The Human Napkin

Unfulfilled? Frustrated with cleaning up the same mess 22 times in one hour? Sick and tired of cleaning up broken Christmas balls? Done with nagging to get homework done, flush the potty or to finish eating dinner? Had it up to here with kids begging for more toys, candy, presents, computer time, movies, video games or other outrageously expensive landfill toys.

Me too.

It must be in the air; Fed-Up-Ness seems to be a recurring theme on a whole lot of blogs right now. Count me among the masses. If I have to tell Bean to leave the presents alone one more time, I’m taking them all back. If Abby yanks another ornament off the tree, I might duct tape her little chubby hands to the floor. If Jeffrey calls grandma one more time to beg for more toys, I might roll up the catalogs he circles everything in and whomp him over the head.

I know my kids need me at home. I know no one can replace a parent in the home, and that being at the crossroads is muy importanto. So I’m here. But man, sometimes I have to agree, a trained monkey could do most of what being a SAHM entails. Seriously. OK, the monkey wouldn’t love my kids the way I do, and he might bite an owie rather than kiss it, but he seriously could do all the other mundane, repetitive, thankless tasks that take up most of my day, leaving me with little brainpower or energy to be an interesting, thoughtful, engaging woman.

I don’t have any idea how to balance this. If anyone knows, let me in on it, OK? For now, I will continue to be the trained monkey in my house, and will try really hard not to bite my kids when they knock over and break yet another widget.

Sometimes, I just want to scream: “I am more than a human NAPKIN!”

Odds and Ends

Despite the Grinch and his tear-inducing ways, my tree is up and decorated, and if I can keep Abby from UN-decorating the entire bottom half, it will be a good month. There are no lights on the outside of the house yet, and with snow predicted for tonight, it’s not looking good for my little lightbulb friends.

A week with DH at home has been (trying to think of something true yet tactful- not my strong suit) lovely. He did afford me some nice alone time, straightened out the basement, and let me get in some good sewing time. That means all of you ladies who’ve been waiting for your Pay It Forward treats will be getting something in the mail this week.

I think retired missions just might be marriage savers.

Me, the toy goddess, is stymied by what to get Abby for Christmas. We have everything she could possibly need, yet the poor girl needs to unwrap something. I might just tear a page from Wiz’s book at MMW and wrap up toys she already has!

Jeffrey and I are both sick. Abby has a running nose, so it’s coming for her, too. I think the flu and pneumonia shots I got last month are helping though, because I’m not currently flattened by this bug. Jeff’s going to school no matter what.

Everyone back to school and work tomorrow! Yay!

Still no pictures for the Christmas card- Abby keeps banging her head on things, and I really don’t want purple goose-eggs preserved for posterity.

I have a stye on my left eye. Anyone ever had one of those? So not only is my head full of concrete and I’m coughing and sneezing, but my left eye looks like a pink prune. It’s very lovely, let me tell you.

Babies galore in the blogworld- it must be something in the air. Bek, Nestle, Carrie and most recently, Julie, have announced buns in the oven. Congrats, Mamas! Keep away from me. *just kidding* (mostly) sort of.

After eight years of marriage, I’ve thrown in the towel and handed management of all our finances to my husband. I love it. Money and I don’t mix too well- I mean, I like to buy things, but I hate numbers. Hate them. Give me some words. Words, I love. Numbers, not so much.

Bean hit Jeffrey over the head last night with a small Christmas tree. Said Jeff was buggin’ him. Small shards of ornament balls do not make good bedfellows, as Jeff’s bed had to be stripped and vacuumed. What to do with the boy… *sigh*

Guaranteed Hollandaise Sauce


About twice a year I make Eggs Benedict. Anymore than that and we’d all be in the cardiac unit- but, oh my, it is my favorite breakfast ever.  Well, it might be followed closely by my apple Dutch Baby, but it’s still got a slim (ha!) lead.

The only problem with Eggs Benedict (besides the utter over-the-topness of a sauce made with so much butter) is making hollandaise sauce. It can be tricky, and the stuff from the store is just gross. If you’re going to do Benedict, do make your sauce from scratch. Especially since I’m going to give the absolutely guarantees method for making it without it EVER breaking or separating. I promise.

  1. In your blender, put three raw egg yolks. Do something else with the whites- I don’t care, but they have no place in a hollandaise.
  2. Add 1 Tbsp fresh lemon juice to the egg yolks, and whirl it all up.
  3. In a glass measuring cup, melt two sicks of butter in the microwave.
  4. With the butter hot, and the blender on, GRADUALLY add the hot butter to the whirling egg yolks.
  5. That’s it. It will be the best hollandaise ever, and no breaking. The heat from the butter warms the eggs, and all is well in the world. SOOOOO yummy.

Oh, but don’t eat this if you’re preggers, and all that- raw eggs, you know. The eggs are cooked a little by the butter, but better safe than sorry.

Tradition says that Benedict is served with an English muffin, Canadian bacon and a poached egg. That’s not how I do it, but feel free if that toots your horn. For a new mix, try replacing the muffin with a fresh baked, split buttermilk biscuit, topped with thin sliced ham and a poached egg. Or, my personal favorite, top the split biscuit with sauteed fresh spinach and a thick slice of fresh tomato, then the egg and hollandaise. I think they call that Eggs Florentine. I don’t care- it’s the best thing ever.

Black Friday

We’re setting up the tree, I have the carols blasting, the kids are tossing the paper chains all catty-whompus around the living room, when DH, who did NOT grow up in a Holiday Appreciation Household, made a quip that sent me into tears.

I have no idea why- I know he doesn’t get into the holidays like I do, and it doesn’t usually bother me- but for some reason, I just started bawling. Killed the mood, and now the tree is standing forlorn and unadorned; the wind just plunked out of my sails.

I’m standing at the kitchen sink, sniffing and wiping my eyes with a paper-towel. Jeffrey, oblivious to my feelings, like any six year old boy, begins to whine, questioning when we will commence decorating the tree.

I can hear DH futzing around in the living room, more for my benefit than anything, he says: “When I go outside and hang myself.”

Jeffrey, ever the eager boy, says: “Can I HELP!?”

I burst out laughing. Mood restored, tree decorating can resume.  Anyone else married to a Grinch?

Happy Thanksgiving

As for me and my house, this day we find ourselves thankful for:

The abundant blessings and freedom of being a free people, and all the goodness that enfolds. Our family, a wonderful, odd, yet somehow perfect, mix of characters who all somehow manage to love one another. Faith. Having faith has changed our lives in profound and personal ways I never would have imagined.

In a nutshell, (because I have to go cook now!) those are the things we are thankful for this day of Thanksgiving.

For someone who took the time and grace to say it much better than I, check out this link

Blessings to you and yours this day. 

What’s In Your Grass?

Setting the stage- we are in the car on the way home from school, and we see a beautiful five-point buck and a doe eating some shrubs on the side of the road. We see a lot of deer, but not usually males with racks like this one- the kids are excited.

Jeffrey: Mom, do deer eat grass?

Me: Sure, they eat grass and twigs and bark and whatever they can find.

Jeffrey: When lions die, they become the grass!

Me: Huh? Uh, yeah- that’s part of the circle of life thing from Lion King, and in a roundabout way, it is true.

Jeffrey: So deer are eating lions?

Beanie, giggling loudly: Deff! Deer don’t eat LIONS!

Jeffrey, irate: BEAN! You don’t know anything! You don’t even know our grass at home is MADE of DEAD LIONS!!!

Me, snerfing diet coke on the windsheild: Bwaaaaaahahahahahaha!!!!!