Stolen Candy, Polish Jokes and Jingling Change: An Homage to Dad

So today is my dad's birthday. He would have been 62, but passed away a year and a half ago. I thought about writing this when I was awake at 2am last night, but didn't. It was one of those nights where you pick up a book to read a chapter before bed, then realize you may as well stay up until morning, which I should have done because I found my children eating goldfish crackers for breakfast since I couldn't get my sleepy butt out of bed... Anyway. I'm still pretty emotional about it all and almost decided to not write this. Maybe next year, when it isn't still so fresh. Yes, 18 months is still fresh for me. But, here it is. I don't know if I'll hit "publish" yet, but... here it is - for me.

My dad was awesome. I know some of that is a child/parent perspective, but I also know that most of that is true. I know he had faults (who of us doesn't?) so I'm not making him into something he's not, but he was special. He grew up in a family of 7 kids and his dad died when he was a baby. I remember him saying he didn't know how to be a father because he didn't have an example, but he really, really did know how. He loved his family, spent time with us, made things special for us, worked hard for us, invested in us and totally took care of us. My mom did/does, too. She's an unsung hero that really needs a song.

So I don't forget, I wanted to make a list of some of my favorite things and memories of my dad, and really they're about my mom, too. So my family, I guess.

* Friday nights were special - it was prize night and fight night. We got a little candy or something when he came home from work and my brother and I got to have a "wrestling match" with him in the living room. Being a mom now, I realize how horrible this was for my mom - waiting with hands over eyes for that first scream of accidental pain. We found out years later that she set a timer for our wrestling matches and would physically wind it down herself to make it end quickly. Which was wise since there were knocked out teeth and dislocated elbows. But, all I remember was the fun of being tossed around and fighting against someone so strong and big. Which is also why I let my hubby toss around our girls and "play wild" which is what we call it in our house. With my hands over my eyes, of course.

Fight Night continued for many years...

* In high school my dad would drive me to school every Friday morning. It was kind of our time to catch up, connect and spend one on one time together - even if it was only 20 min. We would always stop at Circle K and get a doughnut and small carton of milk for breakfast. And every time I took a drink of milk he would speed up so it would spill down my face, then act like he had no idea that he'd done that. Every. Time. I could have used a straw, but it would have ruined our joke.

* He was a gifted storyteller and always wanted to be a writer. I think that's part of why I write this blog. He always encouraged me to write and thought I should write a children's book. I tried and it didn't work. I'm not that kind of storyteller. It went on and on. This format works for me for some reason - I wish I would have done this before he died so he could have read it. Ever since we were very little we were told the never-ending stories about Wilbur the Ladybug. He wasn't too happy to be a "lady"bug and he and his friends had great adventures. Usually we heard about him to distract us when we were doing something unpleasant. Like laying on the counter with our head in the sink while mom tried to get lice out of our hair. Or when there was a big splinter that needed to be removed. The kind that needs a sterilized needle and an ice cube to numb it.

* He and mom invented the Silly Bugs which are mythical creatures who visit the night before your birthday and play silly tricks on you while you're sleeping. Balloons everywhere, a spider-web of string to climb through, shoes stuffed with paper so they don't fit, socks all tied in knots... And always a little note in very silly, backwards, misspelled writing wishing us a Hapy Burfdey. When I was in my 20s and living overseas/missing my family on my birthday, I got a package from my parents and the SBs had put a little note in for me, too! I guess it was too far for their wings to fly, but they were thinking of all the tricks they'd play if I were closer. The Silly Bugs have found their way to our house and visit our girls each year, too.

* April Fool's Day was a national holiday in our family. We had a bag of jokes in the closet that we reused and "fell for" and laughed at every year. Things like a ketchup & mustard squeeze bottle that squirted out red or yellow string. A can of peanuts that had a snake pop out, and my personal favorite: a postcard saying you won a bike and to just call this number to collect it (and the number was only half readable, the rest was smudged). I remember bringing that letter in from the mailbox many times. When we got older my brother and I did more physical pranks - like taping the sprayer handle on the kitchen sink closed and pointing straight ahead so whoever turned the water on was blasted in the face. (Sorry, Katie.) At school our lunch was a crazy lunch of dyed milk, paper in our sandwich, one year there was a big rubber alligator when I opened my lunchbox. My teacher even sent home a note thanking them for such a fun lunch.

* Speaking of jokes, every night my dad would tell us a joke at dinner. But he would start them out like a real story and halfway through one of us would say, "Is this a joke?!" He loved telling Polish jokes and my favorite one is about the Polack and the cannibals... :)

* My dad was a great teacher and preached at church every so often. Of course, he would use real-life examples from home so I always sat there and wondered what crazy story he would use that Sunday.

* He also loved to sing, and had a nice voice, but since my mom, sister and I were the "singers" in the family, he always gave us the limelight. But, I remember standing next to him at church and listening to him sing hymns and loving it. I still hear his voice when I hear Tis So Sweet To Trust In Jesus, There's Something About That Name, and Blessed Assurance. Once we had a talent show at church and our whole family did a play that he wrote. I remember having to "rake leaves" as part of it, then we all sang One Step At A Time from a Psalty record.

* He also loved "oldies" from the '60s & '70s. Not so old back then. :)  When he built our big shop in the backyard (my mom still lives in the house we were born in. Well, not actually BORN in, but lived in since before we were born.) he started with the deck/flooring (obviously) and we kids would use it as a stage to dance and sing on to really loud oldies music. My favorite was Indian Reservation by Paul Revere & the Raiders. I remember once he requested it on the radio for me and taped himself calling in and sent it to me on cassette when I worked at a summer camp. Oh, also my parents would use paper plates and balloons to make welcome home signs or happy birthday signs tacked to trees on roads leading up to our house with one word per sign so we'd be waiting until the next one to see what our message was. I totally forgot about that until right now!

* On Mother's Day we would get up early with him and make a special breakfast for my mom. The only thing I really remember making, though, is a fruit salad in a carved out watermelon. Can that be right?! Hmm... I do remember bringing things in on a tray for her though. Maybe the watermelon was for New Year's Day brunch. We still got up early to help with that, too.

* He made really good breakfasts. Fried eggs over medium were his specialty. We loved the "moojh/maash" of the yolk on toast and his crispy hash browns. Hot breakfasts are still my favorite.

* He comes from a Polish family and gave us (me?) a love for Polish things. I remember doing a report on Poland, buying a Polish phrase book that my friend Sarah and I put to good use in the mall, pretending to be foreign... and my first (only?) Polish Polka record, which I still have and play. My favorite song on it is Those Were The Days (my friend) and I could sing along in Polish. Could. I also knew insults in Polish, my favorite being: May a chicken kick you in the shin. It sounds much meaner in Polish, so I'll keep that one to myself so you don't get in any fights.

* On New Year's we would stand on our front porch and bang pots and pans together and jingle change in our pockets to signify a prosperous new year. I remember him handing out handfuls of change to us. I still do that but it's usually just me and it feels a little weird. I'll teach the girls when they're older and not sleeping at 9pm.

* My dad also stuck up for me no matter what. Warning: confession of shame ahead! When I was a teenager my friend Jenni and I walked to a big grocery store a few stores down from my family's Christian Bookstore that we owned. While there were grabbed a couple of those little flavored tootsie rolls out of the bulk bin to eat while we walked around. I know, I know. Stealing is stealing. Well, I always wore big cardigans back then (shocking, I know) and we were in the store a long time and I must have put a couple of the candies in my cardi pocket and not even realized it. As we were walking out, the security guard grabbed me and asked me to empty my pockets. I honestly had NO idea what he was taking about. As I put my hand in, my heart sank. I pulled out the candies and was taken upstairs to the security office where all my info was taken, he threatened to call the police, and I was banned from the store. He walked with me to our store and asked to meet with me and my dad in the back room. I was so ashamed and humiliated and scared that I'd disappointed my dad. But - he was mad. I've never seen him so mad. He didn't ok my wrong, but let that guy know that it was ridiculous for him to waste time and money on 3 cents worth of candy. To humiliate a young girl who isn't a trouble-maker and I'll tell you, that guy left with his tail between his legs. I felt so protected and loved. And knew that no matter what, my parents had my back.

* My dad taught me to drive, too. In a station wagon that had a lever, like a turn signal one, as the horn button for some reason. It was broken and glued in so it didn't work. I remember them asking me to honk the horn during my test and having to explain that it was superglued into the car and wouldn't work. Awkward! Dad was a truck driver for a delivery company for a long time (and had one very tan left arm and very white right arm to prove it!) until he started working in the office-end of that, and I always aspired to be a great driver, like him. I think that's why I loved playing Pole Position (if you don't know this reference, it's a sad day for you, my friend.) I hated driving at first. I didn't get my license until I was almost 18 because I was too afraid of that kind of power. Now I love it - ha! My first car was my beloved Toyota Camry, a stick-shift. I had a car, so I had to learn how to drive a stick. He took me to the empty parking lot behind Target to practice and honestly, I don't like driving automatics. The Explorer I have now is the first automatic I've had, and I prefer a manual transmission. My mom and sister never learned to drive a stick, although I've offered to teach them! But, my sister lives in Seattle, so even I'd be nervous on those hills!

* He also drove a Seattle city bus for a while, too. He had regular customers and would get to know them. He'd do games and trivia contests for them to make their ride fun. He was a people person who invested in people.

* We have a basketball hoop in front of our house and that's another thing I remember and appreciate about my dad. He was the block dad. All the kids would come to our house to play and shoot hoops with him. His hook shot was his famous shot and he always won when we played horse - well, when he didn't let us beat him. I played a lot of basketball on our street with him and my brother and the other kids. We were a safe place and people could tell that he was a good, safe dad. My husband is like that, too. I love it. Growing up, one of our neighbor boys was very troubled and still lives there, involved in drugs and gang stuff. He still would seek out my dad and my dad still invested in him, giving him food, attention and making him feel like he's a valuable person. I'm sure he feels loss from dad's passing, too.

* He was also a good husband. I'm sure my parents had their fights and arguments and stress, but they didn't let that spill over onto us. Our house always felt safe and loving. Once we kids left the house, my parents didn't fall apart like a lot of couples do when the kids are gone and they don't know each other anymore. They went on dates and to marriage retreats and after we left, they went on weekend adventures exploring Washington together. They were two months away from being married 40 years when he passed away, and still in love. I'm so proud of them and proud to be their kid.

* My mom and dad always encouraged me to take risks and follow what I felt I was supposed to do. Even if it included skipping college to live overseas doing missionary work for years. Even when two years ago I felt like I needed to go on a missions trip to Africa, leaving my family, raising a LOT of money and leaving a not-thrilled (for safety reasons) husband at home. If my dad had told me it wasn't a good idea I probably wouldn't have gone, but he told me that opportunities don't unite with heart-desires for no reason. I'd regret it if I didn't go. And I would have.

Dad praying with me before bed

* My dad was a fixer. "My daddy can fix anything!" I remember saying a lot. Not just stuff, but arranging things, trips, drawing maps for me. My glove compartment was filled with hand-drawn maps from my dad, getting me anywhere I needed to go in Seattle. I just put the destination name at the top and pulled it out when I needed it!

* He was always involved in family stuff. He played games during game night, took us to Mariner's games, came to T-ball games and ballet recitals, AND my best friend in high school, Heather, and I took our dads to prom one year. Honestly, I was nervous, but it was fun. And one of the intimidating girls in my class told me later that she thought it was cool that we did that, and that she didn't think her dad would go if she asked him.

* He was a great Boppa, as his grandkids called him. These four kiddos love him and he loved them. They still talk about the scavenger hunts he would create for them, playing him in Wii boxing, and snuggling with him while they played Barbies, played restaurant or heard a story. When we were young, Robert the Rose Horse was a favorite. He could really work up a good sneeze for that one, throwing the book and jostling us off of his lap. I think that's when I started to love reading to kids - it was so fun to make it come alive.

Boppa and the grandkids

Dad reading to me

Well, I know there are a million more memories and stories. I'm sure I'll remember them in a few hours. But for now, on his birthday, this is a little way to honor him and my mom for being great parents and raising three great kids, and passing on morals and ways to make a child feel loved, wanted and safe. This is one family cycle I don't want to break. I love you, Daddy.

Turkey-schmirky. Let's talk grilled cheese.

Yes, tomorrow's Thanksgiving. I'm excited, I really am! Honestly, it's the only time of year I eat turkey and cranberry sauce... Mmmmm... cranberry sauce. The real kind, not the kind shaped like the can after it's been put on a plate. "Sauce" should not have ridge marks, if you ask me.

TOTALLY SIDETRACKED!! You came here to read about grilled cheese. The contradictory sensations of crisp and ooey-gooey. The tangy taste of pickles (yes, I know. Keep reading...) and cheese. Are you hungry yet?

So. According to my adoring public (the hubs and the kids) I'm pretty much the best grilled cheese sandwich maker around. I don't want to brag or anything, but... yeah. They calls it like they sees it.

Yes, there's only one half. I ate the other.
Can you blame me?! Look at that crispy cheese
on the end!

There are three key steps and more importantly, one last "very-important-you're-missing-out-if-you-don't-do-this-step" step.

1. The bread: Something with nubby stuff is best. Honey wheat berry is my preferred bread of choice. Just do it.
2. The cheese: Tillamook medium cheddar and a little mozzarella. Trust me.  
3. The pickles: True hamburger dill chips - NOT kosher or sweet or bread & butter. Why do they even make those kinds anyway?! Don't argue - just do it.

Important: Just because there's a picture of a grilled cheese sandwich on the wrapper DOES NOT mean you should ever make a grilled cheese sandwich with that weird, semi-bitter, strange tasting pseudo-cheese. Don't do it. Ever!

So. I'm treating you to the perfect grilled cheese recipe. Happy Thanksgiving.

1. Butter your bread. 
2. Lay down thin slices of Tillamook cheddar cheese on your base slice. 
3. Put this in your pan. It's easier to make the layers if you do it in the pan.
4. Make three rows of three pickle chips across the whole bread face. That's nine pickle chips. One for every little bite. I guess if you're a wimp you can just do two rows of three. But, really. I have to draw the line somewhere. Just do it. 
5. Sprinkle some mozzarella on top of the pickles. This step is key, as it acts as a glue for the pickles and the bread. Plus, hello! Mozzarella?! Yum. Don't forget to "accidentally" sprinkle some mozzarella cheese onto your skillet for a little crispy/melty cheese snack as you wait.
6. Put your top bread on.
7. Put a lid over your sandwich so everything gets melty at the same time.
8. Check and flip (Carefully... Carefully...! You don't want to lose any pickles!)
9. This time do NOT put a lid over your sandwich or the top will get soggy.

AND...

Here is your "very-important-you're-missing-out-if-you-don't-do-this-step" step:

 10. You HAVE to let your fresh-out-of-the-pan GCS rest on a baking rack for a minute or so. You have to. If you put it on a plate, I guarantee you the bread will turn soggy with condensation. Try to flip it if you want, that side will be soggy, too. It's just one of the rules of the universe, friend. Sorry. And, who wants to eat a soggy grilled cheese sandwich? Not me. Not you. Not anyone.

You're welcome.

Mmm.. So ooey-gooey, yet crisp and crunchy!

I Have A Cat. (This is NOT a false alarm...)

You guys. There's a cat in my house! I keep freaking out when I see her out of the corner of my eye. Apparently, she's our pet now... A CAT. If you know me at all, you KNOW how much I hate  can't stand  have issues with felines. I have to be upfront with you: I'm not an animal lover. Shocking, but true. I don't wish them harm, I'm not going to kick them as I walk by, but I can barely contain a grimace if they touch me. I don't know, I just don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sure the hate mail will be pouring in now, but whatever. You have flaws, too. You know you do.

Here's the deal with me and cats:

1. ..... (I'm trying to come up with something nice...)

2. I'd only get a cat because my family loves animals and I'm not THAT selfish.

3. They're not monkeys, which is a plus because I'm terrified of monkeys.

4. If I had to get a cat, I'd only want a light gray colored one. Don't ask me why.

5. I'm allergic to cats.

6. They're not monkeys, so it really could be worse.

7. Cats DO like me and always rub against my legs, even though I know they can feel my disdain. I'm pretty sure I've see them smile as they do so...

8. I do not understand people who love cats and dogs. I just don't get it, and I'm ok with that - I'm sure you feel exactly the same about us non-animal lovers. I know I'm not the only one out there!

Back to the creature in my home. My good friend (the term "best" is now in question after her trickery) had another friend with some tiny little kittens. I mean, come on - who doesn't "Aw!" at a little kitten! She got one of them and convinced me that her kitten needed his sister nearby and that it was gray. I wanted to be the good parent for once (since the hubs always gets to be the good, fun one and I have to tell the girls a million times to clean up their room and eat their peas) so I said we could go see her. She wasn't gray. Not even close. I was lied to. And, my girls were in love so I would be the big meany parent who held a cute kitten up in front of them, then said, "Just kidding!! Hahahah!" Sigh. We took a black kitten home. See, I'm not all bad!

Picking up our kitten - spray bottle included!
One of many... My smile may be a little fake.

She was nameless for at least a week, since the only name the girls could agree on was Meatball Starlight Starbright. All one name. It was just too much, and she was the little runt, at just one pound, so we put our foot down and brainwashed the girls into thinking Molly was the best name. We're awesome parents like that.

Here's what I've found out since having a cat:
1. She was a really cute kitten.
2. WAS
3. She's a really good jumper/climber. Sigh.
4. I have a lot of things to jump/climb on.
5. Cats are very low maintenance. Which is awesome. For real awesome, not sarcastic awesome.
6. She does not obey commands like a dog would. She just stares at me and rolls her eyes.
7. I'm super glad she's not a monkey. Again, lots of things to climb on.
8. I need to hide my makeup bag because Monster Me (refer to earlier posts for an explanation of this) has taken my eyelash/brow brush and played beauty salon with Molly without telling me. I discovered this after I used it and my eyes puffed up. Did I mention I'm allergic? Awesome. (Totally sarcastic awesome this time.)

We were handed a spray bottle with our kitten as a training tool. I had no idea what for at the time. I've bought at least 4 more since that fateful day. I keep one hooked onto my pocket. The spray bottle doesn't work very well. Now that she can jump, she does. When she sees the spray bottle she runs for her life and as soon as I turn my back, she's up again. She jumped up on our computer desk at about 2am and walked on the printer on the top shelf, which turned it on and started the copying feature. Which is very loud. Which scared the heck out of me. Which made me think we were being robbed. Which made me grab the first weapon I could find. Which happened to be the spray bottle. Luckily, Molly saw the bottle and zoomed away (trailing computer cords behind her) and I didn't have to squirt a bad guy in the face. Especially since it takes a couple of pumps to get a good, strong jet of water.

I now live in a sticky world...

She also keeps walking on my alarm clock and turning various alarms and "nap" buttons on. I've shot out of bed several times to a blaring alarm at midnight. And 2am. Thanks, Molls. Thanks.

My other friend suggested putting sticky tape along the counters, to prevent jumping, since cats don't like sticky stuff on their paws. This method is still up in the air, but I know it's worked on me. I'm always getting stuck on the counter and I definitely avoid it.

Note the flower pot knocked from the
top cupboard onto the shelf; the dirt
and broken leaves all over my floor.

Hmm.. I wonder where
Molly could be.

Definitely NOT gray!

She does take after me
with her love of coffee.

So, yeah. She's grown. Animals, as well as humans, aren't as cute when they're big. It's just a fact of life. Yes, I'm dealing with it. No, I won't "accidentally" leave the door open for her to have the adventure of her life - we have a lot of raccoons around so it really would be an adventure - I'm not that cruel!

We got a new little house for her to play in, so maybe she'll entertain herself there for a while, instead of trying to scale my bamboo window blinds. Maybe... But never fear, my animal-loving friends! My hubby and girls LOVE this little cutie-girl (as Monster Me calls her) and give her much love and attention. We're developing a mutual respect for each other and learning to co-exist in the same house. But, if I hear that printer going off one more time... :)

1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = Crazy

You want to hear a joke?! I used to want eight kids! Ha!! I don't know if it was for the love of kids, or just so I could use up some of the awesome names I used to write on my Awesome Names List. I mean, Venus? Lavinia? Cordelia?! Come on, those aren't really fish names. You have to have some personality for those babies.

(I should preface all of this with the fact that I LOVE my nieces and love watching them, so don't stop asking, Pam!!)

Back to the Crazy. I have not two, not three, but FOUR little girls in my house for three days. Two age seven (J & E), one age four (E#2) and one almost two (K). All of that equals a house of crazy. I also just realized that those initials spell EEK!! Well, JEEK, but that doesn't really make sense, so we'll pretend that the J is silent...

I don't know how ya'll (yeah, you read that right - ya'll) with more than, say, two kiddos do it! I know it's different when they're your own, but still! How do you even have time to make more babies?! I took a shower this morning at the speed of light, I may even still be a little soapy, and still it seemed all h.e.-double hockey sticks had broken loose in the 2.5 seconds that took me.

Deep breath, June Cleaver time. I was gonna make homemade pancakes. Wait, did you catch that?! Homemade!! For reals! Like, I didn't microwave a thing!
Dream World: I pictured us all sitting around the breakfast table (well... the only table, just designated breakfast for now...) eating stacks of homemade pancakes, drizzled with syrup, chatting and laughing about silly dreams we'd had last night. I'd be wearing a cute apron, hair done and not still be a tiny bit slippery with soap.
Reality: Frantic. Grease splattered. Slippery. And, as each silver dollar-sized melt-in-your-mouth cake came out of that pan, it went straight into a hungry child's mouth. Every.Last.One. They were like ravenous wolves. They were lined up at the oven, mouths snapping at each morsel. I ate coffee for breakfast.

Hello, my name is Amy and I'm an introvert.

I wonder if introverts are less likely to have big families than extroverts. If you don't know the difference between the two, in a nutshell, introverts refuel with alone time, quiet time; extroverts refuel by being around others. Which makes absolutely NO sense to me. At all. By 8pm last night I had the kiddos in front of the tv (an educational show, don't judge!) with popsicles in hand (non-homemade and full of food coloring, I'm sure. Judge away...) while I was doing deep breathing, with my eyes closed by myself on the porch swing. As I was in my happy place, I started thinking about people who thrive in big families. Are they introverts? Doubt it. I can picture extroverts who love, or at least refuel with noise, chaos, and people everywhere wanting big families. If they're not extroverts, they MUST have some serious alone time on a porch swing, in the dark, every night. So... FYI. If you're someone who wants/loves/has a big family and you happened to marry an introvert, allow for sacred, refueling alone time so they don't spontaneously combust. True story.

And, now don't get all huffy here, this is just a thought. I wonder if one of the reasons (maybe secretly, subconsciously) that moms with big families homeschool is that it takes a FREAKIN' LONG TIME to get ready to go anywhere or do anything!! I can't imagine the systems that have to be in place to orchestrate five or more lives in order to get out the door for school by 8am. I'm weary just thinking about it. Love you homeschooling moms!! YOU are rockstars!

So. To recap. Kids: good! Lots of kids: good! Lots of kids for me: bad. God has blessed us with two great little girls and, while I'm very happy to occasionally add to our brood for small periods of time, I completely recognize that there aren't enough porch swings in the world to help me cope with more than that. And I'm ok with that.

P.S. No children were hurt before, during or after the writing of this post.

My Nemesis: Rice

Long Live The Noodle!!

This is my battle cry when my nemesis, rice, and I clash. My dinner plans start with such optimism and hope! We'll have RICE for dinner! I've tried everything and still I am beaten. Stovetop, rice cooker, white rice, brown rice - even (I'm embarrassed to admit) instant. I mean, seriously. Who messes up instant rice?! Me. That's who.

Inevitably, I am shamed in my attempts to welcome rice into my home. This foe of mine is stronger, trickier, and smarter than I am. I admit it. Every time I say the word rice, it comes out in a sneer. My eyes squint, my jaw clenches and my heart beats a little faster.

I've tried rice many times (and failed) but last night my friend brought over the makings for delicious chicken curry. What is chicken curry's sidekick? The "R" word. You know. Don't make me say it. I started out with white rice on the stovetop. I followed directions (almost). I had less rice in the bag than the instructions called for. I guessed on the water and used just a little bit less than it said, since I was using less rice. Makes sense to me. I timed it perfectly and just before the timer went off, I smelled it. What?! No!! RICE!!!!!! (If you can, picture me shaking my fist at the rice gods who are snickering at my pathetic attempts to feed my family.) Totally burned. What the what?!

White rice: gone. Burned. Stinking up my kitchen. Making my curry question my culinary abilities. It gets worse.


Brown rice: yum. I start getting excited because I've heard that you can't mess rice up in a rice cooker. Well, I just happen to have one. A fancy one. I spent money on this baby because I had faith that it would help me make peace with my nemesis. I filled up the cooker with rice, added the water (After examining the rice measuring cup very carefully, for a long period of time, since it's a little confusing... don't judge.) and closed the lid, breathing a little prayer. We waited in anticipation for the buzzer and... and... sigh.

My first clue that my nemesis had won again was that there was gunky, starchy rice water bubbling up from the steam vent and covering the top of the cooker. Hmm... Next, the fool-proof rice was still crunchy. Seriously?!!

Sigh. A little more water and back in it goes. Ok, ok, this time I KNOW it was operator error since technically I forgot to turn it on. Whatever. Moving on. Back on it goes and finally, FINALLY, hours and hours later we have semi-hard rice.

My curry eyed me balefully.

I'm woman enough to admit when I've been beaten. I may fight again. I may not. Life's too short. Besides, I need to gear up for the upcoming battle with my arch-enemy: rice crispy treats.

Long Live The Noodle!!

My Time Capsule (For Real)

Oh, friends! Are you ready to jump into your DeLorean and travel back in time with me to... wait for it....

1986?!?!?!?

Oh yeah! Turn off the A-Team, put on your stirrup pants and Hypercolor shirt, grab your Esprit bag, and Walk Like an Egyptian with me. You know what I'm talkin' about! And if you have no frame of reference for those things, then I weep for you.

Ever since I was little I've wanted to be an archaeologist. Specifically an Egyptologist, but I'm into anything ancient. The mystery, the untold stories, the danger and distant lands, combined with the mapped out, organized excavation sites speaks to my soul. I remember burying boxes of treasures (with notes to my future self, cool stones I found, jewelry, some pocket money, etc.) in my front yard. I swear I know the general location (right in front of the flowering cherry tree with the tire swing) and I promise you I've dug and dug and searched and searched, but I can't find it. Maybe archaeology isn't my calling after all if I can't find something I buried in my front yard one year later. I still suspect my brother of digging it up, but I can't prove anything... Tim!! I know you have it!!

The front of my can. Not sure why
there's a horrifying face made of
black paper on it... Note the comet
streaking across.

When my 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Johnson, told our class we were going to be making time capsules that we wouldn't open for 25 years you can imagine how excited I was! 1986 was the year Halley's Comet appeared. Which I saw! (Astronomy is also a love of mine and I wrote a very interesting (to me) paper in my college astronomy class about ancient astronomy!) Halley's Comet comes 'round every 75 years or so, but the reality of each 10/11 year old in the class holding on to a mod podged coffee can until 2061 was slim to nil. (As I've done a little facebook research with my old schoolmates, the reality of 10/11 year olds holding on to it for 25 years was also slim to nil.) The 25th anniversary (of the '86 appearance) would have to do! If you remember, there was another very memorable event that happened just a few months before we saw the comet in March. The Space Shuttle Challenger tragedy. Sad day. I remember watching it in class and the silence afterward.

Back to my can. The metal one, that is... The assignment was to write an essay and draw a picture of your family. We could put a few trinkets in but of course, I went a bit further, as I'm apt to do, and added several treasures and a mixed tape (yay!) We closed it all up and brought them home. Some kids buried theirs, and I'm not quite sure why I didn't, what with my penchant for buried things, and all. I've kept it all this time, and I'll be honest, I've peeked now and then. And added a few things. Some items say 1987. If you know me, then that doesn't surprise you. I could always make it better! Besides, 25 years is a loooong time to wait! What would I be like as a 36 year old? I could only imagine. Flying around in my car, giving my robot-maid (Rosie, of course!) jobs to do, then off to the dig site to uncover mass rad stuff like mummies. It was gonna be boss. Fer sure!

I was cleaning out a shelf in the closet a few days ago and saw it up there. Then I realized I'D MISSED THE 25th ANNIVERSARY GRAND CAN OPENING CEREMONY (hosted by yours truly). Come on, Amy! All these years I've held on and waited and two years ago I forgot to open it. Seriously. Sigh. Luckily, it's never too late to open historical treasure (just ask any REAL archaeologist!)

Here's some insight into my life as a 5th grader. Have a laugh at my 10 year old self!

My artistic interpretation of
Halley's Comet

A glimpse inside

The rest of my streaking
comet...

Oh friends! These are authentic paint-splattered
sunglasses from the '80s. I'm tempted to wear
them, but I think even my 4-year old would be
embarrassed by me.

Ok, now I know this is from '87, but I put it in
there because this was such a momentous
occasion for me! I actually still remember this
night - every detail!

A bookmark because I loved to read!

Um. Yeah. Cathy.
And why, as an 11 year old, did I feel this was the best poster to put in? The one where Cathy is swamped by housework and real work?
(The caption reads: I have it all... the worst of both worlds...)
Why not a cat hanging by a paw reminding me to "hang in there"?
I have no idea. No idea.

So, this was the assignment from Mrs. Johnson. Write about yourself and this year. Here is my paper. I'll print it out word for 5th-grade word and add some insight in the bold highlights:




I like this year a lot. I had a nice teacher (brownie points!) and we had fun. Althow I didn't do good in spelling (obviously) I did good in some subjects like reading and math. This year was exciting, the Challenger (spaceshuttle) with astronouts (8 of them) blew up as taking of. (I can only assume I meant off - really, Amy? Trouble spelling off?!) None lived. (Just call me Miss. Sensitivity.) Another instring thing is that Halleys Comet reapeared and I saw it! It looked like a big snow flury. We saw it through our telescope. (It was awesome!) All this year I made new friends and had fun. Alltogether this year I think I had about 22 hours of homework (Uh, must not have used much of that on spelling work) but that's ok because some of it is fun. (Like making a time capsule!!) I hope 6th grade will be as nice. (It wasn't too bad.) Amy Stevens


Here are pictures (not accurate, thank the Lord!) and descriptions (pretty accurate!) of my family.

Amy: is my name. I have short blond hair and blue eyes. I also have glasses. The thing I like that I do in band when I play the flute. I think I am very kind.

Katie: is my sister. She has brown hair and blue eyes. She is about 16 months old. She is very loveing and gives us big hugs. She is very smart she copies us and makes it look funny. My favorit thing about her is her little hands and feet. When she laughs it is so funny. (Still is!) 

Lynne: is my mom. She has brown-yellow hair, blue eyes and has contacts. She is very loveing and careing. She is 33 years old. (Crazy that when I wrote this my mom was 5 years younger than I am now!) What I like best about her is that she takes care of us.


Ron: is my dad. He has brown hair and blue eyes. He takes care of us and is very nice. He is 33 years old. What I like best about him is he gives us a lot of things and loves us like anything.

Timothy: is my brother. He has blond hair and blue eyes. He is kind sometimes. He is 7 years old. What I like best about him is when you are sad he tryes to make you happy. (This is very true!)

Here are some fun facts about me. Updated/corrected by me in pink pen a few months later... Notice I went back and fixed my favorite subject. What was I thinking originally?! I was not taking this a seriously as I should. (Says my several months older self.)

Favorite color: pastel aqua. Because regular aqua won't do... And I just realized I spelled favorite completely wrong on EACH of the lines! Favroite? Really, Amy?! I think I was too caught up in trying to make a cool looking letter A. I'll let you browse through instead of writing it all out.

Now, these were my favorite songs, and most of them (plus a lot more!) are on my mixed tape. But I guess I had to throw Greensleeves in there because... well... I do like it. By the way all of those "best friends" I STILL keep in touch with!! How awesome is that?!

For those of you who don't know what this is (like my 6-year old who thought it was a camera and tried to look through the two holes to take a picture. Sad, sad day.) THIS is a mixed tape. You would sit by your awesome boom box with your cassette in it and have it paused on record. When your favorite (or in my case, favroite) song came on, you'd take the pause off and it would record. Download, schmownload. I still hear songs today where I can hear the DJ's voice over the end of the song in my head. Good times. I remember every New Year's Eve sitting with my friend, Sarah, in her room, with our boom box poised and ready to record any of the top 100 songs of the year in Casey Kasem's countdown.

Some random erasers (I DID make a lot of mistakes) and a barrette? Ok...

The last item in here is a scrap of my comfort blankie. Notice the giant heart written on it. I had this blankie since I was an infant and it kept getting cut smaller and smaller because I would rub it between my fingers and it would shred. Wrapping it up and putting it in the time capsule was the best thing I could have done to preserve it! Yes, I know I was 10 years old. Whatever. I was excited to pull this out of the can! Both of my girls have comfort blankie issues, like me. Deal with it.

This is my ticket to Disneyland the one and only time I've ever been! It was awesome, except for the part where the Haunted House broke down in the middle of our ride and we were stuck inside for at least 15 minutes. Maybe that's why I can't handle any scary movies. Traumatized in the happiest place on earth.


So, there you have it. A trip back in time, with me baring my soul in all it's misspelled, blankie lovin', Greensleeves singin', glasses wearin' glory.

Almost A Dream Squasher

Hey. Remember me? Apparently my blogging brilliance (HA!) fizzled out quickly, like a lot of things I commit to in life. Oh, whatever! Don't pretend you don't do the same thing now and then! I guess when things really hit me, I'll share about them. There aren't enough hours in the day to write all the time, what with kids, husband, cooking, cleaning (again, ha!), and Bejeweled Blitz to contend with my time. You get it, right?

Anyway, on to this post. This is an important one for me because it taught me a lot about myself - most of it not good, about my daughter (Adventure Girl) - all of it wonderful, and about humanity in general, but specifically on my cul de sac - again, all of it wonderful. We live on the best street ever.

Adventure Girl (if you have no idea whom I'm referring to, read back a few blog posts - you won't regret it! I hope...) has been telling me for several months that she wants to help "poor people." Now, I'm gonna be brutally honest here. You ready? You sure? Deep breath. Read this fast because it's painful: I wanted to brush her off and I hoped she'd forget about it. There. I said it. I'm a bad person. At this point in life I don't have a burning heart for social justice. I don't really want to work in the homeless community and move beyond my selfish, comfortable existence. It scares me. I'm a little socially awkward and, honestly, I can't think of things to say to my friends sometimes, let alone people that I can't relate to. I pray this changes for me. I want to reach out and love and share and give. I really do.

So, when AG told me she wanted to help poor people my first thought was, "Where do I even park to go under the bridge downtown?!" My second was, "Quick, distract her with cartoons! Ice cream! Park outing!" I'm honestly ashamed to admit that I didn't say, "Awesome! Let's do it!" I'm honestly ashamed to admit that I hoped she'd forget about it. She didn't. I'm glad.

She kept telling people that she was going to make necklaces to help poor people! She kept asking me if we could go buy beads! Now, she loves crafts but, like me, doesn't stick with things for too long. She did this time. She spent a whole afternoon stringing beads on this plastic "string" that never seems to make a tight knot no matter how much I pulled on it. She "accidentally" broke several other fancy bracelets so she could add cool beads to those she was making. She had three items and asked me to walk with her around the neighborhood to see if people would buy them. Wait, what?! This was getting serious. Seeing those poor Girl Scouts begging people to buy their cookies makes me anxious. I didn't want to be one of those pleading parents hoping others would have mercy on their kid. At least they were selling cookies! My kid had plastic beaded necklaces that kept coming apart and were too small to fit over a grownup's head! Sheesh.

She was so excited that I said, "Ok, let's go." We went to the first house and I stood back and let her do her thing. "I'm selling necklaces and bracelets to help poor people. Would you like to buy one?" (I was giving my best "Sorry! Just humor her, ok?" look from a few steps down. How lame am I?!) Our first "customer" bought everything she had and gave her $9 for it. Seriously?! I was expecting 50 cents. Tops. Her (my) confidence was growing, but she needed to make more jewelry. Back home we went and she started beading again. Then Monster Me (again, look back if you haven't yet!) dumped ALL 400 beads on the bedroom floor and refused to help clean up. In fact, the madder she got about cleaning the more scattered the beads got. I'm not kidding, some of them are a 1/4" across and clear. Who makes these things?! Obviously people who don't have a four-year old whose nickname includes the word Monster. Took almost two hours and most of my patience to get it cleaned up. Don't worry, MM helped but it's wasn't pretty. It wasn't pretty.

Next day we hit the pavement again and she sold out again. What generous, kind neighbors we have! Trish, Renee', Chris, Linda, Ruth: you guys are awesome! Adventure Girl raised $50 (including some of her own hard-earned money she put in) to donate to "poor people"!

We decided the best way to do this was to go shopping and fill up the food closet at our church, Bethany Baptist, which is open to the community and those in our church family who need some help. This was a local place she could give to and see her heart at work. I found out what they were short on and gave AG the list, which she carefully copied onto her own pink paper. For two days she kept saying how excited she was to go shopping, as she squealed and jumped up and down. The day arrived and we went to Winco and filled our cart with peanut butter, rice, noodles, and tuna fish. She was so excited to count out her dollars and hand them to the checker. I was so excited to see her like that. She's not a proud kid, she wasn't proclaiming how awesome she is or anything like that. It wasn't to bring attention to herself.

I learned a valuable lesson. I can't believe that I started to discourage her from doing such a bold, loving thing. I guess I'm jaded by the world, living in my own fear, insecurity and inexperience. I want to change. I want to teach my girls the joy of helping others, of sharing their lives - it's not a one way street. The more they give, the more they get. She's a little disappointed that SHE isn't the one handing out her items to those in need. I think maybe some hands-on experience is in our future. Maybe we'll see you under the bridge. Whoa, whoa, whoa... let's not get ahead of ourselves! Maybe we'll see you at the Mission on Thanksgiving. She'll be the one making friends, making a difference and pushing me out of my comfort zone.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with 

actions and in truth." 

1 John 3:18