Can you say "midlife crisis"?

An Open Letter to the Baby-Boom-Age Man I Encountered Whist Grocery Shopping Today:

Dear Mr. Walmart Shopper,

Some may call you snobby, others, ridiculous. But me, I call you an inspiration.

Your spiked hair-do lifted my spirits as I remembered back to my college days in the very early 90s when my boyfriend sported the same style. Of course, he was blond, and you are heavily salt-and-pepper, but it still took me right back. Who doesn't love to feel like a college kid again?

And nothing takes one's mind off of being in Idaho in November like spying a good, dark, fake tan peeking out from behind Ray-Bans worn indoors. No need to be pining away for the summer past or lusting after Christmas Caribbean cruises when the tropics come strolling down the deli aisle in the form of your pre-skin cancerous self!

A cream colored turtleneck sweater, a fine Italian leather blazer, and black dress slacks. It worked for wealthy sea men in the 1930s, afro-picking swingers in the 1970s, and remains a classic today. Well played, my friend.

Lastly, though perhaps I should have mentioned it first as it was what originally caught my eye, I thank you for your air of superior derision as you graced the rest of us lowly Walmart shoppers with your very presence. It sent a signal of solidarity--a reminder that although some of us would rather be at Neiman Marcus, these hard financial times have reached all walks of life.

Thank you, Mr. Walmart Shopper. Thank you for your style and class. Thank you for a fine example of holding your nose, er, I mean your head high in the midst of the undeserving. Thank you for reminding us all to leave our holey sweats at home. Thank you for the opportunity to practice stifling a laugh.

Most sincerely yours,

The Mousey Mom in the Cape Cod Hoodie in Aisle 9

F2: Friday's Feast, Soup or Treat

Some occasions just taste a certain way to me. Food is such a central element of celebration and, as I am sure is quite common, I often get flavors stuck in my head as representing certain holidays. Some of those flavors traditionally make sense. Others are a little less obvious. For years, Halloween has tasted to me like taco soup.

I can't recall when I first made Taco Soup as the pre-trick-or-treat meal, but I did it for years. It's warm, it's hearty, and it's a little spicy--all a nice prelude to a cold, sugar-laden evening. Then we moved up to a small mountain community where Halloween was celebrated in the middle of town, complete with parade, carnival, haunted house, and businesses passing out candy. Those years dinner was hot dogs and hamburgers prepared by the Lion's Club.

Now we're back in a regular neighborhood, more or less, and so we will be able to reinstate our soup tradition. If you'd like to join us, I'll make a double batch. Alternately, you can make your own pot of soup. Make it ahead, even. I see no reason why this couldn't sit in a crock pot all day on low. Serve it with some corn muffins and apple slices. At our house, we also have a bowl of toasted pumpkin seeds, courtesy of our jack-o-lanterns, sitting out to munch on. (Dessert graciously supplied by the neighbors.)

Taco Soup

• 1 lb. ground beef
• 1 chopped onion
• 1 pkg. taco seasoning
• 1-20 oz. can stewed tomatoes, undrained
• 2 c. water
• 1-8 oz. can tomato sauce
• 1 can corn, undrained
• 1 can kidney beans, undrained

Cook beef and onion together in soup pot. Drain fat. Mix in taco seasoning. Add remaining ingredients. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer, covered, for 15 minutes.

Top each serving with:

• coarsely crushed tortilla chips
• sour cream
• grated cheddar cheese
• chopped avocado, if desired

Visit Ca-Joh for more Friday Feast Halloween Fare.

F2: Friday's Feast, Recipe Swap

I love autumn. I love the weather, I love the colors. I love Halloween and Thanksgiving. I love cinnamon and nutmeg and all of those warm spicy scents and flavors. And I love pumpkin! Pumpkin bread, pumpkin seeds, pumpkin ice cream (I recently had a pumpkin malt to die for at a local ice cream shop), pumpkin pie, pumpkin bars, pumpkin pasta (sounds weird, I know, but I once had an amazing pasta dish with a pumpkin cream sauce at a place called Café Aroma we used to frequent back in Cali), pumpkin roll, pumpkin Peeps (which, I grant, taste just like every other Peep), pumpkin bisque, and pumpkin cheesecake.

CaJoh is doing a recipe swap for his Friday Feast feature today, so head on over here for more great culinary contributions. Being the time of year it is, I decided to submit my new favorite Thanksgiving dessert, Spiced Pumpkin Cheesecake. I nabbed this recipe off of epicurious.com two years back. It was originally printed by Bon Appétit in October 2002. It is the best served with freshly whipped cream. I've thought about replacing the graham crackers in the crust with ginger snaps. I'd make the swap ounce for ounce. It makes one tall, rich, 10" cake.

Spiced Pumpkin Cheesecake

Makes 12-16 servings

Crust

9 whole graham crackers (about 4 oz.), broken

1/4 c. sugar

1 tsp. ground cinnamon

1/4 c. butter, melted

Filling

4 8-oz. pkgs cream cheese, room temperature

1 1/2 c. sugar

3 large eggs

1 15-oz. can pure pumpkin

1 c. whipping cream

2 tsp. vanilla extract

2 tsp. ground cinnamon

1 tsp. ground ginger

1/2 tsp. ground nutmeg

1/2 tsp. ground allspice

1/4 tsp. ground cloves

Position rack in center of oven and preheat to 350. Wrap a double layer of heavy duty foil around outside of 10" springform pan. Combine crackers, sugar and cinnamon in food processor. Blend until crackers are finely ground, drizzle in butter, and pulse until crumbs begin to stick together. (Alternately, crush the crumbs in a plastic bag with a rolling pin, and mix together with remaining ingredients with fork.) Press mixture into bottom (not sides) of springform pan. Bake until crust is slightly golden, about 10 minutes. Remove to cooling rack but maintain oven temp while preparing filling.

Cream cream cheese and sugar in large bowl until smooth and fluffy. Beat in eggs one at a time. Add pumpkin and remaining 7 ingredients. Beat until just blended. Pour into prepared crust. Place pan in large roasting pan. add enough water to some halfway up sides of springform pan. Bake until slightly puffy and softly set and top is golden, about 1 1/2 hours. Transfer springform pan to cooling rack and cool. Cover and refrigerate cake overnight.

I guess I need to admit here to being at times a poor reader of directions, and I do not believe I have ever put the cake pan in a pan of water. And my cakes have always turned out great. Maybe I'll try the water bath this year, and see if I can tell a difference.

Well, I wish I had a great photo of this to share, but I haven't taken pics before, and there's no way I will make one of these just for that purpose. Because then I'd eat it.

The Gift

Occasionally one receives a gift from an unlikely source or in an unexpected form.  Yesterday mine came as a fast-moving front, bringing with it earlier-than-predicted rainfall, and ill children.

This autumn has been crazy.  #2 and #4 are both in soccer.  We've had more in the sport at a time in the past, but this year their practices do not overlap.  Someone has soccer every night.  And of course Larry is coaching #2 again, so he is also committed to three 90-minute practices and one 70-minute game per week.  The evenings they are home, I am sitting at practice with #4, who I consider still too young to be dropped off.  Two Tuesdays per month #3 has Activity Day with the 9 year-old girls in our congregation.  Every Wednesday she has guitar lessons.  Wednesday nights #s 1 & 2 have Mutual, our church youth group activities.  One night a week I am supposed to be going on visits as a Ward Missionary.

I'm not listing all of this to earn awe or respect or pity.  Many families I know have crazier schedules than that.  I am listing it to simply complain.  For me, at this point in my life and marriage, I do not like it.  We have fewer family dinners.  Our Family Home Evening gets bumped around and sometimes missed entirely.  Family scripture study is suffering.  Errands requiring more than just myself all get crammed in around Saturday games.  With other stresses we are currently experiencing, I feel only further unsettled and disconnected at a time when I see that consistency and intimacy are just what we all need so desperately.

Yesterday morning my husband informed me that it was supposed to rain  that night.  (He is my sole weather source.)  But the precipitation began around 2:00.  About that time, I came home to a phone message from #3's Activity Day leader.  Sick kids, no activity.  I knew my girl would be disappointed, but I suddenly had an extra hour.  Email from #4s coach:  no practice.  Suddenly we had an entire afternoon and evening!

I've been meaning to get to a local pumpkin stand with Larry's truck for weeks.  They sell pumpkins, hay bales, and cornstalks on the cheap.  Since I had arranged to pick up #s 3 and 4 from school, I decided to take them to get our hay and cornstalks.  With my Suburban.  In the rain.  I think they thought I was nuts.  I loaded two bales into the back, and a cornstalk along three rows of passenger seats, put my cash in the drop box, and made good use of my side mirrors on the way home.  I was soaked and dirty and stinky and downright giddy.  The kids were excitedly chattering about the holidays and the weather.  I wondered aloud if the car would fit down our front walk, shortening the distance I had to carry this wet hay.  I decided not.  I informed the kids that we'd get some cocoa on arrival home, or at least after I'd gotten the hay out of the car because heaven knows I wasn't going to let it sit in there longer than necessary.  #4 replied, "Kevin knows we've got hay in our car?"

We drank our cocoa, arranged our hay, made spaghetti sauce, and had dinner all together.  I vacuumed out the Suburban and coated the back floor with Febreeze.  (The car smells fine now, but the garage still smells like horse manure.  The bales were out of the car before I ever parked it in the garage.  Go figure.)  We listened to the Family Home Evening lesson that #4 had had ready for a week and a half.  We drove to the Boy Scout pumpkin stand and bought pumpkins for carving and some to last through Thanksgiving.  #1 and I even had time to help Larry with some work he's been behind on.  It was a great night.

Today my back is sore, and two of my kids are sick.  So back to the grind.  I guess if every day was such a gift, we wouldn't appreciate them.  And I am still smiling.  

Too Cool for School

This week we had rain.  So, being the good mom that I am, I made sure that everyone had an umbrella in their backpack.  (I will pause here for nods of approval.  Thank you.)  #3 informed me that she needed a new one.  "Is yours broken?" I asked.  "No.  ...  But Mo-om!  It's Hello Kitty."

#3 is in the fourth grade this year.  She'll be 10 in January.  And I guess this is the age when little girls start to want to grow up, disassociate themselves from their baby-ish interests of the past.  It's interesting to watch.  Because it's not as if the girls suddenly find little-kid things unappealing.  It's just that they believe they will not be cool if such a penchant is made public.  So every girl in 4th and 5th grade puts on the too-cool show for all the rest.  My theory is that if they all knew that every one else still liked Barbies and baby dolls and Polly Pockets and My Little Pony, they'd all be a lot happier.  But no one wants to be the first to admit it.

... until about eighth grade or so.  Then all things "little-kid" are suddenly not only cool, but verging on retro-chic.  The girls have established their maturity by this point, and now are willing to indulge in reliving the good old days of their youth, way back four or five years ago.  To this level of self-confidence #2 has finally arrived.  Of course, she and #1 had an advantage over #3 even during their too-cool phase.  They had a younger sister they could "have" to play with.  Even #2s friends would be so kind as to humor #3 with little-kid play when at our house.  Poor #3 only has a little brother, and as her interest in Star Wars and Legos is severely limited, she's just forced to play it cool for a while.  

Now a very generic, very mature striped umbrella sits in #3s backpack.  And on #2s cut shin is slapped a Hello Kitty Band-Aid.

Me, I'm digging Star Wars chat with #4.

PHOTOS--   top left:  #3 at age 3 with Strawberry Shortcake

bottom right: #3 at age 9 with the big girls

Busy making other plans

There have been several times in my life where I've found myself re-defined.  Not because I was wanting to make a change, but because I discovered that I am, in very essence, different than I thought I was, or in different circumstances than I had hoped for.  Some have been small things, relatively easy to come to terms with.  Others were much larger in scope.

I always thought I would love the maternal thing.  You know--being pregnant, nursing, caring for tiny babies.  My mother did.  I loved other people's infants.  Baby dolls were my favorite toys for more years than I really care to admit.  My mom used to tell me about a friend of ours who really didn't care too much for kids until they were a bit older.  Even her own.  This story came with a judgemental undertone.  What kind of mother, after all, didn't just adore her own babies?  Something must have been wrong.

I got married young and became pregnant quickly.  And I was sick.  Very sick.  Lose weight kind of sick.  That finally subsided.  Then I was uncomfortable.  Water retaining, back aching, rib crushing uncomfortable.  I could not wait to be done being pregnant.  #1 was born 6 days early, which was good for my morale.  Except that then I had the baby.  A baby who had difficulty nursing.  When she did nurse, she'd immediately projectile vomit most of what she'd consumed.  She had a blocked tear duct.  I had an over-active let-down reflex.  We were wet and miserable a good deal of the time, or so it seemed.  Breast-feeding was not comfortable for me, physically or emotionally.  But I knew it was best, so I did it.  And I felt guilty, because I did not enjoy it at all.  

My pregnancies only got harder and much more painful with each baby.  I never became comfortable with nursing.  I continued to resent the infant schedule.  I did, however, finally stop beating myself up for not being what I thought I should.  I finally came to terms with the fact that I prefer older children.  I loved each of my babies, but I enjoyed them more and more as they grow up and become more independent.  I decided that nothing was wrong with me.  Just different.  As soon as I made that decision, the added stress of living up to unrealistic expectations lessened tremendously.

It was only a few years after that epiphany of mine that #1 was diagnosed with mild mental retardation.  I can't say that it was a complete shock.  We'd been testing her for different things for several years at that point.  We knew that she was not developing  at an expected rate.  It was the beginning of her 1st grade year.  I was happy on one level, because she finally started to receive the help that she so clearly needed.  She also got more understanding from faculty and staff at the school.  But I was also full of negative emotion.  I was embarrassed.  Silly, I know.  I felt guilty for feeling that way.  I never looked down on people with disabilities or their families.  But some vain, arrogant part of me did not want that to be MY child.  I was very smart.  Did well in school.  So did my brother.  My dad has a PhD. and is well known in his small, specialized field.  I married an intelligent, articulate, analytical man, in graduate school himself at the time.  I fully anticipated having brilliant children.  #1's disability was a blow.  

I didn't share her diagnosis with many people right off.  For some reason, it felt to me like admitting to failure.  I was afraid that she'd be treated differently by family.  I actually kept telling myself that she'd catch up at some point in the near future.  That she was just behind and would turn out just fine and normal.  I was waiting for that.  I was impatient for it.  I was not happy.

The best thing I ever did was sign her up for VIP soccer.  VIP is the AYSO's special ed program.  That first year was intimidating for #1.  Our region only had one team, and so she was a 3rd grader playing with High School aged kids.  But it did wonders for me.  I watched the other moms.  They acted like any other group of parents.  They complained about bad attitudes.  They laughed at funny things their kids said or did.  They cheered when their kids made goals.  They hassled them for not paying attention.  Life was normal, and these moms were happy.  And though it seems obvious in retrospect, that was the content of my next big epiphany.  It didn't matter if #1 was retarded or not.  She was the same girl I have loved her whole life.  It would really be fine if she never caught up to her peers.  Maybe her peers were a different set than I was thinking.  Not a worse set, just a different one.  I started to drop my unrealistic expectations of my daughter and started to be happy with my family as it was.

We moved to the mountains the next year.  #1 had a much better experience at school.  We were also in a different AYSO region;  one that was incredibly supportive of their VIP program.  I became very good friends with the coach, and got involved with the kids.  Some of the kindest, sweetest, most genuine people I have ever interacted with I would never have met had I only been the mother of "brilliant" children.  

One of the first things I do now in way of introducing my daughter is tell people that she is mentally retarded (because you don't notice right off).  It's who she is.  And it helps people to interact with her more appropriately.  When we built our home we added an apartment in the walk-out basement to be used by #1 when the time comes for her to have some more independence.  I love seeing that space.  Larry and I want to serve a mission together.  We really hope that #1 will be allowed to come with us, and serve as well.  I'm proud of her when she reaches out of her comfort zone, when she makes friends.  I love what a nurturing, caring person she is.  I delight in her simple faith.  She makes all of us in her family better people for knowing and loving her.

I'm not living the life I had planned, or in the way I figured.  But it is my life.  It's a good one, too, and I am grateful for it.

See you 'round the net

After a two-plus month long hiatus, I can be found today posting on Ca-Joh's blog.  He has guest bloggers posting all this week while he's on vacation.  Read my post about the New Year here.

Ca-Joh is a thoughtful and interesting bloggist, with personal philosophies, funny stories, poetry, and a weekly Friday Feast food-themed feature that all can join in on.  I lovingly refer to him as my "man-reader."  He had become a good internet friend.  If you're not familiar with his blog already, check it out here.

Strutting

Today on the way home from church we saw a tom turkey who appeared to be posing for a Thanks-giving Day portrait.  My son was impressed.  We see the turkey all the time, but never with his tail feathers fanned out in display.  He wanted to know why Tom was strutting his stuff.  I told him that the turkey was trying to impress the girls.

Speaking of which ...

Just this past week as I was driving home from the grocery store I spotted 4 turkeys walking along the side of the road.  These turkeys were human males, appearing to be in their late teens or early twenties at most.  They were fully clothed with the notable exception of their rear-ends, which were exposed.  I was not impressed, and surprisingly not even very disgusted.  I was simply confused.  Questions to pose the quartet flooded my mind as I passed them.  "What are you all thinking?  Are you serious?  What is the goal here?  Trying to be funny?  Racy?  Tough?  Imposing?  Want another beer?"  Some level of intoxication seemed to me the most rational explanation.

The last day of school was a Wednesday, my regular day in #3's classroom, and I went in.  The first hour of the day was taken up with a fifth grade "graduation" assembly.  At the end of the assembly we all rose and waited for the new grads to file out.  Most of the kids proceeded down to aisle toward the back door.  A handful of turkeys raced up to the stage and began, er, dancing, I suppose.  They were gyrating in awkward, preteen craziness, looking ludicrous.  I noted to #3s teacher that only boys were goofing-off on the stage, my assumption being that the girls were more mature and taking the event more seriously.  His response was not what I'd been thinking.  He said, "Well, we don't have colorful feathers or big manes, and we've got to show the girls what we have to offer somehow."  Hm.  I don't know about their female classmates, but I failed to see the charm.

It starts young.  Years ago when #2 was five, we were at a rehearsal for a Primary Christmas program.  The children were singing "Away in a Manger."  #2 was seated next to a little boy who was a year ahead of her in Primary but sat next to her in kindergarten.  A friend of mine got my attention and motioned to the kids.  I looked over to see the boy flexing his muscles for my girl.  My high school psych teacher would have added to this picture the caption: "It's THAT way to the beach."  #2 in turn was looking very impressed, batting her lashes, and giggling with one little hand demurely covering her mouth.  Seven plus years later, I'm not sure what kind of turkey is now earning her admiration.

So many strutting rituals seem very silly to me.  And yet, there are indeed feathers that will catch my attention.  Some are physical--nice shoulders, nice back and chest.  More important ones are intellectual.  I know that an intelligent sense of humor will make a regular-looking guy seem quite enticing in my view.  And of course, a sexy, raspy tenor or baritone singing voice makes me weak in the knees.  We all have our turn-ons.  I'm not sure that most of the turkeys out there are thinking about these sorts of subtleties in their efforts to show off.  Maybe I'm an odd bird.  But my guess would be that I'm not so very unique.

So to all you Toms out there, I'd suggest that simply being yourself will attract the girl that is right for you.  And for heaven's sake, cover your bum.

It's not good bye, just see you later ...

When I started blogging a little over three years ago, my goal was to post twice monthly.  My audience was myself and my close friends and family.  Subject matter varied somewhat but was essentially commentary on my life.  Not a diary of the minutea of daily life, but insights in to how I experience what goes on around me.  I've always been overly introspective and this blog served as a stage for indulgence in that activity.  

Then last summer we moved to Idaho.  Several other very personal stresses developed about the same time, and I felt alone.  I didn't really have much of anyone to talk with here, and I've never been great at keeping long distance friendships going.  Also around this time my cousin Lisa began dipping more deeply into the blogging pool, and I started to watch the interactions going on in her comment section.  I eventually started making blogging friends myself, and realized that in order to keep interest going in my blog, I needed to up my posting efforts.

So began my journey through the blogosphere.  I must admit that I enjoyed having a slightly broader audience. That was my biggest motivator.  Of course, this is largely a mutual admiration soceity--I'll read yours if you read mine.    I found some great blogs out there, funny, honest, articulate, and I even made a few friends.  Most of those friends I have yet to meet, but one, at least, is in my ward, and it's been a great way to get to know her.  I also became much closer to my cousin than I think I've ever been.  So good things have come of this.

But as all of you wonderful bloggists know, reading blogs and making meaningful comments can become rather consuming.  And I am done.  Spending hours a week on Blogspot is not really how I want to spend all my time.  I'm not great at balance.  I tend to obsess.  Usually, however, I can obsess in an ADD kind of way, bouncing from one project to the next.  I actually have come to appreciate Facebook that way.  I can be on there for five minutes or nearly an entire day if I want, and then ignore it for weeks.  My friends are still there on my return, and no one has really even missed me.  Blogging is a bigger commitment.  I already have as many big commitments as I can handle.  

I'm not removing my blog.  I reserve the right to post now and then, as the spirit moves.  I plan on visiting my fellow bloggers now and then.  I might even leave a comment.  Then again, I might not.  I realize that this means I may loose some of the friendships that I have started.  And I think I have decided that that will be okay.  I will miss you.  I hope at least some of you will miss me.  But life sort of goes that way, doesn't it?

So friends, email me, leave a message on my Facebook wall, and I promise I will keep in touch.  Otherwise, if you're interested, check in now and then.  I may very well have something to share.

Pencil it in

I keep myself organized with a wall calendar.  I like that everything is posted there for the entire family to see.  Of course, the youngest two kids haven't caught the vision of checking the calendar yet.  I'm also pretty sure that Larry never looks at it.  If he did, he'd not be so frequently surprised about our plans.  But #s 1 and 2 always have a pretty good handle on the schedule.

This method also has its limitations.  The biggest one is pretty obvious.  The calendar is on my wall.  At home.  It doesn't come with me to the doctor or the dentist or the hairdresser.  So as I'm setting appointments, I'm always hoping that nothing conflicts.  I'm also banking on the fact that I will remember by the time I arrive home to write the appointment on the calendar.  If I have errands to run first, I may be in trouble.

Years ago I bought myself a planner.  I really wanted it to work out.  I used it very sporadically with limited success.  For several years at least its only function has been that of address book.  Secondary address book.  I have a primary one, which I received as a graduation gift from my young women presidency, that contains most of my addresses.  There are only a few entries that are current only in the planner.  Fifteen minutes of transcribing would eliminate the need for it entirely.

Here are my hang-ups with my planner:

1)  I'm not bad at writing things down in it.  I am bad at remembering to always have it with me.  I am also bad at checking it to see what I have going on that day as it simply becomes part of the clutter on my desk.  Or on the counter.  Or on my nightstand.  Like everything else.  

2)  I don't like seeing only one week at a time, I prefer putting my schedule in a larger context.   Perhaps I should have listed this first.  It's a big problem for me.  And yes, I know planners come with monthly inserts.  But then the little squares are too small to write more than one item in.  I often have four or more.

3)   When I use my planner, it becomes the place to jot down my  to do list.  This makes for a very filled up, hard-to-read, easy-to-miss-events calendar--even with the larger weekly sized squares.

4)  I can never get over the feeling that I need that wall calendar, so I end up recording information in duplicate.  That gets old pretty darn quickly.   And if I'm not perfect about writing appointments in both places ... well, I'm sure you can imagine the potential problems.  I think that if ever I want to make the transition once and for all I will need to give up the wall calendar.

For the gluttons for punishment still reading at this point, I will now share the story that necessitated this dry, wordy build-up.  It may not, in truth, be funny enough to have warranted this post.  What can I say?  The muse is still on holiday, I am assuming somewhere warm where she is sipping fruity beverages and getting a very nice tan.

Last summer I was given a small, paperback 2009 planner.  I thought, okay, not as bulky, cute--maybe this will work.  So far this year there are only three weeks that I've written in.  The first week of January, the second week of February, and the week before Easter.  I found the planner today, under a pile of papers on my desk, opened to that pre-Easter entry.  I chuckled to myself as I remembered filling in everything that had to be done that busy week and never looking at it again after that.  I checked out the page more closely.  The events happened three weeks ago.  But the dates read May 3rd through May 9th.  I hadn't noticed.  

The really funny part is that when I saw what I'd done, I was annoyed because I now cannot use the planner next week.  I'd written in pen.