Intentions

I had every intention of cooking myself some eggs this morning.

By the time I got the baby down for her nap, threw the diapers in the wash, placed an order for some peach trees because my $25 coupon was about to expire (I know, I'm such a rebel), vacuumed the cracker crumbs off the dining room chairs and floor, and rescued my bedding which one boy was crawling underneath while the other jumped on top of the bed and got them set up watching a movie on the laptop instead...

I realized I was still hungry.

I don't even remember turning the burner on.

How I wish I could add the dead raccoon to my list of excuses, but in fact the body had already been disposed of.

The kitchen smelled really bad.


Another multitasking failure.

But this time I had filled our home with toxic fumes from superheated non-stick coating.

If we had pet birds in the house, they would be dead. DEAD!

Ugh, what I exposed my kids to. Even the Dupont website, in their futile attempt to convince consumers of the safety of Teflon, admits overheating it can make you sick and kill your birds.

Mom of the year. Again.

It was -20 F outside, so I couldn't really air the house out. And anyway, my windows are caulked shut, remember?

Thank you corn burner.

I HATE THOSE PANS!

No, I don't want to talk about it.

Yes, I know it's not the pan's fault.

When my husband got home I asked him if he knew at what temperature nylon melts. A look of horror came over his face.

"What did I do?" he asked.

"No, no, no, no. NO. What did I do!"

Sigh.

Honey mustard

I kind of splurged and bought some frozen crispy breaded chicken strips from Schwan's. Let me confess, it was a luxury purchase. I have this lofty, delusional goal of slashing our food budget in half compared to last year, and this particular purchase sure didn't help.

Regardless, I was very excited about them. Once in awhile, even I throw caution to the wind.

No, eggs in my pocket goes in a different category. Like, convenient but stupid.

Anyway, I was excited about the chicken strips until I realized we were out of honey mustard sauce.

Ugh, fate! My entire crispy chicken strip experience DESTROYED! I had been undone by a grocery shopping list of days past gone horribly wrong. The perpetually depressed and pessimistic side of me stood there in utter defeat.

Sigh. What to do, what to do?

The dumb things were already in the oven.

There was no turning back.

But then the enterprising, frugal optimist in me arose victorious. We have honey. We have mustard. Could it possibly be just as simple as it sounds?

The boys helped (very loose definition of the word 'helped') mix a little bit of yellow prepared mustard with a lot of creamy honey.

Just for fun, and kind of an afterthought, we added some whole mustard seed. You know, fun the same way sprinkles are fun.

Mustard seed sprinkles!

We got the slop mixed up. I tasted it and thought "Wow! Sweet yet zingy. Not bad, not bad at all". The boys begged for a taste and I knew from the "mmmmmmmmmmmm" and "Can I have some more?" that we had done well.


It was then that the jar of mustard seed caught my eye.

I wondered for a moment if I should call 911.


That mustard seed is old. OLD.

It came with a spice rack we received as a wedding present, a spice rack that we no longer have. That jar has been hauled across the continent no less than three times in the eleven years we've been married.

How on earth did it survive the radical decluttering attacks I occasionally subject our home to?

I picked up the jar and gave it a quick but suspicious inspection. Hmmm, dry mustard seed rolling around freely, no off colors, nice sharp mustardy smell.

Dehydration is a method of food preservation. But, eleven years?

Oh well, considering how things normally go around here, eleven year old dry mustard seed was probably the least of our worries.

And for once I can honestly say, all was well.

Dreaming of sleep

I used to have the luxury of sleeping the whole night through, and of sleeping past 5:30 am on Saturdays, and the option of taking naps on Sunday afternoons.

No more.

It all ended so abruptly five and a half years ago.

My mind has been in such a thick fog ever since, I don't quite remember what it was like to feel rested and renewed.

I fully admit that lately, some of it is my own fault. The only time the house is quiet and peaceful is when everyone is sleeping. After the insanity of yet another day, it's just so deliciously serene to sit and read with my purring cat beside me. Even if I should be sleeping.

Apparently my children are not a model that is compatible with the sleep option, like I ordered the wrong part number or something. My sister got the kind that sleeps. I just don't understand it.

If the baby sleeps through the night, and she occasionally does, it guarantees that one of the boys will wake up screaming.

Last night my husband and I stepped outside for just few minutes after all the kids were asleep in bed. Once they are all down, we get a magical few hours when all three of them sleep well.

We walked out to the barn together. He filled his corn buckets and I spent a few minutes in my happy place, the chicken coop.

As I observed the chickens, Fritz (the Barred Rock rooster), decided to get busy with one of the hens. While he was finding his balance on top of her, lining his stuff up with hers or whatever the rooster's job is... Red (the Buff Orpington rooster) spotted them with a jealous eye from across the coop.

What happened next made me laugh out loud. And my laughter echoed and echoed through the barn.

Red ran purposefully straight toward that romantic pair of lovebirds. As he closed in on them, he lifted his right foot and solidly kicked Fritzy, causing him to launch off of his lady and into the air like a football headed towards the goal. Except in this case, Fritz missed his goal. The hen stood up from her crouched position, shook every last feather into place in an I-can't-be-bothered-with-this-nonsense kind of way, and joined the other girls snacking on some moldy Long Keeper tomatoes I had brought them.

The roosters gave each other dirty looks and took turns lunging at each other for a minute, although it didn't seem like either one was really interesting in any kind of meaningful battle.

Laughter is good for the soul, and I believe especially so when sleep deprived.

Oh, how I love my chickens.

I told them to go to sleep, turned out the coop light and heard them softly singing as they settled onto the roost.

Our knuckle-head dog joined us as we walked out to the mailbox.

The wind was cold. But it felt so good to be out of the house and just with my husband, a few quiet minutes alone. There is no end to the kid chaos around here. Moments like this are so few, but give me hope that life will get easier again. Someday. Someday, should I actually survive that long.

My delusion was short-lived.

As we walked back into the house my blood went cold before I even realized what I was hearing.

Uh oh. Our three year old was bawling. He was standing in the kitchen in his underwear, screaming, his tummy and legs cold and wet with his falling tears.

The kids don't ever wake up until they have been in bed at least a few hours. Yeah, right.

Seriously, we weren't outside that long. But apparently it was long enough. Long enough to make me feel like an incompetent parent yet again.

Sigh.

Poor kid, he must have thought he was abandoned.

I ripped off my jacket and scooped him up, wiped his tears and his nose, took him to the bathroom and convinced him to empty his bladder, rocked and snuggled him, put out the fires, saved the world... again.

Again. It just never ends.

Everyone says these years fly by and the kids grow so fast, surely I'll look back and long for the days when they were little.

Right now all I'm longing for is a nap.

February jalapenos

When, oh when will I ever learn?

These tiny shriveled things look so innocent.

Do not be deceived! And certainly, don't ask me how I know!


Their size is inversely proportional to their fire.

When will I learn that the tiniest little bit of dried jalapeno is way more than enough to get the job done?

It's just that they're so pretty... and I grew them and picked them and cut them up and dried them! AND they are so much fun to cook with!

I overdo it every time. There isn't much left either, so I really should go easy on them.

Sigh.

See this beautiful, way bigger than in real life, mostly out of focus photograph of a flower?


That is a jalapeno flower. Actually, it's the mother plant my overachieving sneaky dried ones came from.

I took that photo today, in February.

Yes, here in the frozen prairie.

I dug that plant and also a sweet bell pepper from my garden before frost last fall, and they currently sit happily in my warm living room. They can live for years in warmer climates.

Apparently earthworms also like to overwinter in the house. But that, my friends, is a story for another day.

Just think how overachieving that crazy plant will be when I put it back out in the garden this spring. At least I hope so, if everything goes well.

And...

I put my camera lens on backwards for that shot.

Seriously!

Ever tried that? HOLY MACRO!

Just don't try it with your 50mm f/1.8. Yeah, a depth of field that is pretty much absolutely impossible to deal with. I will have to go digging through my closet for my crappy old kit lens.

It may be useful for something, after all.

You Capture - Faces

My oldest boy with, drumroll please... NEW KITTY!

If you happen to have read this You Capture of mine, you understand what a really huge deal this is.


My youngest boy contemplating the reason(s) why he might possibly be in TIME OUT yet again. His little heart is so willing to be good, but...

Well, you know how it goes when you're three and life is just so rough.


A little bean coming to get me with her four sharp teeth.


My half-Siamese ready to sing her favorite song, "ham!". No, she is NOT cross-eyed, and will be offended if you suggest that she is. She does, however, have really horrid breath. It's alright if you tell her, because she loves super-stinky things.

Amazing

We were sitting at the table eating when suddenly our youngest boy stretched his arms out to the heavens and declared, "That was amazing!"

I saw that his plate was empty, which meant he had actually eaten his food. All of his food, every last bite was gone. I had to agree with him, that really was amazing. That kid never eats his food.

The little bean had devoured almost all of the broccoli from my plate, like the little broccoli thief that she is. I don't remember saying it was amazing that she was eating so much broccoli, although it was, and I may have.

Even if he was just echoing my sentiments, it was still awful cute.

But THIS is really amazing.


On a friend's recommendation, I gambled seventeen dollars and ninety-five cents. That beautiful baby tush is wearing a bumGenius 3.0.

Do not laugh!

Honestly, that diaper is nothing less than magical.

I cloth diapered all my babies, that is, during the day. We have always used disposables at night, because otherwise I would be a very bad mom. For some reason my babies butt's turn flaming bright red if I put them in a cloth diaper overnight. I tried on several occasions with each of my kids. Not good.

I know other moms who use regular cloth diapers at night with no trouble at all. Mine must have super acid pee or something.

It was obvious that disposables hold the moisture off the baby's skin, keeping the little butt happy. It worked.

But I was not happy.

Disposables are not cheap, even if we only used one each night.

I don't even want to know how much space a year's worth of diapers take up in the landfill, again even if only using one each night. I felt guilty and environmentally irresponsible.

I'm the kind of girl who would rather do laundry than go shopping. Out of diapers? No problem, throw them in the wash. Out of disposables for night time? Oh crap (sometimes literally).

So you see the dilemma.

The bumGenius has a suedecloth lining that supposedly wicks moisture to the middle of the diaper, where a removable soaker is inserted. I was skeptical. But on the chance that it would actually work, I figured it was worth a try.

I had a touch of mommy guilt as I got her ready for bed last night. Would I find her soaking in a puddle of pee a few short hours later?

There must be some sort of magical fairy dust sprinkled on this diaper.

Her butt looked perfect in the morning, not a touch of redness. Nothing leaked, and she even smelled lovely.


But the most absolutely amazing thing which I did not expect at all?

Oh my goodness! SHE SLEPT THROUGH THE NIGHT!

Dear corn burner

In honor of Valentine's day, which is possibly my least favorite holiday EVER, I have written an emotion-filled letter to our corn burner.

Oh corn burner, how I dislike you. Let me count the ways.

(Hate seems a rather strong word. I'll save it for things that really deserve it. *cough* Monsanto.)

Dear corn burner, the silence of having your fire out for almost a week was divine. After only three hours of your annoying presence heating our home again, my head is already throbbing.

The house is filled with your vibration and constant high pitched hum.

The echo of my ringing ears is rattling my brain.

I cannot sleep, thank you.

Your buildup of clinkers which causes the metal fire box within you to lift up into the air, and then slam down with such force and unexpected metal-on-metal sound (not unlike a gunshot) almost stops my heart... and awakens the baby.

Nothing makes me happier than having the baby scared awake.

Upon opening your door to clean out the buildup of clinkers, you thank us by spewing forth half-burned pieces of corn. The color of these charred rejects perfectly matches the metal rug protecting our floor underneath you. Just last week I found one piece of black corn in the baby's mouth. As I cleaned the charcoal charcorn off her hands and face, I had nothing but lovely things to say about you.

Because of you, I cannot open my living room or dining room windows, even in the summer. My windows are caulked shut in a desperate attempt to keep your smoky breath out of the house.

There is no end to your giving.

Your ash pan overfloweth ninety percent of the time.

A thin layer of black corn ash coats the white window ledges in our living room, even though I have recently dusted.

Because of your presence in our young-child-filled-home, I have a cedar picket fence in my living room. It is absolutely your fault that my pant leg caught (several occasions) on this fence as I was stepping over it to cater to your needful tendencies. And if I had killed myself in doing so, there is no question it would have been ALL your fault.

You consume copious quantities of corn, which necessitates the hauling of at least two heavy five-gallon buckets daily. Perhaps it is because of you that I stayed so fit through my pregnancy last winter.

Besides your corn feeding habit, you require daily maintenance. If I forget to shake the buildup of ash and charred rejected corn kernels off your damper each and every morning and evening, you become deeply offended and begin to suffocate yourself.

Dear corn burner, we must remain cordial with each other for just a few months longer.

There will be much rejoicing the day the grain wagon gives up it's last kernels of corn, and I will smile as your fire dies.

You will be a humble, silent and obedient plant stand through the summer.

Yet when fall rolls around once again, for some odd reason your fire will be cozy, and the smell of burned corn will seem strangely comforting and familiar.

However, right now I would like to throw you out the window.

But I can't.

I suppose that is probably a good thing.