Veteran's Day

My grandpa Rodney Oens.  My mom's dad.  He served in Korea during World War II.  I have his photo album from that time.  Tiny black and white photos of landscapes, people, little nekked Korean kids, and dead bodies.

He was a bit of a gypsy.  A real man of all work, master of none.  He was jovial and kind but he was also a stinker because he always got his own way.  He made excellent muffins.  He and my gramma fought.  A lot.  But sometimes they held hands.  They got married when she was only 16.  Did I mention he was a stinker?  When he had his first stroke, he went from being a real go-getter to being glum.  He could have gotten better, but he didn't because he was angry.  When I would take my little girls to see him in the VA nursing home he would pretend he couldn't talk.  Then if I left the room, he would ask Mike what the score of the baseball game was.

He died a few years ago.  Mike and the girls never knew the fast moving blur that he used to be and that I remember him as.

This is my grandad on my other side.  My dad's dad.  He served in the navy during World War II in the Pacific.  He was a tough nut.

When I think of Neal Landrum I think of sweet iced tea, a southern accent, and cigarette smoke.  He and Gramma (above) smoked all the time.  They had a house in Califonia that I can still smell to this day, twenty years since I've been there.  There was a guest bedroom that had a yellow chenille bedspread and they always had fudge pops for the grandkids.  He called me Lisa.  Then my cousin named Lisa was born and that got confusing.  He wasn't always a saint to everyone, but he was good to me.  Lung cancer took him a few years ago.

My gramma up there is my only surviving grandparent.

This one is my father in law, Keith, giving my husband-to-be a bottle.  How weird is that??  He was in the Navy and had a lot of crazy adventures.  He was on the USS Oriskany.  If you'd like a history lesson, look that up.  This is a video link to a fire that took place in '66.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kCNVBFFARkE    He's there somewhere, in the smoke.  It's not the only fire on board a ship that he was on...he was something of a black widow.

Here's a video of it sinking:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TNK0GM3OvU

Now it's one of the top ten diving spots in the world.  A huge coral reef.
My father in law is kind, funny, likes dumb jokes (like me), makes a killer pie, is unassuming, gentle, a morning person who always beats me to the coffee.  He likes to say that he dodged the draft.  By enlisting, that is.

This is Ian.  He's married to my sister and they have three rugrats (baby Buck wasn't born here during this shot.  I had a great shot of Ian demonstrating the difference between a soldier and a park ranger by the way you tip your hat, but for the life of me, I can't find it).  He's in the Army.  He's being deployed for a year on January 1.  I don't really like to think about it too hard.  He eats weird things like seaweed and wasabi everything and kelp popcorn, or some such thing.  He is also a cop.  He also cuts his toenails and leaves the clippings laying around.  He won't admit to it, but he totally watched every minute of the BBC miniseries, I think it was The Forsyte Saga, with me way back when when Cora was a baby, before he met and married my sister.


Thanks, men, for all you did and do.  We love you and appreciate you very much.

beautiful girl

I was going in the large grocery store doors yesterday and a beautiful young woman was coming out.  we passed each other through the door.  as most gals do i couldn't help noticing her, weighing myself by her standard and found wanting.  she had perfectly highlighted and flat ironed hair.  she was wearing great clothes that i doubt came from her local friendly goodwill.  she had a killer bag that made mine shrink under my arm in shame due to something sticky being spilled in the bottom and the fact that i had a two day old string cheese in there somewhere.  she had a rocking shape that boasted of either daily grueling workouts at the gym or an envious metabolism.  i suddenly remembered that the last time i set foot in a gym was to pick up my daughter from swim practice and i had a mocha with whipped cream in hand at the time.  like most (insecure) women do, i took all this in in the three seconds it took for us to pass one another.  my eyes glanced down at her feet without seeming to do so as i confiscated control of the door and she took it from me.




beautiful high heels of course.  why don't i grocery shop in high heels?


yet.


one was black, the other brown.


the same style.  exactly. 


she must have bought two pairs.  maybe a sale?  maybe just insanely comfortable shoes?


but two distinctly different colors.


and i smiled, but not in a mean-girl way, just in a maybe-we're-all-put-together-with-elmer's-glue-like-our-preschooler's-cut-out-paper-dolls.


and i realized maybe my mom, and your mom, and you when you say it to your kids, are right.  nobody's perfect, child.

Home made Cheezits

Well, these are so good I've pretty much decided that in order to have them everyday of my life, I will beg, borrow, steal, kill, pillage, destroy, maim, etc.   They're that good.  And because I think the world needs more cheesy crackers I am sharing them with you.

Not the actual crackers.  That would involve me sharing.

But the recipe.

Normally, I'd give credit where credit is due, but pretty much every recipe that came up on my midnight google search of "give me homemade Cheezits and no one gets hurt" are all the same.  So I don't know who originally came up with the whole thing, but I would kiss his boots if ever he came to call.

Here you go.  Make em.  You won't be sorry.  You may be fatter, but oh well.  Such is the price we pay for fatty, crisp, bite sized wonderfulness.

Homemade Cheezits Worth Dying For


Pulse in a food processor:
1 cup flour
4 tablespoon cold cut up butter
8 oz grated cheese (sharp is best.  However, I used Colby and have no regrets.  Except for the inhaling and forgetting to chew part.)
3/4 teaspoon salt and 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper


If you don't have a food processor, like yours truly, just use a mixer. Works fine.  Drizzle in cold water until it forms a ball.  Wrap ball in plastic wrap and freeze for 30 minutes.
Roll out between two sheets of wax paper or plastic wrap as thin as you can.  They're good pudgy and soft in the middle (like me) but they're even better super crispy, so thin is the goal (isn't it always? Sigh).  Cut out using one of your four zombie avenger pizza cutters.  Squares are classic but it's really the season for wreaths and trees and snowmen.  Sprinkle with salt.  Bake at 350 for 25 minutes.  Let em finish crisping for a few minutes before you take them off the sheet and snarf them with abandon. 

Marriage

We'd been together a few months here.  Fourteen years ago.

She was shy, insecure, stubborn, probably passively aggressive.
He was blunt, comedic, stubborn, probably aggressively aggressive.

She was short and skinny, broke, artistic.  She was still dancing, but had lost some of the love for it.  She wouldn't order anything to eat, ever, when out with friends causing them to confront her about eating disorders.  She just didn't like the ugly business of choosing something and then chewing and swallowing it in front of anyone.  She drove a two toned beat up car.  She wasn't getting along with her sister.

He was zealous about religion, loud, stressed out about work.  He was performance driven, romantic, funny, but sometimes rude.  He drove a pick up where a lot of kissing took place, especially at red lights.  He didn't like to be alone.

He talked all the time.  She didn't.

He wanted a blonde career woman.

She wanted a boot wearing cowboy.

She wasn't interested in careers.

He wasn't interested in boots.

Sometimes they argued but it was only about big things, not the little things that everyone always says you'll argue about when you get married, like toothbrushes and how to make the coffee and whether or not to have decorative hand towels.

She can't focus in clutter or chaos; it makes her depressed and tumultuous inside.

He will always put dirty spoons on the counter after she's washed it down.

He loves football.

She will always have a martyred look on her face when he watches it.

He likes sugar.

She likes salt.

They learn eventually that looks and expressions say more than words in a marriage.

Once she got so angry at him she threw her set of car keys at his face.
Luckily, she throws like a girl or he'd be wearing an eye patch now.

He likes to talk about his feelings.

She would rather write about them.

He is her biggest fan even when she makes him crazy.

She is his best friend even when he does the wrong thing.

Now they don't argue about the big things anymore because they have all that worked out.  Birth control and vaccinating and home schooling and budgets and travels and moves - all the kinks have been beautifully ironed so that there are never any wrinkles to unfold and discover that inside is a nasty difference of opinion.  Instead they argue now about the dumb little things, like toothbrushes and how to make the coffee and whether or not to have decorative hand towels.

They don't say the wrong things anymore, but since they know what one another is thinking they might as well sometimes.  She mentally curses his eyesight when she picks up his dirty socks from the bedroom floor.  He mentally rolls his eyes when he asks how he can help around the house and the offer only makes her mad.

Their flaws are more evident the older their children grow because it's like being followed around by three miniature looking glasses with milk mustaches and footy pajamas.

He can be insensitive and she can be manipulative, but they are both forgiving.

What about all of you?  What has marriage taught you?

This post is linked up at:

Homeschool Blog Awards

Hey, guys, don't know how it happened but thedazeofus is nominated in several categories for the big time Homeschool Blog Awards!  Yaaa, you and me!  Cuz this thing is a group effort, you know.  You are the almondy butter to my honey...the sugar cubes to my English Breakfast...the Bert to my Ernie...the Kumbaya to my campfire.

Without that being said, will you hop over and vote for me?  I'm in a few categories:  example:  Favorite Mom Homeschool Blog, Funniest Blog, Nitty-Gritty Blog, etc.   You can only vote once per category, but I promise it only takes a minute...


 http://hsbapost.com/

Family Bonding is Distressing

They're so cute...

...like baby piranhas...

They're so dang lovable.

How can I possibly want to hide from them in the bathroom and eat pasta until I melt into a puddle of Melyssa and Gorgonzola?

That one at the top?  He is a puppy in striped pajamas.  He is wearing a leash.  He is eating cereal out of a bowl on the floor.  He just told me he's "Mindy from the network."  (Bolt).  He has all fifty states memorized.  This is not due to my spectacular parenting as I had to stop and think if there were indeed, fifty states.

The one in the middle photo keeps getting disqualified from her heats at swim meets.  She is rebellious and won't follow the rules.  I blame her dad.  She wouldn't sit still and listen to our family reading of The Hobbit.  She made dinner so we forgive her lack of family spirit.

The last one up there gives me anxiety attacks for the teenage years to come.  Her future husband must enjoy  being the steak to her mushrooms, for he will be smothered until he surrenders.  She insisted on unbuttered popcorn...yet will not learn to pop it...so she sits, dejected...like a wounded small elf...on the corner of the couch while we read The Hobbit...until she melts down the side of the couch like so much unwanted butter...and she pouts some more on the floor.

Excerpts of The Hobbit were peppered with the neurotic dog pacing...back and forth...back and forth...doggy toenails on a hardwood floor under vaulted ceilings...Mommy interrupting to say things like

Move that glass, it's going to get spilled.


Don't sit on the couch like that, it's not good for it.


Get your face out of the popcorn bowl.  Yes, I know you're a puppy but you can't put your face in the popcorn bowl.


I know he put his face in, I'm sitting right here!


Be careful of Daddy's stomach, he just had surgery.


Let go.


Be nice.


Shh.


Starving kids in China would LOVE to have Daddy read to them!!


The dishes are piling up...the laundry is too...we lost the car keys for Mike's car...I will have to drive him to work at zero-dark-thirty...bedtime can't come soon enough...

I am blessed.

Father Time Drinks CoffeeMate

I thought I was the only one with a peculiar habit.  Turns out when I mentioned it on Facebook, lots of people confessed they do the same.

What?  Well, I'm glad you asked (pretend you asked).

We judge the time and space continuum by the expiration dates on our dairy products.  What does this mean, for those of you who don't know this sneaky little trick for telling time?

Well, say, for instance that you are with child.  These tiny humans take ten months to cook.  Not nine.  Don't argue with me on the math; I almost committed spousalcide when Hubby corrected me when I was preggers with Cora.  That's like saying the first month didn't even count.  Whaaaa?  Huh?  I had the tossed cookies to prove it.  Anyway, back to how dairy fits into the biological clock.  You can count off the days using cream cheese.  For instance:

By the time this Land O' Lakes expires, I will be fatter than Shamu and just as shiny.


OR


When this French Vanilla coffeemate has run its course, I will be stuffing cabbage leaves in my nursing bra.


OR


When this cheddar starts evolving into blue cheese I will have a small child and an extra spare tire, both of which will need names.


I'm not sure when I started doing this but it is an interesting measure of time.  I pulled out the milk yesterday and it doesn't expire until December 18!  This was so helpful to me because I had no idea it was time to turn on the holiday music, but, YES!  The milk tells me so!  And Horizon Organic 1% never lies.  They're like the Mother Theresa of milks.


Naturally, things expire at different rates, but this works out well because you can divide your fridge into sections according to your calender.  For instance:


The pickles don't expire for three more years.  By the time I eat this last pickle I will be meeting Cora's boyfriends,  dropping Roo off on Broadway for summer camps, and Moose will be finishing up #2 in the bathroom without hollering for me and my talent with the toilet paper.


OR

This half and half expires tomorrow.  By the time this half and half expires I will have showered!  My feet smell like pickles.


OR

This can of whipped cream expires in one month.  I shall start that diet in one month and one day.


It really is a handy dandy way of telling time and planning out your life.  Try it.  You'll never go back to clocks.