Carter likes things that are old (I refuse to use the word antique because some of the items he view as antique are from the 80’s). He also likes things that are sweet.
He has recently become enthralled with his great grandmother’s cookbook.
I never got to meet my grandmother, my mom’s mom. She passed away when my mom was a senior in high school, but I do have her cookbook, given to me by my mom.
Inside are recipes, newspaper clippings, brittle and yellowed with age. Most, if not all of them are for sweets: cookies, candies, cakes, pies, and puddings.
Some of the recipes are handwritten.
So far, Carter has made us Snip Doodles – imagine a snicker doodle cake – and he is considering macaroon brownies or chocolate cake as his next project.
He told me yesterday that his late New Year’s resolution is to make 3-4 different recipes from this cookbook per week during the summer. (Apparently it is never too late to make those New Year’s resolutions).
Last night Husband was crowned with the title “Walking Genius” from non other than our son, Carter. Such high praise from a tween requires explanation.
Apparently, unbeknownst to me, Husband has had a life long empty Hershey’s Syrup bottle ritual.
When I am the one who empties a Hershey’s Syrup bottle, after doing the violent upside down one thrust downward shake and quick, repetitive squeezing so that the last of the chocolate goodness splatters anything within a five foot radius with a ridiculously loud inappropriate farting noise, I rinse it out with water and recycle it.
Not Husband. After he “empties” the bottle (I did not get a detailed description of this process to share with you), he pours a non-quantifiable amount of milk into the bottle, caps it, shakes it, and then drinks it directly from the bottle.
Rather brilliant, right?
Well, Cody walked in on the tail end of this process, only seeing Husband drinking what appeared to be straight Hersey’s Syrup directly from the bottle. He was immediate horrified and jealous all at once and wanted to know how he could get in on that action.
News of the great syrup drinking spread, causing Carter to adorn Husband with the title, Walking Genius.
Late last week as I was rummaging around in our freezer, I came across some leftover Practice Thanksgiving turkey. I really need to clean out my freezer more often. (If you are unfamiliar with our family created holiday, you can search for it on my blog. Basically it is like a typical Thanksgiving, but is a floating holiday in which we invite family and friends to share in a Thanksgiving feast. This fall will be the 20th Practice Thanksgiving).
Practice Thanksgiving 2019.
Since I had already made rolls, I thought it would be perfect to have a little mini Leftover Practice Thanksgiving, sans actually inviting people over (because, you know, Corona Virus).
James “helping” me bake the rolls.
Homemade rolls, so good…
Mini Leftover Practice Thanksgiving just rolls off the tongue so nicely. I did not recreate everything but kept the basics of turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, cranberries, and rolls.
As I looked at my plate, I asked aloud, “What are we missing?”
To this, Carter promptly replied, “Grandma”.*
*Note that while upon first read, it may sound as if we serve up heaping portions of Grandma on Practice Thanksgiving, that is simply not the case.
Now that we are consistently in the triple digits here in Phoenix, Husband has decided it is time to do some roof maintenance, maintenance he has been putting off.
Apparently we have a plethora of ladders, ranging from the very bulky telescoping ones to the short not really ladder classifiable ones.
Not our ladders, but if we clustered all of our ladder and ladder-like items together, we would get pretty darn close.
He went looking for the medium telescoping one but could not find it.
A ladder. Could not find it.
It is not small and so it was rather disconcerting when a search around and within the perimeter of our property did not bring forth the missing ladder.
A day or so passes and he finally settles on having to lug around the massive ladder to do his roof work. As he walks around the side of the house, not even looking for it, he finds it.
Again, remember this is a good sized ladder.
I am inside in air conditioning, working hard on something productive, I’m sure, when I receive a text from him that he has found the missing ladder. He sends picture proof resulting in this text thread:
The case of the missing ladder has been solved, but the question of whether his marbles are missing remains unanswered.
(As an aside, I pointed out to Husband his improper usage of “too” in his text. He tried to blame sun glare and roof tar.)
What is the largest and most impossible thing to lose that you have lost? Don’t worry, I won’t judge (too much).
A couple weeks ago we got out of town and went in search of nature.
The pups were excited to be invited along, squeezing out of the house as we loaded up the car, happy to wait in the back for everyone to be ready.
Perry the Platypus, ever our road trippin’ companion nestled into the nest of masks on the dashboard, a inadvertent reminder of why we needed this trip.
Our first destination was going to be Diamond Point, between Payson and Christopher Creek. I had heard it was a great place to hunt for geodes but the last section of road was closed off with a sign mentioning COVID. We parked in a small pool of shade provided by a lone tree, and wandered along the ridge.
We found beautiful views and wildflowers, but no geodes.
Next, we went looking for running water and shade. Tonto Creek, a stream that flows year round through the mountains south of the Mogollon Rim sounded perfect. We parked at a trail head near the closed fish hatchery (COVID again), and were greeted with this sign.
Humm. Clearly it is telling us to be on the look out for Yetis. So we were. Do you see them?
Neither did we. (Ha! Did you end up staring intently at that woodland picture?)
We did, however find little a waterfall. We had lunch on the bank and then wandered around in the deliciously cool creek water. Apparently the water is quite cold when you kick it on your back. (If you have no idea what I am talking about then you didn’t watch the above video.)
Sasha, pictured here, Haley, Husband, and I relaxed by the water while the boys floated sticks down the waterfall. Pooh Sticks, minus the bridge.
Along one bank, invisible until disturbed, were hundreds of little purple butterflies.
After a couple solid hours of much needed creek time, we packed up and headed back to civilization. We drove around Woods Canyon Lake. There were many people fishing around one of the lakes and in another, lots of people out on boats. The fear of being around people started to creep in at me. Husband and Carter went into the little general store for ice cream treats for us and not a single person was wearing a mask. Ack! We ate our ice cream by our car on the edge of the parking lot. The ice cream was good, but the reprieve I had felt from our current situation, had all but vanished.
Back home we went. The dogs were tired out and slept all the way there. It was so nice to get out in nature and simply be. It is something we need to do more often, especially now.
I came to the harsh realization yesterday that I have reached the Oatmeal-Old Age.
No, I’m not at the Plain Oatmeal-Old Age, yet. I’m more at the Raisins, Nuts, and Brown Sugar Oatmeal-Old Age. Don’t get me wrong, I know where this is heading, I am fully aware. I know that oatmeal, whether decorated with brightly colored berries or some such other sickeningly healthy toppings, is just a lumpy, bland, gateway drug to Old-Old. Or more traditionally and respectfully referred to as Elderly or The Elderly.
But I simply can’t help myself. I sometimes find myself craving oatmeal and once, at a professional development conference, I found myself ladling a gelatinous bowl full of the stuff, bypassing pastries and eggs and bacon. Bacon! That day, I put a small plastic serving dish of dried cranberries on it along with my traditional raisins, nuts, and brown sugar. It was so good.
So yes, I am at the Oatmeal-Old age. And I am not ashamed.
When the state that you live in makes the national news, especially in these times, you can be pretty confident that it is not a good thing.
This along with a virtual town hall hosted by my school district’s superintendent on what the reopening of schools will look like in August, has me more than nervous. Nervous as a parent and nervous as a teacher. The CDC guidelines are soft, with a lot of “when feasible” sprinkled in there.
masks and/or face shields (mandatory or not is the most heated of debates)
6 feet of distance (my class line would be over 100 feet long!)
no 6 feet of distance (still packing in 29 students to my same sized classroom – but hey, they lowered the cap on class size from 32)
minimizing class movement (some good ideas on how this will look in middle and high school)
eating in classrooms (don’t cry over spilled milk on the carpet)
buses (social distancing?)
no/very modified recess (sigh)
temperature checks (done outside the classrooms by teachers if enough thermometers can be obtained)
A lot of “what ifs” …a teacher gets sick and there are not enough guest teachers …a student/staff/family member gets COVID, who quarantines and for how long? … a student/parent refuses to wear a mask (if mandatory) …fire drills/lock down drills are still a thing …the air conditioning goes out (happens a couple times a year – think not only of AZ heat but ventilation recommendations).
It is a lot to wrap your head around and I commend those that are in the position to actually come up with a plan and then sell it to parents and staff. What an awful position to be in. I recognize that I am very lucky to be in an amazing district and working at a wonderful school. I know it can be/is a whole lot worse for other schools/teachers. I don’t want to be the complainer, the one who bitches about everything without providing viable alternatives and suggestions, so consider this post as me simply thinking out loud in an effort to process the landscape my two boys (one middle school, the other high school) and I (elementary school) will face in a couple short months.
There were actually two town halls, one for employees and one for families. The chat stream for each was very different and very telling. In a debriefing email to employees, our superintendent thanked the majority who showed they could express themselves in a respectful and professional manner, he did not/could not say the same thing in his email to families and parents. And I understand that fear and anxiety were behind those not so polite comments, but still, really?
And as I type, I hear this song start up in the background.
Deflated is how I feel. I need to find a way to move past and beyond this feeling. I will find a way to make this coming school year a welcoming and loving one for my students. I will also find a way to do the same for my own boys. I am not entirely sure how I will do this yet, but I must – for my sanity and for theirs.
I will get back to the easy peasy lemon squeezy mindset again.
Shoes On The Wrong Feet 