Mentally Unstable Son O' Mine

This morning I went into my bathroom to find that John had left this in the bathtub. Rebecca is not going to be happy because not only is that her pickle jar, but that is her cloth baby doll.
Sarah and I were both very disturbed (wish I had her reaction on video--picture puzzled/confused/grossed out all at once) and could not help thinking about the babies in jars we had seen in museums. Museums is one thing. It just isn't something you want to run into unexpectedly.
Like in your house.
In your bathroom.
With a bottle beside it.


So this got me to thinking that I had better have on record, in case I die, exactly how to make John's breakfast. These directions must be followed with exactness. If at any step you make a mistake you will need to start over again.

JOHN MITCHELL'S OATMEAL BREAKFAST RECIPE:

Get out 2 packages of Strawberry Oatmeal.
It must be Quaker and it must be Strawberry.
Open them but don't pour them into anything.
If you are out someone will have to make an emergency rush to the store.
Best to stock up while at Walmart. They are cheapest there.

Now get this bowl and fill halfway to the line with water.
Microwave for 1 min.

Do not use this bowl. It does not have a line.


Take out this spoon.

Absolutely NOT this spoon.

Pour milk in a clean plastic cup (not glass) and then place by bowl of hot water, spoon, and opened packages of oatmeal. John will do the rest.
Sometimes this must be repeated more than once during the day.

When our pediatrician suggested John might be obsessive/compulsive we were not necessarily surprised, but it was upsetting nonetheless. When I mentioned this to Amber she looked at me and said, "Ummm...duh."

Hmmm. Guess I may have just overlooked something.

I like to assume John will make it through life just learning to cope with his strange habits, but we do push him to deviate on things.

Just not the oatmeal. Don't mess with the oatmeal.

Travis and Ginny

My cousin Ginny was married January 30th in the Logan Temple and I took wedding photos for the first time. I don't see myself as a wedding photographer in my future.

The temperature was somewhere in the teens and we thought we would surely freeze to death--especially Ginny! Thanks be I remembered to bring gloves because the photographer doesn't get to put their hands in their pockets too often. I saw several other brides who wore cloaks that were very nice, but Ginny wanted none of that! She looked great and Travis was a very cooperative groom. They held a dinner for everyone after the wedding and it was all very nice.

Ginny is the independent type and we all got a little giggle in when the sealer asked Travis to help her up and down from the alter until Ginny finally said, "I got it."

They are going to be living here in Springville now so I'm sure we'll be getting together soon.
Congratulations Travis & Ginny!

Why I love food

Though she had many good qualities, my mom could not cook. If it did not come in a box, can, or some other packaging, we didn't eat it. Yes, even vegetables. There was no produce isle in my mom's world.

The star meal and main staple of our house was macaroni & cheese and applesauce. We joke about it all the time, but in all seriousness, we ate it a lot. Kraft depended on us.

Starfish, Rice-a-Roni, Cambell's. They all loved us, and frankly we loved them back. Jay and I never complained about mac and cheese. We just happily ate it up. I thought my mom was brilliant when she took canned biscuit dough, wrapped it around a hot dog, and called it a pig in a blanket. We ate a lot of those canned biscuits, and I thought they were great. The only problem was both mom and I were scared to open them because the can would pop. So we'd pass the can back and forth peeling it a little each time. When it was sufficiently peeled we'd plug our ears and she would smash it on the floor until it would pop open. Often it took several whacks.

As we reflect on this at least we can now say we consider ourselves well-preserved. My personal favorite was Mom's chicken casserole. Recipe: Layer canned chicken, can of peas, Cream of Chicken soup, mashed potatoes (previously flaked) and then throw cheese on top. I could eat the whole steaming casserole of slop by myself. Dad however, chooses to selectively eliminate the memories of that particular dish.

When Aaron came along Mom was too ill to cook much. No one fed that poor kid breakfast. He was a little gnome forriging through the forest of our kitchen. He lived on cheap yogurts from morning until night. I worried when I went to college that something would happen and Dad would forget to buy yogurts and he would starve. If not for the fact that we had to take him to daycare because mom couldn't care for him during the day, Aaron may have never eaten a decent meal. We were all pretty independent I guess.
Not that this made us unaware that other families ate delicacies unknown to us. Flour tortillas, salad with spaghetti made with real meat, chicken noodle soup from scratch. We tried not to think on this too much. But when we went to my Grandma's house (oddly my mother's mother) Jay and I would eat like we had never seen food before. I'd go through plate after plate and Grandma would say, "I swear kid, you've got a hollow leg!"
I only wished I did. I'd have used it for storage when I had the chance.

It was not an accident that six months after Mom died Dad married Linda, who just by some strange coincidence happens to be a gourmet cook. The only complaint Dad has is that he says she won't cook the same thing twice. When something is especially delectable he wants it again, but Linda has already moved on. They are food experts of sorts and travel all over the world eating an array of exotic and mouth-watering dishes. Dad frequents Farmer's markets and they have an enormous garden. You may remember that no one can eat like my Dad. 24 hours a day and never gains a pound. He eats in the middle of the night after eating all day. His meals are like endless appetizers. You can't blame the man. He has a lot of time to make up for.

One Thanksgiving after I had married and been formally introduced to the buffet of incredible real food out there by Peter's mother, I made stuffing. I was shocked to see my Dad eating it.
I leaned over and quietly reminded him, "Dad, you hate stuffing."
"No," he said, "I don't. I hate the way your Mom made stuffing."
Poor Mom. Poor Stovetop.
What am I saying? Poor Dad!

Redneck town

I know I live in an area of rednecks simply from all the dead animals I see in the windows I drive by at night. During hunting season it is not uncommon for us to see a truck ahead of us with a dead dear or elk hanging its head out the side. At first it was a little shocking, but now we just laugh.

True story: When we first moved here a neighbor friend of mine mentioned in passing that their pet pheasant had just been startled by a dog and leaped up, whammed its head on the top of the cage, and died.
"Oh no," I said.
"It's all right," she said, "We have it at home in the crock pot."
This is the same neighbor who got a licence to shoot an elk, then went out and popped herself off a huge one. They got a family picture in front of it with all six kids, just beaming proud of their mom. (I may have told you this story before--I just love it too much.) Then one day I walked over to borrow something and there were legs sticking out of the trash. Her husband had butchered his deer right there in their backyard-- in a wheelbarrow. No I am not lying. So when I told the kids they said they already knew because all those crazy redneck boys they have over there were running around in the front yard with those same legs! I swear to you these boys are so unbelievable. They are lean, impervious to cold, and mean as the day is long.

My other friend has some massive animal her husband shot in Africa jutting out of this giant wooden stand she has to have in her living room just because it won't fit anywhere else. She is one good wife, I'll tell you. I'd have myself a bonfire in the backyard. The whole hunting thing I can tolerate, but please just don't bring it home and put it up on your wall-- especially in the half dozens. Have I mentioned before how I love that Peter does not hunt as a hobby? Or endlessly watch sports? I love my computer/tax nerd to death. It makes me hot on him just to watch Dwight on "The Office."

There are other rednecky things here too, but I don't really mind. I like them just fine--some of the most honest people I've known. No pretenses here. I had to laugh though last night at Nathaniel's basketball game when one of his exceedingly redneck coaches huddled the players around and said they were being too predictable with their passes, "They knew where we was gonna pass the ball before we's even passed it!"

I had to commit that one to memory immediately just so I could write a post about it. I am telling you I need to get a picture of these coaches. The head one is hilarious. Lily and I text endlessly about her desire for him. Last night he also told the boys if any of them wanted to pay the fancy photographer 15 bucks for a picture out in the lobby they would go ahead and set up a time. Those manly boys all eagerly agreed they didn't need no pro-fess-e-o-nal fo-tog-ra-fer. We'll just take the picture with someone's camera, make copies at Walmart, and git 'er done just like that.
Now that's my kind of thinking!

Happy Birthday to me

So today is my 35th birthday. Nathaniel was being difficult this morning and doing the teenager crank thing. I know he was tired. But then I got annoyed and told him he could at least be nice to me today. When he asked why I told him it was my birthday and then I think he felt guilt.
Good.


My friends TraceCe and Shawn gave me a two year subscription to this magazine and took me out to lunch yesterday. I have thought about getting a subscription to one of these magazines before but just never have. I thought it was a very clever idea.

I got this from Peter.
He left Sunday for California and will not return until the beginning of February.
The note is always my favorite part of getting flowers from Peter.

There are 24 roses here.
(I counted:)

We went out for an early birthday dinner on Saturday to the Macaroni Grill with
Lily, Sarah, John, Peter, Grandpa, and myself.

Grandpa's mustache is growing in more now.

John was very good because I think he was feeling crummy with a cold.
He ate all his macaroni and cheese. It is a pretty big deal when he actually eats at a restaurant.

While Peter is gone

While Peter was gone this last week gearing up for the tax season it snowed at least 10 in. I shoveled for hours and then decided to do something more productive.

So I bought three different kinds of salsa at Costco and spent the rest of the day sampling.
I recommend the artichoke garlic:)

Christmas Day 2009

John and Rebecca's stocking and Santa stash. John was up until at least 1:30am. I was ready to lose it. He woke Rebecca sometime around that and they came down and went through the stockings. I think he came into my room around two or so.

Stereo?

"There's nothing like shoes. There's nothing like shoes."

Rebecca got her first American Girl doll this year (Emily). She also got a bed and several outfits.
Santa must have thought she was a very good girl.

Blocks!

Rebecca embraces the scooter she has been hounding us for for months. It was pretty emotional.

What it actually looks like she needs here is a new robe!

John thought he already knew what this was by the way it was wrapped.
He was right. Lava lamp.

Sarah got her green ipod.
As you can see she also got a crimper from Grandma Tracy.
She was very excited. Those were the two things she really wanted.