I crave it. I’m not good at keeping it – left on my own I’m far too airy fairy to follow a schedule. I’ve been trying ever since Alex was a wee tot to find a daily routine.

For the last year my routine has been make a mess, eat some fast food, have a smoke, repeat. Occasionally with a blast of cleaning or home repair.

But Rhythm. Ahh Rhythm.

It’s only been a week and I can feel the peace it’s bringing to me. I feel more centered, more capable, more likely to succeed.

I woke before my alarm at 645am. Which, lucky for me, because my alarm didn’t actually make any noise. (Man I need a new phone. And a paycheck. Bygones.) I put on clothes and HEELS (bad move – 4 bandaids on my feet later  . . .)

Last week, I put together the paper schedule for my students. Which is always a tricky thing – pulling students out of class – there are the ‘thou shalt nots’ – like from specials (aka phy ed, music art, recess, lunch) – there are the ‘thou mustn’ts’ (Reading time – aka CAT time. uh okay.) – then there’s the turf. ah the unwritten rules of turf. “oh you can’t take him during Phonics” Uh, wanna bet? Imma show you my federally mandated piece of paperwork signed by the district and parents and damn near God himself that says otherwise . . . .

Oh, but I digress. My bad.

I wrote out draft three of my schedule last week and walked in today on this sunny Monday to follow it and watched it blow the fuck right up Did I care? Nope. Really really didn’t. Because I was running around seeing kids, doing my job and documenting my heart out. I honestly have very little remembrance of what I did today because I was THAT busy. Which is fine – it’s all written in my notebook for me to compile the data on later.

I know I’m doing something right – a teacher stopped me in the hall and said, “You are SUCH a breath of fresh air – I want you to know I really appreciate it.”

At the end of the day, I revamped the schedule. Taking the red pen to it and going to talk to teachers. Tomorrow I will try it again, and see how intact I can keep it.

And my feet. Oh fricking aching feet. Running around in heels all day – sweet holy ouch.

On the home front, yesterday, Alex and I were superhero house cleaners. Or at least I was. He decorated my cabinets.

I really just quit on yesterday at that point. Fortunately today being a new day lets me know that I can set the timer and work on each other rooms in the house and find a bit of a rhythm, so MommyNAlex can have the home we want. (I would like to add that Alex just read this entire paragraph as I was typing it. It’s been said, “We all pray for smart kids, I don’t know that we want them as smart as yours.” Holy heck was he right.)

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!”

BlogHer had two excellent posts this week, first came the posting of Why I’m Pro-Life by Shannon who just sponsored the Rocks in my Dryer bloggy giveaway carnival and then came the Why I’m Pro-Choice by Maria Niles. (I gotta tell you, I did post a comment and then part of that comment was pulled out and given an AMEN by Lisa Stone who signs my BlogHer checks. DUDE!)

Generally speaking, the dialogue that took place on both threads was productive. (In my opinion, the comments in the early part of the pro-life thread took an ugly turn – but that’s my opinion, and I only share it because if you go to read the thread (and I really do encourage you to – I learned some things) I just want you to be aware that it’s not all a cake walk) There are many, many valuable stories in these threads. Women tell of first hand experience of being pro-life and then faced with the the reality that they would die if they carried their children to term. Women who have had abortions tell why they are or are not pro-life/pro-choice at this time. Women who have placed their children up for adoption tell of how that ain’t all a bed of happily ever after roses either. From both sides, again and again I read messages of how *these women are REAL and these women need our help*.

I learned. It wasn’t always an easy read, but I did it, and it was good for me.

At first I thought it was because my mom had mentioned today that he’d been such a beanpole build that it was no surprise that those genes combined with Scout’s genes would make such a tall and skinny boy.

Then I realized that we are entering the Easter season and the last day I saw him was Easter Sunday. In all these years, I haven’t quite been able to move past the Good Friday aspect of the season and into the resurrection celebration.

So it is no wonder that I am missing him. It is my season of missing him, as I have done for half my life now.

…

Last year I was “great with child” and had no desire to observe Lent. This year I feel a pull to do something … I don’t know what feels right to me. I don’t think I have the will for a sacrifice. At this time I feel like I want to give. I feel … I feel blessed enough to share.

(Which isn’t to say that I am without fear and worry, my dad is back in the hospital for the 3rd time since the beginning of December – and as I typed the above paragraph, that hit me hard and I, like the girl in Zoolander (ed Cricket totally called me out – it’s Dodgeball not Zoolander – which the best part is I *looked it up* to make sure I didn’t screw up the reference – and I *still* did), almost threw up in my mouth a little bit.)

Mrs. Flinger’s “A Diet A Day” approach has worked for her – Perhaps Dawn’s “A Lent A Day” will work for me.

For those of you of the Christian persuasion – do you do anything for Lent?

Take this, for example:

This is our project of the weekend, putting shelves on the newly painted wall across the bed in our room. Now, here’s more or less how it would have broken down if I’d have gone to P0ttery Barn and had my way with the store, rubbing myself and my credit card up against everything I could get my hands on:

Ledge (2) = $110

Picture Frame Black (3) = $56

Silver Picture Frame Mattless (2) = $58

Silver Picture Frame Matted (1) $89

Vases (5) = $60

Total = $373

Here’s how my Cheap@$$ design breaks down:

Ledge (2) = $17 (originally 29.99, 40% off, and the cashier messed up and only rang one of them up)

Picture Frame Black (3) = $27.47

Silver Picture Frame Mattless (2) = already owned both of them, I don’t know how much the actual silver cost, the 8 x 10 is a clip frame from Pier 0ne that would have been around 5 bucks, so we’ll say $10 total.

Silver Picture Frame Matted (1) = already owned this one as well, I got it from someone for my college graduation, it’s one of those frames from H@llmark where you get the autographs on it, mine was autographed, but I have friends who write things like “Penis, Ballsac” on things and it’s not so much something to display in my grown up home. (Yeah, there’s a story to Penis, Ballsac, another day, another day.) It was originally a 4 x 6 but I recut the mat to be 5 x 7, flipped it over so you only see the white, and done. Original price 19.99 (sticker was still on it, cuz the person who gave it to me – classy like that.)

Vases (5) – we used them at our wedding, so we already had them. Original price was a buck each, so total = $5

My total = $62.46 (which 19.99 was a gift so really only $42.47 as compared to $373 s0 – SCORE!)

But, I also love not having migraines, I also love not having a credit card balance for the first time in 11 years, I love having two vehicles paid off, I love knowing that I didn’t kill a tree just to look at it for a month and then have to vacuum the needles off the floor. (Hotfessional will totally understand.)

Who am I kidding? I don’t do the vacuuming in this house.

(That bit of honesty is so Scout will continue to love me.)

A couple of years ago, we decided to not put up our big tree. We didn’t have room for it and we decided we’d rather not spent a month cussing that the tree was taking up space in our living room. Scout went out and bought an 18 inch silver prelit tree, and I perversely love it more than any other tree I have ever had. We decided this year, even though we have the room, that it would just be easier to not be pulling the Kaiser out of the tree – so we again are using tiny tree. (I’ll post a picture at some point, but right now the tree is sitting on a builtin with a bunch of DVDs around it – and while I’m working on not being all clenched about perfection – I would like you to think I can keep a somewhat pretty home – hahahaha.)

Otherwise, decorating will be simple – we’ll get the decorations all in one place (they are scattered through the house because of weird labeling while we were moving – a whole other story) – we will get them up – and we won’t spend any more money on decorations this year. Okay – other than the 6 dollars spent on stocking hangers.

Tell me, are you a minimalist at Christmas or do you all out decorate? Are you happy with your choice?

I’ve been loving Unplug Your Kids, even more than usual because she’s been talking about holiday madness and she echoes a lot of how I feel about things. However, she’s way cooler and already at the point of knowing how to make some changes whereas I’m still sitting here going “huh… I’d like to make a change … but first … PIE!”

I grew up between two homes. At Christmas time, we got the gigantic Christmas catalogs and sat down and made lists of what we wanted. The tree was always real, the presents were always piled high. Even if my step-mom had busted her ass getting everything wrapped the night before, for us to just rip apart and throw away bags of paper a few hours later. It was always a Big Deal with presents and such.

My mom’s house was different. We never had a real tree, we had a Norfolk Pine that we’d decorate with little ornaments, and once that tree died after having it for several years, she decorated the mother in law tongue plant. She never asked me what I wanted for Christmas, there were never stacks of presents, I once got to open one present early – and that was my winter coat that I needed to be able to leave the house when we’d gotten a lot of snow.

With the exception of a couple of years, I liked the smaller Christmas much much better.

Now that I’m “the mom” I feel like I’m responsible for Alex growing up with good memories and traditions. Not that Scout doesn’t feel responsible, I just ponder this kind of stuff more than he does.

So, for the next little while, I know I’m going to be talking about the idea of “enough” in my life. I promise it’ll be random I know you aren’t surprised.

and pumpkins… and sweet potatoes…

and you put them on the grill to cook…

that when you use the blender to make the puree…

and you need to stop the blender and shift the pieces in the blender…

wait till the blades stop moving before you stick a knife in the blender…

Seriously…

I have it on good authority that Jennifer has the crack source for good soap.

So. I’ve told you one weird thing about me this week. Here comes another.

Not a fan of vegetables.

I totally understand that they are, like, good for you and stuff. But … ick. There are three in particular that I appreciate how pretty they are, but just don’t care to eat them.

I’ll give you three guesses.

Yeah, I know. Tomato is a fruit. I just realized that – but anyway.

Scout is mystified that I don’t care for those three foods, but I’ll eat salsa and spaghetti sauce.

I used the stuff in the picture above and made 3 small batches of salsa – two are in the freezer and one is being eaten. Yum.

Next crazy thing – I hate knives. That’s not exactly true. I’m excessively scared of getting cut by a knife. (Same goes for heights – heights don’t scare me – falling from them does. Flying doesn’t scare me – blowing up does.)

This knife thing makes cooking a bit of a chore. So I’ve learned to be as efficient as possible with it.

See the criss cross pattern cut into the whole onion?

Then I cut it off into the smaller pieces.

Betty F. Crocker in the house, I swear.

Oh, except she probably wouldn’t decide that using the oil and basil out of the mozzarella that she’d already inhaled was just what the sauce needed. Julia would though, oh Julia would.

Mmm. Pretty.

I took all of that and threw it in the blender (gradually) with enough water to let it mix together.

Then I went all crazy and made meatballs.

From SCRATCH. Good grief.

Perhaps I need to work on my plating skills next…..

Here’s a little tidbit about me:

I dee-test the feeling of my hands after they have had soap on them. They feel dry and sandpapery, and they catch on things and ick! ew! And with the heinous nail biting habit, I really don’t need any more gross going on with my hands.

One of my only memories of preschool is being made to wash my hands under water that felt way too hot on my hands. (Teacher wasn’t mean, I just have a low heat tolerance on my skin.)

So – I need clean hands – I hate soap and I hate hot water. Have to do something.

But wait, I also appreciate alcohol.

DIY found a way to mix these things together.

Now, since I’m a champ at taking the Kaiser on sketchy shopping trips, it was only fitting that we went to buy grain alcohol with babe in arms. Nothing says class like babies and 190 proof likker. I should have just bought a tin of Skoal and been done with my image busting for the year.

I decided to use the grain alcohol instead of the vodka from the DIY recipe because 1) higher proof and 2) didn’t want to be tempted to drink hand sanitizer.

I arranged my ingredients.

I mixed (no photo)

I refilled an old hand sanitizer bottle (reuse, reduce, recycle, have sex!), and put the spare in the fridge for later.

This was just the beginning of Martha F. Stewart coming to town.

(Ten Steps for Creating Breast Health)

And only because it’s timely.

And SHOCKING.

SHOCKING

Betty Friggin’ Crocker possessed our bodies. I don’t know wtf happened. I’m still reeling. One minute Scout was waving around his man-squash

And the next, our refrigerator looked like this

This week, I’ll tell ya’ll about this demon possession.

(Ten Steps for Creating Breast Health)

Blog Action Day this year is focusing on the environment, and unless you are totally a no impact person, living under a rock, without access to any kind of media, you have run across something that mentions psst… the environment… perhaps we need to change our ways just a smidge.

It’s overwhelming, all the things we could think about. I decided that I can’t focus on it all. So my focus in my house, for the next year is to go back to the original “reuse, reduce, recycle” mantra. And it’s for a very worthy cause.

Top Ten Ways Reducing Trash Will Get Me More Sex

10. Less fast food = less trash = weight loss = sex

9. Less Starbucks = less trash = more money for lingerie (that I’ll look good in b/c of #10.) = sex

8. Less time shopping for things we don’t really need = less trash = more free time = sex

7. Cloth diapers = no rotting disposables sitting around the house = nice smelling house = makes candles work better for setting mood = sex

6. Fresh fruit = no trash = more energy = sex

5. Less trash = more freedom for Kaiser to play in the other room = sex

4. Less trash to landfills = less landfills = more outdoors = more places to have sex

3. Less packaged food = less trash = better health = longer life = more time for… sex

2. Less trash in car = clean car = less time spent cleaning car = more time for sex

1. Less trash Scout has to take out = happy Scout = sex

(Ten Steps for Creating Breast Health)

I have known the details of your life, but it’s only as I get older that I really start to understand you. To me, you were always, “Grandma” and you lived with a determination and a work ethic that made me believe you were born with grey hair and that hard work was what you did for fun.

When you were nine you had polio. You were a little girl and you were so sick. You recovered, but it left you with a limp and one foot smaller than the other. You never complained about the ugly, low heeled, lace up shoes you had to wear, but when we buried you, Mom put a pair of high heeled sandals by your feet so you could dance your way into heaven.

When you were sixteen, you met Grandpa. I was almost 16 the first time I saw the two of you kiss. You always slept in separate rooms as long as I knew you. But that one kiss showed me a different side. Then I learned that so many years ago, the two of you were so smitten with each other that you giggled when you were in the same room together.

You were 35 when your mom died. 35. I can’t even imagine not having my mom when I’m a young mother.

You had cancer. You had a mastectomy. Your body was invaded twice by disease, and twice you won.

You fought your body your entire life. You dieted it to a size that made you tolerate it. I doubt you ever loved it.

You decided you wanted to see more of the world than your tiny midwest town – you took tours to Canada, Alaska and Hawaii. I was mad you were in Hawaii on my birthday. I still have the photo of you in a lei with “that naked man.” (ed Hawaiian dude without a shirt qualified as “naked”)

Grandpa got weaker and weaker, and you cared for him. You never let him go into nursing care. You both knew he wouldn’t live without you. Every time he went in the hospital, you stayed with him. Except that last night… but you still were there when he died. Your partner for 60 years, your husband for 55. You stood by his side, and watched him die. When Mom and I walked into the ICU room and met you, you didn’t cry, you looked me in the eye, you patted my face and said, “You were his idol.” Then the three of us, Grandmother, Mother and Daughter, stood by his bed together. And then we took you home.

It was while you cared for him .. while you kept track of his medicine, cooked his food, cleaned his …. everything … that I found the words you’d copied and taped to the back of the cabinet door. Where the glasses were. The door you would open three times a day while you were prepping meals.
“Lord, I know that nothing will happen today, that you and I can’t handle together.”

Grandma, everything I need to know about faith, you taught me with those handwritten words. Every year I understand a little more the effort it must have taken to keep that faith. You didn’t have an easy life. You didn’t have a dignified death. Your body failed, and then your mind.

I remember you this way.

The older I get, the more I see you in my eyes. Thank you for that gift. Thank you for being my Grandma. I miss you always.

Love,

Dawn