know what sounds good? Macaroni, hamburger, and tomatoes. Do you know how to make that?"

You know I've been cooking for my sweetie for 5 years, and he asked if I knew how to make hotdish. Seriously! Of course I know how to make it! It's part of my heritage! Not to mention that it's hardly a difficult dinner to make.

The first time I introduced hotdish to my family, I made it chunky with onions, green pepper, and stewed tomatoes, and I used whole wheat macaroni. I know it was more than he wanted, but that's the way I roll! My sweetie and the kids ate it up like it was gourmet fare. Unbelievable! I have to admit it was pretty good, though. Come to find out, the kids really miss eating ground beef. (They get ground beef if they eat a hamburger outside the house. Most of the time when I make dishes that require hamburger, such as burritos, I use fake meat.) It's the simple things in life, though, isn't it?

My sweetie isn't 100% pleased with my hotdish because the way his mother made it was much runnier with stewed tomatoes. Although, I don't have the aversion I once had to stewed tomatoes and I load my hotdish with them now (Bring on the lycopene, baby!), it's not runny enough for him. I've tried to explain to him that his mother, like mine probably used homemade stewed tomatoes, and it was a little juicier than what we buy in the store.

So, just that easily, hotdish is quickly working its way back into my life. I'm the one who plans meals now, and I have to admit, it is a versatile, inexpensive, filling meal. Once again I am making it all the time--or so it seems. It's such a natural thing for me to make that I can't believe I stopped making it for so long.

I wonder how long until hotdish loses its magical appeal, and the kids are begging me not to make it, rather than requesting it as a special meal. I have a few other forgotten foods from my childhood I should unearth. I haven't made pigs in a blanket in a long time...

When Grumpy Men Soften Up

As soon as dinner was over tonight, my sweetie jumped up to make a phone call. Strange. He's not really a chatty kind of guy.

Until lately.

On October 23, he became a grandpa. (Yea, I know that makes me a step grandma. Whatever.) When he first heard the news he was going become a grandpa back in June, he didn't want to talk about it. It wasn't necessarily a stress-free, joyful event because his oldest daughter has had a bumpy ride into adulthood. Has she grown up enough to have a baby--even if she is in her mid-2o's? I know part of it was about worry about her, but part of it was also his vanity.

The last couple of months he's been on the phone checking on his daughter, who lives in Tennessee, more than he has talked to her in a long time. In the weeks before she was due, he called just about every day. When she passed her due date, he didn't want to admit it, but he was worried about her. And after she finally gave birth, she had a hard time of it (had to be induced and then ended up delivering cesarean), so she didn't sound so great each time he talked to her. Of course, this made him worry even more. Awwww!

Listen in on his side phone conversation and tell me this isn't so sweet:

"You sound better."
"How's the munchkin?"
"Is she sleeping now?"
"So, who does she look like?"
"She has brown hair?"
"Do you have pictures yet?"
"Did you get the crib set up?"
"So...when should I come visit? Do you have a place for me to stay if I come out?"
"Well, I'm glad you're sounding a lot better."
"Stay in touch."
"Love you. Bye."

I tease him about how much he just can't wait to get a picture of his cute little granddaughter for his wallet so he can show everyone.

He pretends like this isn't a big deal, but it is.

It's a whole new game. He's a grandpa now!