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Warrior, oh please
Bring VDog to play with me
“Cracker in Waiting”
Playgroupie would drive
To meet your gorgeous lovah
We’ll keep her comp’ny
She’ll be yours nightly
And mine during the daytime
You know – like normal!
Please Please Por Favor
Bitte Pretty Pretty Please
Please Please S’il Vous Plait.
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Beth at the Natural Mommy is hosting a recipe swap 
I give you my recipe for Punt Soup.
Why Punt you ask?
You know those days that nothing goes as planned and you need to dream up some dinner that doesn’t require a take out box? What do you do? You Punt. Hence, Punt Soup. If the Punt Soup is too thick, it becomes Punt Casserole. Punt is very forgiving.
(I took pictures, but it’s been one of those Punt kind of days around here so just words will have to do.)
This recipe is like one of those Choose Your Own Adventure Books. Tends to also work better when you don’t really have an expectation of how it’s going to taste when you are done.
Step One -
Put a pot on the stove, throw some garlic and some oil or butter into it and set to medium low. (We eat garlic with everything but chocolate around here so this may not be for you.)
Step Two -
Search around for something to be the base of the soup – chicken broth (homemade, canned, boxed), beef broth (ditto), veggie broth, bullion cubes, Lipton soup mixes. Any of that will do. You can add wine or beer if you want to. (Warning – I once used red wine and turned my broccoli cheese soup pink.)
Step Three -
Are you putting meat in it? Scavenge for meat if needed, throw in microwave to thaw or cook. Could try cooked egg or tofu if you are looking for protein but no meat.
Step Four -
Do you want creamy soup? Grab some milk or some cheese. Set it aside and wait for the soup to be warm. Add once everything in there is more or less warm but NOT boiling. Boiling makes a weird texture – which, it’s Punt, you can tell the fam that you meant to make it that way, it’s all good.
Step Five -
Add some starch – rice, quinoa, wild rice, brown rice, pasta, potato – you can tell I like my starch.
Step Six -
Some flavor – can of green chilis, some tomato paste, tomato sauce, diced tomatoes, whatever spices you can get your hands on in the cabinet.
Step Seven -
Veggies. Scavenge, add some stuff. You really can’t go wrong. Well. Except I’m not a huge veggie fan so I usually skip this part.
Gradually add stuff to the pot, let it warm, walk away and ignore it. Hope for the best. Taste tests along the way can help. Rarely is Punt a complete failure, it is sometimes merely food and nothing great. But sometimes you can surprise yourself and find yourself going “WHAT did I put in this, it’s the yum!”
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That’s pretty much it. I’m opening the doors to my world even wider. What burning questions do you have for me? Lay ‘em on me. Consider it a birthday present to give me something to blog about.
Loves ya.
Okay fine. You want more words. I hear ya. Rhonda tagged me for this:
In celebration of random acts of kindness week, Claudia of Everyday Kindness started this meme. The goal is to help us focus on being kind. Learning about each other is also nice, right?
Kind Fives
1. List five kind things you for yourself. List five kind things you for your closest friend, partner or child. List five kind things you have done for a stranger.
2. Tag five people.
Five kind things things I do for myself: 1) yoga once a week; 2) take a moment to smell my face lotion (it smells good); 3) eat protein sometimes instead of carbs; 4) the happy pills; and, 5) good sleep once a week.
Five kind things I do for my closest friend: 1) try to have dinner made for him when he gets home; 2) give him the wink; 3) make him laugh; 4) point it out and make a big deal when he’s right and I’m wrong; and, 5) hand him the Jack after a really bad day.
List five kind things you have done for a stranger: 1) given them the high chair in a restaurant; 2) shoveled a driveway; 3) let them cut in front of me in traffic; 4) donated “stuff”; and, 5) monthly tithe.
(It’s an open tag, take it if you’d like it.)
Also, Doodaddy tagged me for the Desktop Meme, as my desktop is the same trainwreck it was in October, I’ll refer you to that post.
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I once looked at the curve of your thigh and remarked to my mother, “I think I’m going to have your thighs.” She shot back, “You keep eating cookies the way you do and you’ll have YOUR thighs.”
I resisted your blooming shape, I was ashamed of any but the whitest, simplest bras to cover you. I didn’t understand how you grew. I missed when growing up turned into growing fat.
I felt awkward in you. I cried in frustration when you couldn’t jump rope in 9th grade gym. I was embarrassed when you wouldn’t work fast enough or coordinated enough to stop the basketball from slamming my face and breaking my glasses. Again.
I’ve hated you. I’ve hit you in frustration. I’ve hated the breasts that overtook my torso. I’ve smacked them in anger. I’ve jumped up and down and made you jiggle in places, just to have more skin to focus my hatred on.
The torture of the swimsuit. The granny breasts on a teenage form. I was ashamed of the angry red stretch marks that marked your upper thighs. Preventing me from beauty. Ever.
I fed you coffee and cigarettes. I shook for months, I thought I was diabetic. You were thin at last. When people asked how I’d made you look so good, I was honest, “I got my heart broken. I wasn’t hungry.” To myself I would admit the image of a thin woman with the man I loved was sapping my appetite. Permanently.
You tried to tell me to leave the Arizona desert, you tried to tell me to run away from that other man. You closed yourself off. You made me hurt and bleed. I didn’t trust you. I didn’t listen to what you told me. I made us live in that gray area where I didn’t say no, but I certainly didn’t say yes. I didn’t protect you, I let you be hurt under some lie of “love”, I let you be threatened and pushed into corners. When I finally got you safely home, you broke down. You forced me to bed for two weeks with my only case of strep, complicated by tonsillitis. All the screaming and all the words I should have said, burned their way through your throat at last. When the fever burned out, our life was our own again.
We began to heal. I began listening to you, to your messages to me. I looked to the future with the man I loved, who loved you unconditionally, even when I couldn’t yet.
I’ve lay my hands over your womb, I’ve prayed over oil and drawn that oil in a cross over your flat abdomen as I read prayers of healing. I’ve focused all the positive energy in my soul into that part of you and prayed for healing and fertile ground.
You were strong enough to grow and deliver the baby they all said you’d never be able to make. You delivered him easily (relatively speaking, of course), and quickly healed. I was so familiar with you by this point, that it was strange to me to not be able to identify all your parts. Nothing was where I had left it, and we had to be reacquainted again.
Carrying the baby left more marks on you. It was the final nail in the coffin that would forever ban you from a Sports Illustrated centerfold. And with this final scarring across your stomach, and even more stretch in the breasts, I forgave you your imperfections quirks.
In the middle of the night, very unceremoniously, our last war ended with a whimper. I was tired as I walked down the hall, and the familiar script began to play, “Fuckin’ fatty …”
I brushed the words away, those words weren’t talking about us anymore.
The script tried again. “Fuckin’ saggy tits …”
The words had no sting. They lost their power somewhere along the way as that fat shaped into clothes that gave you curves, as those breasts fed a baby.
You’ve done good work. You’ve carried me well these years. You comfort my husband, you created our son, you’ve bent but not broken. Rest now, and let me take care of you. Let me love you. Let me try to build your strength and build your health.
Rather than trying to make you be something you are not, let me finally strive to be worthy of you, you are a good body, you are my good body.
For other Letters to my Body, click here and go to the BlogHer article.
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She looked at her daughter laying in the bed with the slightly scratchy white sheets. She saw the short gray hair and the wrinkled face, but she also saw past that. She saw the face of a nine year old with a bob cut and straight bangs above the eyebrows. She saw the face of her sick little girl, she felt the fear of losing her, and the pain of not being able to cure her.
Blissfully, this time was different. This time she was able to heal her daughter. She was able to give her physical strength. She was able to give her back her mind, her senses, her memories. Everything that life had taken from her, Leta could give back now witha touch of her hand.
With a deep breath, and swallowing the lump in her throat, she reached out her hand. She paused, just before touching LaVerne?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s hand. Another breath. And another. Then she slid her hand along the top of her daughter’s. She wrapped her fingers about the palm and squeezed, slowly, gently but with confidence. LaVerne opened her eyes. She lucidly looked into her mother?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s eyes. She steadily looked back. The women remained like that for a full minute. Then LaVerne lifted her left hand up a few inches. Leta reached across and took it. She easily lifted LaVerne off the bed. They stood by the bed, daughter and mother, holding hands. Leta closed her eyes, LaVerne did the same.
LaVerne opened her eyes when she could feel the sun on her face. When she could feel the breeze and smell the grass. There were lilac bushes around the house and their scent flowed strongly around the door where they stood.
Leta looked at LaVerne. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWelcome home.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù There was nothing more she could say. She could only wait for the questions or the reactions now.
LaVerne took a step. She looked at her feet. Her feet looked the same, one still crippled and small. They felt different though.
She took another step. Like a deer learning to walk. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìCome in the house, the others are waiting for you.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Leta said. She still was holding her left hand, and she tugged her in the direction of the door, and into the kitchen.
The women all smiled at her. And even though the women had died before LaVerne was born, all were familiar to each other. With the dying came the knowledge of the family. Of the watching mothers. In life there was a faint awareness in times of strong emotion, but now that awareness burst anew and there was no doubt that these women had been watching her all along.
Abby stepped forward. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWe?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢re all ready for you. We have your place with us ready.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù she gestured to the rocking chair. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìThis is yours.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
?¢‚Ǩ?ìI know that chair.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù LaVerne said. She walked towards it. She stopped by its side and did not sit. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìI have not stood in so long. This feels good.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù She looked at her feet. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìI am still crippled though.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
Elizabeth contradicted. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìAre you really??¢‚Ǩ¬ùThose feet looked like they walked just fine to me.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
?¢‚Ǩ?ìLook at it. It?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s still small and bent.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù she nodded her head at her foot. The bane of her existence. Still with her, even now.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìI am looking at it. But you are the one who can feel it. How does it feel??¢‚Ǩ¬ùElizabeth, ever the hard nosed one. There was no room for questioning in her dogma, and the sooner LaVerne started learning, the better.
LaVerne shifted her weight to her right foot. The crippled foot. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìIt?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s…. it?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s… strong.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Now she was confused.
?¢‚Ǩ?ìJust because you don?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t look whole don?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t mean you aren?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t whole. It?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s always about what you can not see that matters.?¢‚Ǩ¬ùElizabeth waited, but clearly LaVerne wanted more. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìLook in a mirror. You look the same. You haven?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t suddenly become something that you never were, or something you were long ago. You are still you, but She gave you strength. She gave you back all that really mattered all along. Some of it you had already, some of it you didn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t. She made you strong and whole again, even if it doesn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t LOOK that way to you, it?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s true. Your body and spirit are strong, adn will continue to grow stronger. You don?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t know everything yet, but that?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢s because you have a lot of life left and ….?¢‚Ǩ¬ù She drifted off, she was almost philosophical, but she redirected her thought and reorganized her words. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìThere is much to learn, and much time to learn it in. You will learn.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
?¢‚Ǩ?ìWhat she means is that it would be no fun if you knew everything just like that,?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Ellen snapped her fingers. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìEnjoy it. You have strength and time, you can learn anything you want to. Welcome.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù Ellen stood from her chair and waddled over to LaVerne, pulling her into a squishy, comforting embrace. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWelcome home.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù she whispered. ?¢‚Ǩ?ìWe?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ve been waiting for you.?¢‚Ǩ¬ù
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Week Fifteen of Lotus?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ weekly winners meme.
Click the link to see more participants!
A little girl was born on this very day, a few years ago.
The doctor had predicted a boy. The boy was to be named Michael Vincent. This photo is the girl’s mommy trying to NOT gloat that she got a GIRL instead.
This little girl tended to NOT sleep ever. (This photo is 6 weeks old, at 2am, WIDE AWAKE.) Some day this little girl’s parents would cackle as she talked about how her son NEVER slept.
This little girl grew older
She sometimes did silly things. She blamed(s) vodka.
She also did this.
It’s been a good year.
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Here we go, time for your posts about home. No clue what I’m talking about? Check the original post last week, my own Thursday post, or SJSFalter and Susiej for the current entries. I’ll give ya’ll the winner next Saturday with a new challenge
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(clickin?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ the logo may take you to more haikus)
is it considered
potty training when Alex
pees ON the potty?
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It was interesting to look around the house to see what was “home” here. It’s so different from any other house I’ve had. It’s far from anyone we know. There’s a husband and a baby.
When we moved in, we’d lived in a 3 room apartment for a month and realized we didn’t need most of the stuff we had packed away.
We spent the first weekend in the new house curled up in bed reading Harry Potter, we were so used to having a small space to live in, that we just settled in to using only a small part of our house.
Gradually we branched out into the other rooms. Now we’re at least unpacked and settled. Only took 8 months.
Looking around, I decided this is what made me feel settled into the house. Made me feel unpacked and like we were in OUR home, if not yet AT home. (sorry, I know it’s small, bear with me.)
From right to left:
A clock my grandparents received for their 50th wedding anniversary. (I should totally put a battery in it.)
A wedding present from our wedding.
2 photos of Alex from last fall, in frames my grandpa made.
The first piece of anything Scout and I purchased together. 3 watercolors from an outdoor art show. We sat in the car and figured out how they needed to be displayed and then had them framed for our living room.
Wood sculpture from Scout’s camp leader from back in the day.
Pumpkin Pie candle. I stockpile these.
There you have it. What makes me feel like home.
Welcome home Sandy!
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We’re going to have to upsize the carseat soon. Which sucks, because I’m still not over the trauma of installing the first one.
We put the car seat bases in the vehicles at about Week 34. Not because we thought we would need them in the next few days, just because we were out of decent storage space in the house for 2 bases, a carseat and a stroller. Might as well put them in the vehicles, we figured.
Mother scratching LATCH system ’bout damn near killed me. I wrestled with the sumbitch for a LONG time. Finally, breaking a sweat, bruising my fingers and yelling the Lords name in vain loud enough I’m sure the entire neighborhood heard me (but Scout missed b/c he was vacuuming inside the house) I got the thing in there and secure as secure can be.
I came back inside, made Scout kiss my thumbs and index fingers that were red and annoyed at me from the abuse I put them through, and informed him that if he ever took that base out of my car for any reason other than needing to replace the carseat or the car itself, that I would divorce him and take all his beer.
We now live around the corner from a fire house, when we upsize to the new seat … I think I’m heading over there with big boobs and a helpless demeanor ….
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It was another morning in the gray weathered house. The kitchen was cold and empty, but there was anxious activity in the back of the house that could be heard. The windows were being wiped down, a bed was being prepared. The best quilt was being laid on the bed. Blue and white quilted butterflies decorated the double bed sized quilt. Gently patterned flowers in blue and purple scattered across the bedskirt. Pillows were fluffed, a robe was set aside on a hook. Everything in room was comfortable looking except for one pair of high heeled black and white sandals.
The sandals were out of place in the rustic space. Everything in the room was there for comfort and hominess. These shows were all about going out and getting attention. There was nothing comforting about the shoes. They made no sense in the space. Decks of cards were placed in a drawer of the dresser by the bed. A well worn green Bible was placed on the top of the bedside table.
A scraping sound grew louder toward the kitchen. Leta appeared, pulling a bent wood rocker toward the empty room. The rocker was sturdy, but low to the ground. Dark wood, worn but not silky smooth like the table. A flowered pillow sat on the seat to be propped against the back later. When Leta got the rocker to the table she leaned on it. She had butterflies in her stomach, she was excited, but yet slightly sick. She hurt, but she was celebrating. It was a big day. The day she had longed for and dreaded for 53 years.
Abby came into the kitchen armed with the task of making a lemon chiffon pie. She wouldn?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t make it often, but today was a day for it. She squeezed the lemons and whipped meringue. It kept her slightly shaking hands busy, and gave her something to focus on that was not the open door.
Leta fluttered about all day long. She could not keep still. She felt unprepared for how to deal with this day. Belle and Ellen sat near each other, Elizabeth and Kesiah were on the other side of the table. As unflappable as these women were, their books and handwork saw no progress that day as they all kept watch on the door. Little was said, it was a long day.
Shortly before five o?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢clock in the evening, Leta walked to the door. She held her hand up to it and found that her hand went through the open space an into the sunshine outside. She started to look back into the kitchen and then stopped herself. She took a deep breath and then stepped into the yard. For a moment, she only enjoyed the sunshine, then she brought herself back to her moment and her task. She closed her eyes and pictured the white, cold room.
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Week Fourteen of Lotus?¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢ weekly winners meme.
Click the link to see more participants!
Three Things That Made Me Happy On Valentine’s Day
1. The ADCOCK?Ǭ† Cuz I’m giggly like that.
2. Alex and happy pills.
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The winner of the CD from the last challenge is Julie of Rats in Lab Cancer!
Some of you have been following Sandy from Momisodes and the journey to owning a home – this is their moving weekend! HOORAY!
Lou and Lotus got together and organized a huge toast to Sandy and her family’s new adventure and this got me thinking about getting settled in a new home and what makes a home feel like a home to me and to you.
This week’s challenge is to share what makes your home feel like home to you, what makes you feel peaceful and settled?
Lets open our homes to Sandy, as she opened hers to us today. Post on your blog between now and next Sunday and sign Mr. Linky here.
This week’s prize is a wine rack – I’ll be back later with a photo and to edit this post with what makes my home feel like home – right now I’m anxiously awaiting Scout’s arrival after being gone all week – and what makes him love his home is not tripping on things as he comes in the door in the dark – so I need to make sure that happens for him. (I mean, uh, no, clearly, I NEVER clean like a fiend in the hour before he walks in the door.)
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