Day 7

I began the morning with a bit of trepidation. When you plan an excursion for others to partake in, there is always a bit of anxiety about whether those "others" will enjoy it or not. On this particular morning, I had scheduled for us a tour of a university.

That doesn't sound especially fun, I know, but Tobias only has two full years of high school left and we're going to have to start taking him to various schools to have a good perusal so he's familiar with what's available and what's going to be a good fit for him. Therefore, I thought we ought to take advantage of being near this school.

So we set out for a good breakfast. (A belly full of yumminess helps the school tour go down.)

Crepes are big in the Northwest, so we all partook. Jeff and the kids each got a fruit filled crepe.


(He's really not as creepy as he appears to be.)

I, however, opted for a crepe stuffed with scrambled eggs and bacon. Peek a boo.


Mine was the best. :)

Then we went to find the university. Before we got too far from the cafe, we caught sight of a strange, strange appearance.

Ummm...okay. Amazingly enough, when we were in Victoria a few days earlier, we saw Darth Vader playing a violin, but we weren't quick enough with the camera to prove it to you.

No, really.

Really.

Okay, go to YouTube and search for "Darth Vader violin". What pops up is what we saw.

Well, it turns out that I had nothing to fear about the university tour. It was great! Afterward, we ALL decided we wanted to go there. The bar has been raised pretty high in Tobias's mind. I don't know how other schools will be able to compete. Seriously, it's an impressive school on beautiful grounds in the middle of a fantastic city.

The only drawback to the tour were the coughing fits that I kept having every time I asked a question of the guide. I'd pose a query and then not be able to hear his answers over my own hacking. Once I had to leave a building to recover control. Ick.

While we were walking through the university's arboretum, Jeff found Delaney this lovely, lacey leaf:


We returned to our friends' house and saw the Younger cuddling with Darling Doggy.


With our friends (except for Dad who was working) we headed into the city to visit a museum. Our first stop, however, was a store with lots of quirky wares.

Delaney came this close to buying the horse head.

Kids these days!

Then, on to the museum...


...that is unfortunately closed on Tuesdays.

Closed on Tuesdays? I knew about the whole museums are often closed on Mondays thing, but Tuesdays? Alas...

We consoled ourselves with a jaunt into Rocket Doughnuts.


We heard a crazy rumor about this place so we knew we had to investigate. It turned out to be true:


Hmmm...well none of us really cared for the bacon topped maple bar that we felt compelled to purchase and share, but with decor like this...


...we felt it would be in our best interest to finish it quickly and leave quietly.

After a couple more stops, we realized that it was time for us to head to the airport.

Jeff was thoughtful:


I snapped a final shot with my good buddy who I knew I would miss sorely:


*sigh*

Once we arrived at the airport and returned the rental car, my spirits were lifted slightly by something I found in the restroom. (Yeah, I realize how worrisomely that reads.)


Have you seen one of these things in action??? Dyson Airblades make drying your hands fun. Tobias describes them as "a roller coaster for your hands" and he is oh-so-right.

Actually there is another hand dryer that is even better than the one you see above. It blows air at your appendages so hard that your flesh ripples like that guy's face on the Maxell cassette tape commercial. Awesome. That one's called the Xlerator. Look for it.

There was something else at the airport I had to take a pic of. This one's for you, Christy:


Perhaps you've seen it before, but it was new to me so I clicked it with you in mind. :)

There were some lovely sights from above as we left the Promised Land. :)


However, I quickly realized that I was likely the most hated woman on our entire flight.

My cough was worsening. You know the kind where you feel like a mini evil imp is dangling from your uvula holding a feather with which he is tickling the back of your throat?

You hold on as long as you possibly can, but suddenly a coughing spasm erupts from your very bowels bringing with it various bodily refuse and it doesn't stop until your brain feels bruised from slamming into the front of your inner skull and you begin to look around for nearby elderly ladies in case you need to bum a Poise pad off of someone.

Yeah, that was me.

The first time it happened, a good looking guy with an Australian accent who was seated directly in front of me turned around and asked, "Are you sick? Well as long as my kids don't get it, you'll be alright."

Excuse me? Was that a threat with that smile, Dundee?

I seriously had no clue how to respond to that so I just held my moist-with-sputum tissue in front of my mouth and tried to look pathetic. It wasn't hard.


See?

(Consequently, Jeff did not hear the words of the Aussie. He was too busy trying to disappear from the Chatty Chuck he found himself seated next to. See him behind me? It looks like he's even plugging his ear! Turns out that "Chuck" had a great business opportunity for Jeff. No, he did not disembark the plane with our telephone number, thank goodness.)

And that was our fabulous trip!!!

*sigh*

Thank you and goodnight.

Very Odd and Chunky

I will apologize ahead of time to those of you who (like my husband) find the following link a complete waste of time.

What can I say? I've always found absurdity quite delicious.

This video just cracks me up. The mere remembrance of the English "translation" combined with this guy's hands' dance moves (yes, you read that right, his hands' choreography puts Napoleon Dynamite's Happy Hands Club to complete shame) has been making me giggle for the past few days. (I hope you don't mind that the audio is slightly off-time of the video.)

So, (if you're amused by base material, as am I) enjoy!

A Rambling

Please be encouraged.

No matter what we do, there will be difficulties in our lives. There is no millimeter-wide line that if walked will result in a pain-free, trouble-less life.

Of course, there are consequences to sin and bad decisions. God certainly allows us to experience them, but even with careful, thoughtful living there will be trials. That's not a failure on our part. It's just...life.

Jesus didn't say, "Come follow Me and if you do everything just right then you will have a pain-free life."

On the contrary, He promised, "Here on earth you will have many trials and sorrows, but take heart, because I have overcome the world." John 16:33

For a long time, I subconsciously assumed that God wanted me to figure everything out, then do everything perfectly and the result would be that I would glorify Him flawlessly, that no one would ever think ill of me (or of Him because of me) and that all my relationships would be marked by complete trust and understanding.

I know that all of that is impossible now. I can't control what others think of me and I often times have no idea what "the right" thing to do even is.

(Sometimes I know I need to do something because God has clearly stated so in scripture and even though it's difficult to go through with it, there's such a sense of peace in the midst of the discomfort because I have confidence in my actions.

Other times, I face situations on which scripture is silent and although I can apply general principles, there is no definite answer as to what is "the right" thing to do. I'm just now learning to have peace in those situations. God knows my intentions and my limitations. That's what is truly important, not me somehow figuring things out and executing them perfectly.)

I was talking with a lovely young woman recently who is dealing with overwhelming anxiety. After listening to her for awhile, I began to think that her anguish was caused not by the turmoil itself but by the underlying and incorrect notion that she could control and fix all the upheaval in her life if she said and did the exactly right things. Although it's noble of her to want to "do right", I hope she understood when I told her that she's not in control and no matter what she does, her life will still have a lot of turmoil.

I realize that that doesn't sound helpful and encouraging at first, but if you think about it a little while, it's actually quite freeing.

I can't fix everything. It's not up to me.

So am I suggesting that it's of no value to live prudently? Certainly not. Scripture extols careful and wise living.

However, I am suggesting that we can't look at prudence as a passport to a trouble-free life. When we find ourselves in the midst of upheaval we oughtn't assume that we took a horribly wrong turn somewhere.

I'm learning to obey God in the clear directives He has given and to be transformed and comforted by His grace when I fail, trusting in His promise that He has overcome the world.

In the Kitchen

Maybe I'll start a cooking blog.

Sure there are a ton of them out there already with their beautiful photos of lush produce and their step by step instructions on how to achieve culinary nirvana in a spotless kitchen while your beaming children stand by, eager to help in any way possible. You know you've seen them. In fact, you probably lurked about one hundred of them just last week.

Well, mine would be different.

Mine wouldn't leave you feeling like Roseanne Roseannadanna in the kitchen.


(Go ahead. Google her. Watch the skit in which she talks about bagging groceries.)

In fact, after focusing on a few lines of text and photos highlighting my own ineptitude in the kitchen, you may feel like Martha Stewart herself.

Okay, so I'm not genuinely motivated to start an entirely new blog based on cooking (though I think 'Culinarily Challenged' would be a fabulous title). Shoot, I hardly ever post on this blog. I'll just have to satisfy myself with the occasional post o' cookery right here.

Anyway, I recently decided to make a chicken pot pie as evidenced by this photo:


What? You don't know what the above 'thing' is? Why, it's a pie crust, Silly!

No, really. It is.


I worked long and hard to get it looking that good. I don't know what the deal is. I followed the directions and steamrolled the crud out of that blob of raw pastry with my cheap plastic rolling pin. Alas...

(Feeling better about yourself yet?)

Another source of frustration was that when I was finished rolling out the first crust, staring me in the face was this...


...the second half of my two crust recipe. I must confess, I came this close to dumping it in the trash because the thought of two aesthetic failures in one night is rather disheartening. However, I'm not a waster. (Well, okay, compared to someone like Ma Ingalls, I'm positively wanton.) So I just pushed the bowl aside and decided not to look at it for awhile.

With my ugly pie crust prepared, I was ready to somehow get it on top of the pie's contents:

Somehow I man-handled the fragile shell into place and was immediately inspired to poke a couple of words into the crust, a message to anyone who looked upon my offering with a dubious eye:

(In case you can't quite make it out, it says, "Edible, OK?")

...and it was.

The Best of Yorkshire

The following recipe is for one of my family's favorite things to see on the dinner table. It's my own rendition of what is called Yorkshire Pudding by some and German Babies or Dutch Babies by others.


Don't be fooled by the names; it tastes neither like a creamy sweet dessert nor like an infant (or what I imagine an infant to taste like anyway...) It's a bready concoction, soft in some spots and crispy in others.

We all love it.

Yorkshire Pudding:

5 eggs
1 1/4 cups of milk
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 1/4 cups of flour
1/4 cup of butter

Crack eggs into a blender and mix. Add milk and salt. Mix. Add flour and mix until smooth. Warm butter in microwave just until melted. (Don't make it too hot or it may begin to cook the eggs when you add it to the blender.) Add butter to the egg mixture and blend thoroughly.

Let it set in the blender on your counter for awhile, even up to an hour. (The reason for this is that the pudding seems to "puff" better if the batter isn't too cold when it enters the hot oven.) Preheat oven to 425 degrees. Grease a 9 x 13 pan heavily with butter or oil. Put pan into oven for just a short time. You want it nice and hot when it receives the batter, but watch carefully because you don't want the butter to burn nor the oil to smoke.

Retrieve the pan from the oven and pour the batter into it. Return the pan to the oven and cook the pudding for about 12-18 minutes. Keep checking it by turning on your oven's light and looking through the window, but don't open the door because that may cause it to deflate and there are few things as lovely (in my kitchen, anyway) as a lofty, glorious Yorkshire pudding, rising in the oven.


I love all the ridges and valleys. It's like a delicious, 3-D topographical map. :)

Sadly, it doesn't quite maintain its resplendence for long because as soon as you take it out of the oven, it begins to deflate:


However, it is at this point that you realize you're about to eat it, so all woe is quickly banished. :)

I've found it's easiest to cut it into servings with my kitchen shears. Serve it as soon as it's cool enough to handle (within five minutes) to enjoy it properly.

Yummy, yummy...

Some Holiday Pics

I don't remember exactly what Jeff was telling them, but they were interested. I love photos in which the subjects seem oblivious to the camera. They capture real life.


Here's my man, opening a gift from his offspring.


This is an odd pic but I think it's interesting how the camera focused on my hand. It's another oblivious-to-the-camera shot. I think it looks kinda cool.


No, you're not seeing things. It is a giant gummy bear (minus a large portion of its head). Jeff found these somewhere for the kids.


Believe it or not, there's a company that makes an even bigger gummy bear--a five pound gelatinous wonder, but the stinkin' thing costs $30 (before shipping) and it would most definitely rip a hole in the bottom of any stocking into which it is shoved.

Here are my twin nephews, poring over a book we gave to them. They sat next to each other, unwrapped it, cracked it open, and didn't stop reading until they had devoured the entire thing.


I love it when people obviously like a gift I've picked out for them!

So what's with the ugly, taped-up Rubbermaid container box?


It's a box o' wonders, really. You see, except for our artificial tree, every single one of our Christmas decorations fits comfortably into this unattractive, cardboard receptacle, including the lights for the porch, the tree skirt, the stockings and all the tree ornaments.

I'm certainly not begrudging you the joy of intense decoration if that's your sort of thing. Deck those halls!

But as for me: I (heart) simplicity.

*contented sigh*

Say "How Did I Ever Fit Into You" to the Dress

Okay, I admit it...

...ever since I discovered it on Netflix, I've been watching lots of episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress".

What can I say? I love seeing all the dresses, some of which are gorgeous and some of which are NOT.

My favorite thing about it, though, is that Delaney has sat through many an episode with me. I didn't expect that at all from my girl who yawns at fashion in general. (She has declared that she never wants to wear make-up and she's content with the appearance of her hair as soon as she has run a brush through it, which is all perfectly fine with me.)

I thought my fuss-free princess would roll her eyes at me for subjecting anyone in our household to the sound of Randy squealing over the perfect dress for the show's 1000th most beautiful bride. Imagine my delight when she seated herself next to me on the couch and began to comment on necklines and ruching.

Since she showed such interest in the dresses on TV, I decided to pull an old rag out of my own closet and ask the girl if she wanted to try it on.

As you can see, she did say yes to the dress:



Isn't she lovely?

After she let it fall to the floor from her waif like frame, I decided to see if I could squeeze my matronly figure into it.

About half-way up, the zipper lost any courage that it may have had seconds earlier.

Apparently I was rather skinny 17 and a half years ago. Why didn't I know that then?

Jeff was called in to see if his muscles could persuade the zipper to do more than it felt capable of.

After a few minutes of contorting my body into various configurations as Jeff tugged and pulled, I found myself encased in aging french lace.



Looking at myself in the mirror, I realized that it's not what I would choose if I was getting married today, but it's alright. The only thing I really don't like about it is the big bow in the back.


It looks like my rear sprouted wings and is trying to fly away.

Delaney started taking pics from all different angles.


In one, which I neglected to post here, you could even see the toilet in the background.

We've got a few years before Delaney will be picking out her wedding gown and I'm quite certain that Kleinfeld's won't be involved (unless we find a trunk of gold buried in our backyard). In the meantime, I'll enjoy moments like these with her whenever I can. They are all too fleeting.

30 Days Hath November

Apparently, amongst Tobias's group of friends, the month we presently find ourselves in is "No Shave November".



They're all relatively new to this whole facial hair thing, so who's going to inform them that we are hastily spiraling toward--

--"No Date December"?

I've tried, but the crier of such news probably needs to be young, cute and not smelling of tonight's dinner in order for the message to be heeded.

My Night of Blondness

Ever heard of a midlife crisis?

The above photo is not evidence of one. (Or if I am having one, it's not manifesting itself on my head.)

How about a Maltese Manhunt? Ever heard of one of those?

Our junior high church group recently had one. It involved me (and three other sponsors with whom the kids are familiar) disguising ourselves and then attempting to blend in with the other shoppers at a local mall. Teams of jr. highers combed the crowds looking for us. When they thought they had found one of us, the bravest soul of their group would approach and ask for a code phrase. (Mine was 'tea and crumpets'.) Once the secret phrase was obtained, they would text it to Kym (the gal in charge). The team to text her all four phrases first won the game...

...thus my donning of a wig, prop glasses and scrubs. (Thanks for the loans, Linda and Veronica.) Voila!


Upon seeing my newly disguised self, Jeff commented, "It's amazing how unattractive you can look."

Ummm...thanks?

I wish I had photos of my partners in disguise, but we couldn't afford the $900 fine for taking pictures in the mall. (Isn't that absurd? Especially since most people have cameras on their phones anyway and can discreetly snap photos all over the place.) Alas, my mere descriptions will have to suffice.

Erik--bleached his black hair until he was as blond as a black-haired individual can get.

Jason--wore a long black, super shiny wig and looked like a has-been rock star. (Sorry, Jay, but you know it's true.)

Phil--dressed up like a cowboy, complete with hat and drawn-on sideburns. Yeah, he didn't look suspicious at all. At one point, one of the shop keepers approached Phil and asked why he kept walking around and around in circles. Ummm...because I'm hiding from a bunch of jr. highers...


This whole venture really was a stretch for me. As I roamed the mall for about two hours, I kept thinking someone was going to point and ask, "You're wearing a wig, huh?" or just snatch it off my head and run, waving it in the air.

At one point, I purchased something with my credit card and the salesperson asked to see my ID.

Uh oh, I thought.

"Ummm...I'm wearing a wig right now," I confessed as I held my driver's license out to her.

She didn't bat an eye or even look up at me as she said, "Don't worry about it. I just need to make sure the names match."

Oh, okay. So much for safety in purchasing.

So do blonds have more fun?

Hmmm...

Well, my night of blondness was fun splashed onto a backdrop of paranoia and embarrassment, so I guess this experiment was inconclusive.

Let's see that one shot again:


So explain to me how Sidney Bristow made every disguise look soooo good? I try it once and end up looking like Nurse Ratched's plain jane hench woman!

I see no career in espionage in my future.

Short But Stupid

Last night I had a bad dream.

No, it was not technically a night terror.

In this dream, my garage was on fire!

Naturally, my first instinct was to call 9-1-1.

Unfortunately, every phone I grabbed...


...turned out to be...


...a calculator:


Sorry. It was just too dumb to keep to myself.

Surprising, Annoying, Yet Slightly Amusing

Remember this post ?

Well, a couple of nights ago, I woke up screaming again.

Jeff's the one I really feel sorry for. I mean, would you rather wake up screaming or wake up 'cause the person next to you is screaming? As soon as I'm truly awake, I realize that everything is okay, but as soon as Jeff wakes up, he thinks he needs to morph into the Hulk and defend the entire household.

His first words to me were a frantic, "Are you okay?" followed shortly afterward by a pleading, "You've got to stop doing this."

For better or worse, Babe. :)

This time I couldn't recall the dream I was having just prior to the vocalized horror that lasered out of my throat, but I was inspired to hop on the Net and research "night terrors".

At the first site I visited I read, "In a typical episode, you will sit up in bed and pierce the night with a 'blood-curdling' scream or shout."

Well, at least I now know what ails me, although I'm really surprised. I would think that only people under extreme stress or who have suffered severely traumatic experiences would experience this.

Really, does this look like the face of someone who would suffer from such a thing?


Acne? Obviously. Plantar Fasciitis? Sure. Occasional bouts of self-loathing? Why not? But something called "night terrors"? Now that's just weird...

The two screaming incidents have been by far the worst, but there have been multiple other occurrences. Too many to count, in fact. It all started about a year and a half ago.

I'll suddenly wake up from a dream (that isn't necessarily frightening, coincidentally) and think that a spider is dangling just inches from my face or that a person is standing by my bedside or some other startling variation of a similar scenario.

The crazy thing is that my eyes are wide open and I truly believe that I'm actually seeing something. On the less severe occasions, it takes me a couple of seconds to realize that it's just the nightstand or a shadow in the doorway and I calm immediately. At other times, I gasp in fright or even call out "Jesus!"

(One time when Jeff woke up, he was a little perturbed that I was calling out to Jesus when he was right there beside me. Ummm...let's see...Jesus is omnipotent, omnipresent God and you, darling? Yes, you're incredibly manly, but at 2:00 AM you're a (very studly), drooling, drowsy dude wearing nothing but a wedding ring and hair.)

The various websites I read made me thankful that I'm not suffering from a more severe case. Apparently, some people not only scream, but run around their house while doing so. (Wow. That would really suck. Jeff might accidentally clobber me in the unlit mayhem thinking that I'm the home invader.) In fact, the advice was given that the poor souls who sprint and scream keep their bedrooms clean to keep from tripping over things. Encouragement indeed.

There wasn't much advice given as to how to avoid having the terrors in the first place. They simply said to go see the doctor.

So I've decided to start keeping a sleep log, taking note of all the various factors that may be contributing, everything from what position I'm sleeping in to whether or not I ate too much sugar on the previous day. (Yes, I know. It'll make fascinating reading. I'll be sure to post it right here in it's entirety.) Hopefully it will help me establish what I can do to keep myself from "piercing the night with a blood curdling scream".

One website said that about 14% of children suffer from night terrors and most of them outgrow it in their teen years. It went on to say that only about 2% of adults experience them and it usually clears up by the time they're 65. Great news! Only 29 years to go!

Lurching Across an Empty Parking Lot Near You

What's more fun than teaching a teen to drive a car?

Why, teaching a teen to drive a car with a stick shift, of course!

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...


Tenacious T. Doesn't he look psyched?

9 o'clock and 3 o'clock:


Make sure you're in first:


(We've discovered that my poor car emits a particularly acrid smell when third gear is mistaken for first as one attempts to get going.)

Get ready...

get set...

and...

choke...

sputter...

...stall.

Hmmm...try again.

*key turns in ignition*

More gas...

No! No! More brake!

Imagine the above instructions interspersed with peals of (somewhat nervous) laughter.

I've learned to rate the frightfulness of his various navigations by how many chins they cause me to sprout. This photo was taken during a quadri-chin maneuver:


(Okay, so it's obviously a posed photo, but I have looked this overwrought a number of times during his times behind the wheel. It's not a good look for me, I know.)

In all fairness, he has improved a lot. I no longer threaten that he's going to have to pony-up for my chiropractic bills.

Ah, yes. That's my boy, leaving his mark in the world:

Personified Fruit and a Rascally 'Coon

There are definitely some benefits to kids growing up. They can brush their own teeth, clean between their own toes AND carve their own pumpkins as seen here by my not so little girl:


Oh, and did I mention they can make their own costume, too?

My simple, yet darling, raccoon. :)


Hey! Get out of that trash can!

What? Oh, I see...


...it's your trick or treat bag. Ambitious little member of the weasel family, aren't you?

After the festivities of October 31st had ended, Delaney still hadn't had enough of getting creative with fruit as exhibited by my fruit bowl:


She and her buddy Maria brought out the personality in each of these oranges.

The matronly looking one is named Suzette.