Summer Cooking Short-cut

Spoons not required.

You certainly know there are plenty of things I love about summer (see last post)!

But last week, as I contemplated standing over the stove, hot steam billowing in my sweaty face, I grumbled, “It’s too hot to cook.”

I know some of you love summer cooking. Your basting brush and grill tools beckon you outside. With the grill as your canvas and a side of beef as your medium, you create a fire-roasted masterpiece, which you will photograph and post on facebook.

But I’m no grill wizard. I used to think when the flames died down the burgers were done. Doneness was confirmed by the blackened edges of the burgers. Doesn’t Burger King flame broil their burgers? How come theirs don’t look like hockey pucks? I have only recently graduated to grilling hamburgers with an edible result.

Others of you have carefully tended a beautiful, weedless, chemical-free garden. Your knowledge and perseverance have yielded organic vegetables of every hue and variety. Bursting with flavor and color, your red tomatoes, orange peppers, yellow squash, and green beans grace your vegetable steamer. That power packed rainbow of chopped vegetables fuels your family with the all the vitamins and nutrients of an entire bottle of Flintstone Chewables!

Alas, my green thumb is nearly as pitiful as my skill at the grill. Now, if there were a market for crab grass, then I’d have something to write home about!! But my “Fourth of July Tomatoes” are still small and green though it is August. And despite daily watering the orange peppers have yet to bloom, the yellow squash never sprouted, and even the hearty Zucchini plant was broken off by the wind.

So, after assessing the heat index, my capacity for grilling, the state of my vegetable garden, and the fact that all three boys must be coerced or bribed to eat vegetables, I took a little short cut.

I served ice-cream for lunch.

Three big scoops for everyone, including me.

The only steam billowing in my face was the cool blast from the freezer as I shut its door. There were no burnt edges or flames and no one had to be coerced or bribed to finish their lunch. I even healthy-ed it up with a generous garnish of sliced banana.

The best part was that I didn’t even feel guilty. Instead, I congratulated myself on that little time-saving, energy-conserving, peace-keeping stroke of genius.

And I heartily recommend it to anyone who needs a little break from the heat of summer cooking.

Summer Hair Day

Swimming. Sand. Sunscreen. Sleeping in. Staying up. Fishing. Biking. Boating. Hiking.

Summer fun abounds.

 

But perhaps the thing I appreciate most about summer is a little something that makes all those activities even more enjoyable—my hat.

In the Midwest the wind rolls across the plains like a freight train and the sun’s rays, unobstructed by foliage or timbers, bear down on fair skin.

In that turbulent climate my hat stands as a beacon of steadfastness and sanity. Atop my head it saves me a ton of hair-fixing time by simultaneously performing these various functions:

¨    Hair product: My rebellious cowlick, which no amount of hair gel or blow drying can tame, will finally submit to the all-day pressure of my hat.

¨    Barrett: Those wispy side hairs —you know the ones that curl ever so slightly toward the face and look so lovely on celebrities. But on regular people, with average hair, they just look like hairs that never grow long enough to fit into the pony tail—because that’s what they are.  Yeah, those—my hat keeps them tucked up, out of sight making me appear more “put together.”

¨    Pony-tail holder: In a pinch, the adjustable band also functions as a pony-tail holder.

¨    Sunscreen: It shades my pasty-white, cancer-prone skin from harmful UV rays and doesn’t sting my eyes.

¨    Sweatband: It’s gross, but true. The hat absorbs the sweat of the day, which also contributes to taming the cowlick.

¨    Accessory: In a juvenile attempt to feel fashionable and young, I bought the bejeweled hat with a little bling-bling on the fleur de lis. Can you imagine my fashion quotient when paired with my unwashed jeans! It’s breath-taking…for more reasons than one!!

This summer I’ll avoid the strain of a “good hair day” and the shame of a “bad hair day” by enjoying the benefits of a “summer hair day” compliments of my hat.

Remote Control Recycling

The fierce snake is leashed.

The school year came and went as fast as ever. This was the first year all three boys were in school. Because it was so monumental, I decided to memorialize the last day of school with a little celebration—a gift for a job well done!

But as I was thinking and shopping, no good gift ideas came to mind. In fact, I was a little disgusted as they lack nothing! They have a room full of toys that rarely get played with. Why? I asked myself. I looked around the room and noticed no less than 6 remote control toys. Then it dawned on me!

They don’t need more toys, they need batteries!!

So, for a small fortune I purchased AAA, AA, C, D and 9-volt batteries.

Kurt and I spent the better part of an hour replacing batteries, scraping off corrosion and testing them out. Unfortunately only three of the six remote control toys worked even with new batteries. (Don’t be fooled by the leash on that remote control snake in the picture. He’s not going anywhere! Not even with fresh batteries.)

The good news is, we managed to get three working—one for each boy.

When I picked the boys up from school on the last day I proudly announced that I had a small surprise waiting at home.(I had to qualify it with “small” because if I didn’t they’d get the crazy idea that we were going to Disney World or buying a fishing boat…and that would be no small surprise!)

At home they sat on the couch, eyes closed and hands outstretched. I placed in each of their hands a new book (snore), a baseball (you can never have too many) and the revived remote control vehicle.

You might have thought I hung the moon. A trio of smiles sprawled across their little faces. They loved it! Even thanked me, unprompted.

It was a very rewarding kind of “recycling.”

Perhaps next year I will revive the Nerf-gun fun by purchasing new suction darts.

Any suggestions on reviving other toys? 

The Evolution of Family Game Time

It all started with Peek-a-boo. I repeatedly covered and uncovered my face with blankets and burp rags until one day, as drool trickled out of our firstborn’s smile, I realized family game time had been established!

Peek-a-book gradually gave way to finger plays like Five Little Monkeys and Pat-a-cake. But they definitely loose their charm after 472 sing-songy verses.

A caricature of my "game face."

When, our toddlers were beyond chewing game pieces I introduced them to “A sweet little game for sweet little folks”—Candy Land. That colorful candy lined maze which leads to a confectionary dream land, the likes of which could make Willie Wonka blush.

Unfortunately, I did not realize the speed of play would be like trudging through the Molasses Swamp. Just as one child would near the end of the maze and come gloriously close to Cupcake Castle, he would draw a “picture card” leading him all the way back to Candy Cane Lane. Sweet victory had slipped away from one player, and for the other player, delirium continued indefinitely.

I got clever after a while and took to stacking the deck—arranging all the picture cards in order to avoid the tears…mine and theirs.

When the sugar high wore off and good sense returned, I purchased that entertaining teacher of life lessons, Chutes and Ladders. That’s right kids, if you mow the lawn, you’re going to the circus later! But if you break a window you’ll be dumping your piggy bank. Take out the garbage and get a banana split! Pull the cat’s tail and end up with a bloody head.

It’s really an introductory course to the school of hard-knocks dressed up as child’s play.

Instead of stacking the deck, I found myself tilting the spinner to avoid the infinite climbing and sliding.

But then came that marvelous day when UNO made it’s debut at family game time. It’s not terribly sophisticated, but it was a game we could all play, even enjoy. Plus, there is a definite end to the game…unless the kids insist on “going for second and third…and fourth…”

This week I realized family game time has taken an inevitable turn.

The games have moved outdoors. More often than not I get knocked out of Knock-out. But from the sidelines I can still referee and monitor fair play.

When I glanced out the window today I saw the three boys with their ball caps and gloves playing catch. It occurred to me that family game time had come full circle.

They were playing without me.

I was not initiating the game, not cheating to control the outcome, not poking my eyes out in boredom, not explaining winning strategies, not monitoring fair play and not playing.

For a brief and precious moment I relished the display of brotherly cooperation and enjoyed family game time as a spectator.

Rescue the Perishing

Avian Rehab Accommodations

We live in a hunting community, where the pheasants are thicker than Alfred Hitchcock’s Birds. Dead, wild animals adorn the walls of nearly every home and commercial establishment within a 250 mile radius. Beasts with four feet, fins, or feathers are all considered “trophies.” And little boys grow up longing for the day they will bag their own beast and hang it on their wall.

I have three of those little boys, and as such, no moving creature on our acreage is safe. Armed with all manner of weapon, sling shot, homemade bow and occasionally the bb gun, the boys prowl through trees and grass hoping to eliminate the pests that dig holes in our yard, eat our garden and haplessly present themselves as targets.

Last week as they were on the prowl, a young robin fell victim to the little band of hunters. Having been instructed by their father not to shoot song birds, they were immediately alarmed and began to assess the bird’s health.

Lo and behold, in the vigorous hunt the bird’s leg had been severed at the “knee” or whatever you call it on a bird. Amazingly he was still alive.

Seeing his suffering, the boys dropped their weapons, and immediately went into rescue mode. I first noticed the carnage when my three little animal EMTs came pounding up the deck stairs with our neighbor boy toting the bird-gurney—a cardboard box taped shut at the top. They ran into the house, grabbed a screwdriver and before I could ask questions they proceeded to stab15 holes in the top of the box for ventilation.

Exploding with excitement they relayed the story, as all good hunters do.

Then they opened the box. There, was the traumatized, one-and-a-half-legged bird.

As I peered into the box, I noticed a loose bird leg sliding around in the corner of the box. Naturally I inquired, “What is that!?”

“It’s the leg from a black bird that was already dead! We’re going to put it on the robin… because a little hop is better than not being able to walk at all.”

A little hop…? “How are you going to do that?” I probed.

The four boys looked at each other, then at me and questioned, “Glue?...or maybe tape? Can you sew it, Mom?” I confessed I could not.

My little hunting party, turned EMTs, were now attempting to craft a prosthesis for their prey turned patient.

To hasten his recovery the little crew retrieved two vacant birdhouses from the garage and nailed them together making a sort of aviary condo. (see picture).

They relocated the bird to its new surroundings despite the squawking. My youngest stroked its little head and the squawking ceased (out of fear rather than comfort I suspect.) Noting the bird’s silence, my youngest whispered, “See, he trusts me.”

Oh certainly!

I am sad to report that before the scheduled prosthetic surgery, the bird passed. Upon hearing of his passing, my middle boy lamented, “I knew we should have fed him something else!”

Alas, we rejoice that he is well and whole in Heaven. And I personally rejoice to know that my little hunters do have a little heart.

This post is linked up to The MOB Society's "Let's Hear it for the Boys!" Thursdays.

Friendship is Born of...Blogging?

“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another:

What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

~ C.S. Lewis

The quotable Lewis summarizes what has been fleshed this blogosphere and in real life conversations with my real (as opposed to virtual) friends. I have been delighted by every comment and conversation! It only fans the writing flame inside me.

Following is a list of moments when friendships have been born or nurtured, where you and I have said to one another, “What! You too? I thought I was the only one.”

Microeconomics: A case study in risk and resource management

I discovered my friends have served unrefrigerated shredded cheese not only to family, but also a multitude of guests; packed the same cheese stick in a school lunch for three days in a row; strengthened stomach and immune system by serving pot roast left on the counter over night; and eaten spinach AFTER the expiration date on the package! *Gasp*

Flying in the face of the FDA regulations, each of these offenses resulted in…no sickness.

(I’m not recommending this, I’m just saying it’s happened to the best of us : )

Conservation Confession

It turns out most everyone wears clothes more than once without washing in between. One true rebel against excess laundry even requires her kids to abide by the same policy.

Parental Prescription

One dear friend, who is a much better parent than I, said she has also drowned out the dinnertime clamor with medicinal music blasting from her ear buds. She claims to know others who have as well. Reveal yourselves at once, I say! Let us all be friends!

Time Saving Tidbit

So far my mother is the only one who has confessed to using the time saving spot-mopping method. It occurred to me I probably learned it from her and should give credit where credit is due.

A Stroke of Genius

Sometimes we need the assistance of our upper elementary aged children to figure out how to double or halve the fractions in our recipes or to preset the radio stations in the vehicle.

Dearly Departed

Most of us have learned never to say never when it comes to using electronic devices as “babysitters.” Judge not, lest ye be judged!

Knock Before Entering

Not surprisingly, no one has admitted to bleaching in the buff…but, I know you’re out there. Perhaps you haven’t had the chance to try it yet.

Thanks for reading, my friends. I adore every conversation, comment and “facebook like.”

Thanks for giving me permission to be real!

Your comments and confessions make me giddy! 

Knock Before Entering

My shower curtain, bathroom rug and black Yoga pants all testify against me. Even my brand new, spring-green, clearance (thank goodness) shirt mocks me from my closet.

I should NOT be using bleach!

Regardless of how careful I am, how far I stand from the washer when pouring the bleach, how far I hold the spray bottle from my body, I still, always, without fail, manage to ruin some non-white fabric with bleach.

But alas, I have no other option! The five of us share the same bathroom. Need I say more?

I must bleach!

I have ventured to the world of non-bleach and “green” cleaners. I’ve heard about the silver-laced rags which cost as much as 30 gallons of bleach, and honestly, I just don’t trust them. I’m no scientist, (and if I were it’s quite possible I’d have a different opinion) but nothing says “germ-free” like the overwhelming smell of bleach. Though it may produce a headache, you can bet your ibuprofen that it won’t allow the reproduction of any living organisms.

So today, with the fabrics of my life accusing me and the dirty bathroom taunting me, I implemented an unconventional solution. I threw the shower curtain over the rod, removed the bath mat, locked the door for privacy and…well, let’s just say I didn’t bleach my clothes.

There. Problem solved. Unconventional? Yep. Too much info? Maybe. Workable solution? You bet! Sustainable plan of action? Time will tell.

But for now, I will shelve the spendy silver-laced rags, and “green” cleaners because the extremely affordable bleach comes straight from the table of elements. Which, by my logic, means it’s straight from the earth, and I will go about my cleaning au naturel.

Dare to share your unconventional problem solving methods!