Long Johns

Forget being concerned about what I'm wearing when I walk my child to the end of the driveway. Let's begin to concern ourselves with HOW MUCH I'm wearing. It is FRIGGIN' COLD!!! When we moved here everyone told me how cold the winters were going to be. Well, we lived in Colorado, we would counter. Lemme tell you Colorado ain't got nuthin' on this place. How much difference can a little humidity make to your icy winter you ask? Enough.

This morning I walked him out wearing my husband's boots, my new pajamas (not the heart ones with holes worn in them any longer), my new full-length hoodie robe (my husband calls it my snuggie, or my winter mumu--I like to think of it as a warm hug, or the northern version of the Fabulous Gown), my coat, my scarf, my hat, my hood . . . oh, and I didn't wear gloves thinking My pockets will suffice, how long really is the driveway? Long enough.

It's days like this I'm grateful for food storage and the ability to work from home. I think I'm going to need some long johns.

PS. The biggest plus to the snowy season: shoe tying. I know, who'dathunkit? Ethan, wanting to wear his new snow boots to school, finally allowed me to teach him to tie his shoes. That way, he can change from his boots to his shoes without the teacher's help like the other kids do. The whole teaching process took about 60 seconds. We'd tried to no avail several times in the past. Did I mention that Ethan does things only when he is good and ready--and then he does them very well. Well, he does. I don't know where he gets that stubborn streak.

Pajama Time

I sometimes feel a bit sheepish about the fact that I walk Ethan out to catch the bus at the end of our driveway in my pajamas (lately I've mostly just felt COLD). Sometimes I feel like holding a sign up to explain to all the cars passing me by on their way to work that says "Hey!! I've been up working since 6 am--this is my uniform! Don't judge me!" But then I don't feel so bad when, on the occasion I pick him up from school in the afternoon, I'm waiting outside the school with moms in their PJs at 3:30 pm. Perhaps they consider their own "Don't judge me" signs for my benefit. Perhaps they don't care.

Then today, it happened. Ethan missed the bus. Mostly my fault. So we jumped in the freezing car and headed to school.

Can I just drop you here?

Will you just walk me across the bus lane so I'm sure to be safe mom?

Can you argue with that?

So, I got out of my minivan with my bed-head tucked under my hoodie, dressed to the nines in my pj bottoms covered in pink hearts. Apparently I'm no longer the carefree college co-ed who once for fun went grocery shopping with my roommates with our wet hair wrapped up in towel-turbans. No, I have to admit I did feel a bit embarrassed as I walked with all these well dressed parents dropping their kids off before heading to work. Where did I put my sign?

Maybe on this sign I'd write something like "Hey, it doesn't matter what I wear to work! I had a conference call yesterday in just my bra!" Then again, perhaps they'd get the wrong impression about my job. (My shirt was just in the dryer--it's not like it was a video conference anyway!--I hope my boss doesn't read this). Maybe I've become too nonchalant with the whole working from home thing. Maybe I'll start getting up at five, so I can be showered and dressed up by 6 to start work . . . on second thought, I'll stick to stumbling from my bed the whole five feet to my office door, rubbing sleep from my eyes as my computer boots up, working for a couple of hours, doing the whole mom thing for a few more hours, and getting showered by noon (most days). Just don't come knocking on my door in the morning. Unless you're coming to see my new pjs.

Awed By Horses

Have I mentioned what a fantastic life I lead? I mean we have our ups and downs, but every day when I step out of my house I think "I LIVE here!--Here, in this amazing and beautiful place!"

This afternoon we were out in the horse pasture scooping sand into empty horse feed bags (long story), when suddenly we were surrounded by about twenty of the enormous creatures. No, it wasn't my animal magnetism, it was simply the fact that we were rustling feed bags. Still, for a very large person, it's a rare experience to be surrounded by living breathing things that are that much bigger than me. Perhaps it was simply this fact, that I suddenly didn't feel quite so big, that was so astounding. Perhaps that's what petite people feel like in a crowd--I'll never know. I mean, I've been near the horses before, but generally from the other side of a fence or next to one in a stall, not out in the open and completely surrounded. They were so curious--nosing into my feedbags. I felt bad when they discovered it was just sand.

We finished, loaded into the truck and tried to drive away. I was boxed in on four sides. A dozen of them were still nosing into the bags in the bed of the truck, while another couple boxed me in from the front. I think they were working together--convinced I was hiding something. Eventually I coaxed them into moving and began to drive off. That's when I noticed one of them running along side the truck. For a moment I pretended there wasn't a truck and I was riding bareback on the black stallion on the beach, my hands flapping at my side . . .

Truck notwithstanding, it was a pretty cool afternoon for me and Elliot.

Another Day Older

And deeper in gratitude.

What a cheesy opener. But oh so true. Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be 36 (which is not nearly as old as I once thought it was). I LOVE MY BIRTHDAYS!!! Ask me why . . . Okay, since you asked, I'll give you my top three:

1) It's all about ME! And, what self-centered person can honestly say having a day dedicated to themselves isn't fantastic?

2) I've earned every single year. And doesn't life just keep getting better? Like, oh heavens, wasn't getting out of your twenties just GRAND?! Really, by then, you're just more comfortable in your own skin and care so much less about what other people think of you. To paraphrase a friend: Sure, it's nice if you like me, but if you don't, it just doesn't bother me very much. EXACTLY.

3) It's close to Thanksgiving. And I LOVE me some Thanksgiving! What other holiday is completely centered on food, family, food, friends, food and more food. It's the perfect holiday for the food addict. Throw my birthday in the mix and it's like a big party to celebrate ME, the people I like, and GOOD FOOD!

I am very grateful through out the year, but especially now, when I am reminded of all my blessings. Shall I count them? Okay, if you insist, but only the top three again, lest I become gratuitous and boring:

1) My children. What beautiful, wonderful, treasured blessings they are in my life. My life would have been very very different without them.

2) My husband. Ditto. My life diverged at one point, heading down an unexpected and life-altering path with him. And that has made all the difference.

3) My family--especially my parents. I would not be the person I am today were it not for the tantamount sacrifices made and patience exhibited on my behalf year after year after year after year.

4) The gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. Without which, this life would have no meaning, and my life would be utterly wasted.

So that was four, but I couldn't help myself.

I am thankful.

Fun Facts With Jen

Of late, I have needed to obtain some information from state government websites and occasional phone calls to agencies. From this foray into the world of online governent services, I have learned much more than I had ever wanted to know. For your reading pleasure, here is a brief sampling of my extracuriccular fun facts:

1)Typically, there are different standards for handling medical waste that is still in recognizable human body-part form, than those for just generic blood, urine and feces. I would certainly hope so. Otherwise, it'd be quite a shock to those landfill monster compactor drivers.

2)Remember the days of flushing your expired pharmaceuticals down the toilet? Well, no more. Since we're getting healthy doses of the neighborhood's medicine cabinet in our drinking water, everyone is scrambling for some kind of guidance. Some of the best ones they've come up with so far are suggestions such as hiding your extra narcotics inside a sealed box, inside another sealed box in hopes that no errant drug dealer or small child happens upon it before it makes it to the landfill for the seagulls to get stoned on--seriously, that's the best they've come up with so far. Perhaps on that outer box you should write "Nope, no drugs with any kind of street value in here, mr. oxycontin addict!"

3)Any conversation with a government official that involves phrases like "so, suppose you're undergoing surgery and in the course of that surgery, blood is sprayed everywhere . . ." is just plain wierd.

4) Some states spend their tax dollars on useful, clear websites and online tools. Others apparently spend their funds on posting pictures of their lovely elected officials in various pantsuits with matching shades of lipstick, smiling at you, nay, laughing at you, as you laboriously attempt to navigate their painfully poorly designed sites (ah-ah-ah-chwestvirginia-ooo!!!--excuse me!)

Who would've guessed back in the days when I was obtaining my Bachelor's of Theatre Arts, that one day, I would be putting my incredible talents to use in such interesting ways.

I'm sorry I can't tell you any more about my assignment, I may have already said to much. Don't worry though, if it turns out I have to kill you, I'll be sure and properly dispose of both your body parts and fluids.

Karma for Martha, a Tragedy in Two Acts

Luke 10: 38-42

Act One: Fool Me Once

Scene
A woman, alone in a kitchen. Her husband has recently had hand surgery and she has been caring for him. Her child has taken ill as well. Her family is asleep after a long day.

Woman: Boy, don't I feel accomplished! I'm the ultimate caretaker! I've cooked, cleaned, sewed, cared for my child and my husband. I think I'll make me a cup of something warm and soothing before bed. You know what sounds oh so good right now? Orzo! I don't drink coffee, and hot chocolate is a bit too sweet tonight, so I'll have a bit of this barley drink--it's like liquid dark chocolate. Now, how do you use this little espresso maker anyway?

She fills it up, sets it on the stove to brew, finishes cleaning the stove and doing the dishes, when suddenly, the espresso pot explodes, spewing barley grounds all over the clean kitchen.


Woman: Well, that was dumb of me! Now I have to clean it all up again. I wonder what I did wrong? Oh well, a woman's work is never done! I sure wish I had help, woe is me.


Act Two: Fool Me Twice

Scene. Three nights later. Woman is again alone in the kitchen, exhausted, having taken ill herself along with her other child. She has spent all week caring for them and is feeling sorry for herself.

Woman: I really should just go to bed. I've spent all day caring for my family. I'm spent, I'm ill, I'm exhausted . . . but there are dirty dishes all over the kitchen, and who is going to wash them if I don't? Woe is me. Woe is me.

I know, I'll put on some water for a cup of something warm and soothing, and do these dishes. It won't take but a few minutes, I'll be in bed with a warm and soothed tummy and a great sense of accomplishment. I've read the instructions on the box, and surely I can make the espresso pot work this time.

She begins unloading the dishwasher, all the while feeling like falling over. The pot begins to spit. She rushes over to it, but neglects to remove it from the heat.

Woman: Here we go, look, it must just be up too high, the grounds are clogging the little vent. If I just stick a fork in---

EXPLOSION! The pot spews boiling water, scalding steam and barley grounds all over the woman, searing her exposed neck. She screams, takes off her clothes and runs to the shower, crying as she douses herself in cold water.

Woman: I should have just gone to bed.


END

Fables & Food

You know the one about the Grasshopper and the Ant? How the ant worked all summer and fall, storing food for the winter and the lazy grasshopper just played and played until suddenly it's cold, he's hungry and knocking on the ant's door for assistance and the ant slams the door in his face.

I once read an alternative version about how the grasshopper was welcomed with open arms by the ants who were so bored they were dying for some entertainment. The grasshopper contributed his music, the ants fed him, all did their part, yada yada.

Upon reading that I thought THAT'S IT!!! I'M A GRASSHOPPER! I think I'll go major in theatre . . .

That was a long time ago. Here's my new version:

Once upon a time there was an ant that worked very hard all day every day, all summer long gathering food for the winter. A young grasshopper watched the ant very carefully, envious at her fine abilities to store and preserve, at her patience for seemingly mindless tasks, at her knowledge and wisdom. Then, easily distracted, the grasshopper hopped away, singing and playing. The ant smiled and kept working.

That winter, when the weather turned cold and the ant was cozy in her home, the grasshopper came knocking, hungry and cold. "Of course you can come in!" Said the ant. And she welcomed the young grasshopper in.

The grasshopper entertained the ant, they kept each other company swapping stories and songs and recipes (which grasshopper tucked somewhere in the depths of her mind). Then spring would return and each would return to her labors.

This continued for several seasons, the ant working, the grasshopper watching, the two sharing a hearth for the winter. Then, one spring, the ant paused in her work to smile at an older, stronger grasshopper attempting to gather some seeds. She did it poorly and inefficiently, and with much distraction, but by the end of the season, she had a small store as evidence of her labors. That winter the two again shared a hearth, but now grasshopper had begun to ask more questions.

Just how do you store your grain for maximum nutrient retention? She would ask. And the old ant would impart as much wisdom and knowledge as she could. And the grasshopper remembered. The next several seasons the grasshopper became better and better at her work. She no longer played as much, though she still loved a good story and lovely music. But she was finding new joy in a new labor.

One year as the two now old friends shared their winter hearth, a knock was heard at the door. A young cicada was shivering, cold and hungry. The two friends smiled at her and at each other and welcomed her in, sat her by the fire, and gave her something yummy to eat.

The end.

Do you want to see what I've been doing lately?














Canning is my new obsession.

Though I think it's just a new incarnation of my old obsession; food.

My assistant


















My next victim:

Have I mentioned how much I LOVE FALL!?!? And how much I've grown to LOVE my basement? But these are both food for other posts . . .