Pumpkin Business

Taking a tip from my sister, with time running out and the weather acting up, we bought our pumpkins at the grocery store instead of going to the pumpkin patch, wandering around in the rain, caking our shoes with heavy mud, and always finding the perfect pumpkin.

A pretty good pumpkin can be found down at the store, sitting on bales of hay.  Not perfect ones, and especially not if you wait until the night before Halloween.  Turns out the pumpkin pile is pretty picked over by then.

But we found four that would suit and after dinner, we got down to business.

The kids still hate the pumpkin guts and I may have helped one of them clean theirs out, just like when they were little.....

Getting down to the serious business of designing the perfect carved face.

Then end result looks pretty good......

But this is why I really do pumpkins: 

These little fellows have been roasted and toasted and drizzled and salted and we may have feasted on them when they came out of oven, too hot and burning fingers and absolutely delicious!

Today Is His Day

Today is my husband's birthday, and I am ashamed I say I thought it was tomorrow. It took me hours to realize that today was actually his day.

We celebrated yesterday, with cake and too much ice cream, and this morning he was gone to work before I woke up.  I was into my work morning before I thought, hmm, today isn't the 28th.  Oh no!

Luckily, he isn't bothered by that sort of thing.

Dinner of his choosing and watching TV as a family was his birthday wish, and it was no hardship for us to fulfill.

Happy birthday, babe!  You are the best!

Pancakes Are Perfection

Pancakes are golden discs of perfection
Giving a dash of special to ordinary mornings
A must have staple for weeks of camping
And in a pinch a quadrupled batch
Feeds 6 teenagers, two parents, and three dogs
With two lone pancakes left over
Which turn out to be a perfect toasted lunch....
Especially since we are out of bread.

From Mild To Worse

I may have been stomping angrily through gravel, mud, and rain

To drag in the empty trash can from the alley, a job that I do not claim

And I may have fumed and muttered and maybe even growled

Not watching where I placed my foot and down it was I went

Of course I landed hardest on this hurt foot of mine

And scrapped my hands and bruised my shins but I jumped up again

I went about my days ignoring the twinge and ache

I even walked 1/2 a mile uphill all the way

Because I would not slow and admit that I was flawed

Three days later, still it throbbed so to the doc I went

He took one look at my newest hurt and he said

"You've done more harm than good, wear this big boot instead."

This post inspired by prompt # 1 at Mama's Losin' It!

And linking up with TidBit Thursday.

 

What I Will Do

What I will do

Is take a deep breath

A calming, soothing,

Long suffering breath

I will pick up the pants that are never picked up

And put the junk back in the junk drawer 

And toss out the 4 empty shampoo bottles

And realize that this will never change

I will pick up and put away and toss out

And love these folks that I share my life with

These messy, irritating, wonderful, darling folks

Raising Second Hand Kids

I grew up on hand me downs and thrift store clothes, and it was always a good thing.  New clothes to me are new clothes to me, regardless if they weren't brand new from the factory.  I still feel that way as an adult, which is why half of my work skirts are from the thrift store.

My kids don't mind either.  My son looks for vintage ties to add to his collection and he found a pair of dress shoes that fit his idea of perfection.  My daughter has shopped for shirts, and dresses, and costumes and while she won't let a piece of second hand silverware pass her lips, she loves to find the perfect outfit at the thrift store.

I was shopping by myself the other day, and I thought I might just scope out the racks of dresses.  I've had an idea of upcycling a maxi dress into a skirt, but I didn't see a pattern I loved.  I did find a gorgeous black lace sheath dress that I thought would be perfect for my daughter for homecoming.  She wasn't there to give approval, but for $5, I was willing to risk it.

It's the best $5 I've ever risked.

She loved it and looked unbelievably awesome in it!

The same day I brought her dress home, my son returned home from work, triumphantly holding up an old metal phone sign for his room that he had salvaged from the dumpster.  I've never been more proud!

A No Good, Very Bad, Totally Rotten, Day

First thing this morning, after I put my ankle wrap on and slipped into flip flops, I tripped as I climbed the stairs to wake the kids.  Tripped, broke my flip flops, and hurt my hurt ankle.  Okay, shake off that bad start and think happy thoughts.

As I'm trying to get to work on time, I realize that I don't know where the car keys are.  My son drove it last and likely the keys are somewhere in his room.  Or in his pockets.  Maybe he has them right now?  I'll take the truck.  Not the usual truck, which is out of gas, but my son's truck, the '66 I have never driven before.  I handle it just fine, only grinding the gears once, when disaster strikes.  The passenger door swings open and one of the packages I'd planned to zip down to the post office at lunch, falls out into the road.  I quickly pull over, but not quickly enough.  The car behind me has run it over a little.  And as I watch, the next car drives right over it.  I run out and pick up the box, and as much of the loose packaging as I can and get back to the truck.

I'm late, and feel a little like crying, but I am a big girl and I straighten my spine and go to work.  At lunch, I drive the devil truck down to the post office, and mail off my undamaged boxes and reminded myself that the door opening could have been worse: I had a total of 6 boxes that could have fallen out.  I get back into the truck and it doesn't start.

It is out of gas.

Okay, that's okay.  I will walk home, and find the car keys and it will be okay.  As I start to walk, it starts to rain.  I pull out my trusty purse umbrella, only to remember (as it fell down onto my head) that it doesn't stay extended.  It's only a 10 minute walk home, but it is 10 excruciating minutes because my ankle is hurting worse with each step.  I eat a quick pb&j sandwich (comfort food at it's finest) and I call my sister to beg a ride.

Before we go back to work, we get a mocha.  Things are looking up.  It's got no where to go but up, right?

My husband calls on his way home to tell me the drivers seat in the family car has gone from being slightly hinky to totally jinky and a bolt that holds the seat to the cab has snapped off.

At that point I said this is God's way of telling us we should go out to dinner.

I must have been right, because this pizza is the best I've ever eaten!

The Pews At The Front

What is it about the pews at the front of the church that make them unappealing to most of the congregation, myself included?

I know from a childhood spent in the second row, it's very hard to look around when you are up front.  Everyone behind you knows the exact moment your attention wanders. It is impossible to casually look over your shoulder to check the clock at the back of the sanctuary.

I know those things shouldn't matter: I am not at church to catalog what everyone is wearing or to make sure my one hour of church service is dutifully time stamped.  Those empty front rows bother me.  We are crammed into the back of the room, as if we are afraid to sit too close to the front.

And yet, I try to imagine myself moving from my usual half-way back pew, and I can not.  Mostly because my attention does wander, sometimes, and I like knowing only about half the people in the sanctuary will be aware it.

I'll be staring at the other half.

Bite Off More Than You Can Chew

Within the first week of moving into our 100 year old house, my husband tore this out of a magazine and taped it to our fridge, where it has stayed taped for the last eight years:

It will probably stay there, exactly like that, until the paper turns brittle with age and falls apart on its own, to remind me that I may have cried every day of that first week, wondering what on earth we had gotten ourselves into, but we kept on chewing and it is now a quirky house I want to grow old in, and have the kids pack us up out of and move us into a nursing home.

There is another possibility for that bite that is too much.  As the great Frank Sinatra says, in my favorite song of all time, he ate it up and spit it out.  Because you know you're going to get that awful piece of unidentified meat that you chew and chew and chew and holy smokes, it's the worst gristly bite in the known universe, and frankly, you've got to spit it out.

Use your napkin.  It's totally okay with me.

This post inspired by TangledLou's invitation to party as an audience!

Raising Midnight Kids In A Sunset Town

This small town I was born in and love and adore and choose to move back to and raise my kids in, is not where my kids feel destined to reside.  It's a shocking idea to me. I can't remember a time I didn't desire this town and all the family history nestled in the heart of it.

But, my goal for my kids has always been for them to find their dreams and go for it.  I knew, way back with that first half formed prayer that this newborn baby would love life to the fullest, that what made my life grand might not be what makes his and her life grand.

They have bigger dreams and the bright lights of the city gives fuel to their drive.

I know I'm going to cry when they take off, but by golly, I'm going to bursting with pride too.  Look what this Sunset Town Mom has helped shape!

Two of the best Midnight Kids around.

Wishes And Horses

I am going to turn my wishes into horses,
And ride them to the finish line.

Someday the horse will be a rip snorting bronco,
And I will be counting down the longest 8 seconds of my life.

Someday the horse will be a broken down old nag,
And I will get off and lead it on with promises of carrots and apples.

Someday the horse won't be a horse at all but an ostrich or a rhino or a sloth,
And I will decide to take a rain check on that particular horse.

I am going to turn my wishes into horses,
And ride them to the finish line.


Inspired by prompt #5 at Mama's Losin' It!

And linking up with Papa is a Preacher for TidBits Thursday.

Last October...

Last October, my sister Amy at Love That Bee said she was going to blog daily.  It wasn't a challenge for me, but I accepted none the less.  After all, any thing she can do, I can do....er....also!

So I started writing daily.  And I loved it. I kept it up past October and as the months ticked by, I was surprised that I was still finding time and material and enjoying it.  I loved finding other blogs to join and I still remember the very first post I ever read by Judy, it was about a dog and I was hooked.  I'd never thought to comment on someones blog before, but I started to on hers and it opened up this great community of bloggers that I visit daily.

What have I been doing this last year?  I've been writing, because I can't help myself and my purse is a wasteland of scribbled thoughts on scrap paper to prove that to be true.  It's not always literary, and  it's not everyone's cup of tea, but it's mine and I am so glad my sister spurred me on to find this part of me I had only been tending half-heartedly!  I may have slowed down from daily to (right now) about once a week, but  that's just because real life reared up and needed attention.

I had wanted to blog daily this October, but that just couldn't happen.  That's okay, I have filed away some wrinkled papers with bits and pieces of ideas for the moment when I can dream them out into full grown posts.  And that is why I love writing!  A word or two winds its way into my attention and I trace the thread to the end.

Thanks, TangledLou, for writing of her last year of blogging and inspiring me to do so too.

And thanks to my sister, for doing what sisters do best and challenging me!

A Gal Could Get Used To This

Having my husband home 27/7 is something I could get used to very easily....

His alarm isn't blaring at 4:45am, mine is the one to wake us up at the decent hour of 5:45.  We eat breakfast, lunch and dinner together.  Mochas have been known to make surprise appearances on my work desk. The dishes are washed and errands are run without me.  We've caught up on our favorite shows, and we sometimes stay up late just because we can.

I'm looking at this silver lining of his recovery from surgery, and I'll be honest, it's moved past silver and it's looking pretty golden.

I could get used to this house husband thing!

What Every Modern Car Should Have

I have discovered, thanks to riding around in my son's '67 and my husband's '70 pick up trucks, that old school treasure: floor vents.

With a handy move of my foot, my good-not-sprained foot, I can open a vent that allows fresh, cold air to blast onto me.

I could use that in our modern family car, and by modern I mean a '99 Tahoe.  Too often I am hot, or partially car sick and I need cool air blowing on me.  Opening the window means my poor daughter suffers with the wind wiping past me to hit her.  Turning on the AC seems a bit extreme in 58 degree weather.

But the miracle of the floor vent is cool air right on me, no hassle or worry.  It's a luxury that should never have been made obsolete.

I shudder to think how I will handle hot flashes in the future.  Maybe I'll take to riding around in the convertible all the time.  Top down and no worries about floor vents or windows or AC!

Thursday Happenings

This is what I've been up to today.....

Two weeks ago, I almost took a tumble as I left the hospital after one of my husbands test.  I caught myself before I hit the pavement, and figured I was fine (no scrapped knees this time!) Last week, after my husband was finally home, and I was doing more than just sitting by his bedside, I realized my ankle hurt a bit.

Oh well, I'll just power through it.  Ice it a bit, take a few tylenol, call it good.

Except, it wasn't good, and the pain went from bearable to excruciating as I walked.  So I went  to the doctor. I was told to ice it, take some ibuprofen, and come back if it still hurt.  I realized I had to come back when I wanted to cry as I walked down the hill to our office.  After the xray showed nothing wrong, I was sent downstairs (man, I love where I work) to see the podiatrist.

Today I learned that there are several grades of sprains, mine being a simple grade 1, but due to the ligaments being so loose (sickeningly loose), I now have a wrap bandage thingy to wear for an entire month, complete with laces and velcro.  

The good news is that since I was wearing black today, it matched my outfit perfectly.  The bad news is, I don't have enough black to wear for a month.

I'll worry about that on Monday!

The Trouble With Supernatural

My daughter has spent all summer watching episodes of the show "Supernatural."  It has never been a show I watched, not because it was too scary.....back in the day I never missed The X-Files, although I changed my  viewing habits when I started to wonder exactly what a sixth month old baby absorbs as my sixth month old baby stared raptly at the TV one Sunday night.  Turns out, he absorbed a love of horror films and has helped his sister find her love of the same.

My daughter has watched episode after episode, and gives us a synopsis of each, and sometimes I have come home from work and find that she'd been crying because the show was that sad.  I understand.  I still tear up when I think of the last episode of "Angel."

I don't object to the material of the show, or the nightly recap of a show I have never watched, or the emotions she has tied up in these two brothers.

No, what I find troublesome is that she now has a dream car, thanks to the brothers, and she wants a '67 Impala so badly, I'm sure she can taste it.  Before she started watching "Supernatural," she wouldn't have been able to pick out a '67 Impala from a sea of Toyotas.  Now, she is a fount of knowledge concerning this dream car, and can be found searching Craigslist on the off chance that one can be found for an affordable price.

FYI: it can't be found!

It doesn't have to be '67 Impala, but it should have two doors, and the same muscle car shape and the cute '69 Dodge Dart I found was knocked out of the running because it was too cute and had four doors and a vinyl roof and my daughter knows exactly what she wants......her Dad is so proud!

My Thank You Speech

I'm sure it's not just me, but most people carry around in their mind the thank you speech they'd give if they won on Oscar.  Not that I'm doing anything to win an Oscar, but, you know, I've got a thank you speech on deck, ready, just in case it's needed.

Since I'm feeling full to the brim with thanksgiving, I'm going to break it out.

I want to thank God, the Big Guy Himself, who makes all things possible.
I want to thank my Mom for everything, for chicken soup that is good for the soul and tummy, for little treats to uplift my spirit, for phone calls, texts and hugs to let me know she had my back.
I want to thank my Randy for sitting in the parking lot of two hours waiting for the tow truck to get my broken starter car home.
I want to thank my in laws for visits at the hospital and starters being replaced and how blessed we've been that their visit home happened to be a time we really needed them.
I want to thank my sisters for texting me, for visits, for making me laugh when I was stressed and worried, for much needed Dr Pepper and for bringing a book I had forgotten I was desperate to read.
I want to thank my kids for being great kids, for taking care of things at home, for funny jokes at dinner that made my nights sweeter.
I want to thank my Grandparents for calls and visits and love, for making this family so good from the start.
I want to thank all our friends and family that have prayed with us, worried with us, rejoiced with us.
If I missed anyone, don't feel missed.  I'm thankful for every person that has been with us this last week, in thoughts or in deeds.  Thank you!!

Home Sweet Home

After a bit of emergency surgery (it had been set for Monday but Sunday morning found our hospital calling in the surgical team to get it done asap) and a wonderfully gruesome picture of what they found that was causing the bleeding (from here on out referred to as a 'nubbin') and a few days of drug bliss-ed recovery, my husband is home!

There really is nothing like the power of home, even in its unswept, unwashed, undone state.  It is home and it is were healing rest can really begin.

For me too.....as my husband dozed on the couch, I curled up on the love seat across from him and napped.  I've missed hearing his snores as I drift off to sleep!