As we make the mad dash to the door this morning, Kolbe snags a stylish grocery bag to hold his P.E. clothes. Seeing the logo on the bag, he immediately says, "Walmart: Save money. Live better."
I start to laugh at this boy of mine who, I promise you, knows more jingles than anyone I know. He dons a serious face and launches into, "'Sometimes life gets, well, a little difficult."
This is a commercial for -- brace yourself -- a stool softener. But that's not all folks! He knows the Dulcolax commercial, too. Dulcolax doesn't make you go; it just makes it easier to go.
We've played this game before. I'm telling you, the kid can recite slogan after slogan until he has the entire family in stitches. We pass a Checkers, and he says, "Little place. Big taste." A Subway? Eat fresh! For no reason whatsoever -- dollar for dollar, nobody protects you like Allstate. Geico? Fifteen minutes could save you 15% on car insurance.
By the time I make it to the car, I am laughing so hard Ainsley and John start saying, "Don't cry, Mama! Don't cry!"
I truly am lovin' it.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Growth Spurt
Soccer is upon us, so I pull out Tim's cleats from last season hoping against hope that they still fit. Turns out they are size 5.5. Just twelve months later, Tim now wears size 9.
This could explain my grocery bills.
This could explain my grocery bills.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
From the Archives
On the eve of our 8th Pinewood Derby -- amidst a growing pile of sawdust and with a vapor of metallic spray paint wafting through the house -- I repost a recap of a derby two years back.
A Derby to Remember
We raced in our sixth Pinewood Derby this morning. Over the years we’ve built a lot of cars, and we’ve built a lot of character. At the moment, I’m tired on both accounts.
We’ve engineered tug boats and rockets, fire engines and tanks. We’ve been up into the wee hours of race day adding fins or turrets or stickers. We’ve been found, hair-dryer in hand, finishing a paint job minutes before the checkered flag (or whatever) flies.
We’ve spent a pretty penny on these jobbies. Base price: $4.99. Purchasing a new Dremel on the eve of the race will set you back another $60.00. Then there’s the ultra-accurate scale for $19.99 plus shipping. Reminds me of camping. Every year is pretty much the same.
Today’s race, however, was a first.
I show up a few minutes into Kolbe’s race to meet a grim-faced Dave.
I get the verdict: The weight of Kolbe’s car is pushing the wheels into the wheel wells. His car is slow. Painfully slow.
I plunk myself down track-side to hear the dad behind me quip, “We just come to watch the meltdowns.” He’s a father with five boys and a good sense of humor. He's been there, done that. I give him a friendly slug and tell him to be quiet already – this year it’s my son facing drama at the derby.
Kolbe loses every heat. In point of fact, he comes in dead last in every heat. We dry a few tears and give the standard pep talk.
All this is hard. Because parenting is hard. Because being a competitive person turned parent is even harder. I have laughed about this with my friends over the years. Oh, we put a good face on it. We say the right things and encourage the correct responses. We’re building character, by golly! But at a certain point – character schmaracter – we just want our kid to win. We maintain a thin veneer of civility, but scratch the surface and you find a Hollywood stage mom.
We get to the awards. A little time and a bowl of junk food leave Kolbe downright jovial. The Cub master calls the awards for Kolbe’s den.
“And second place …Kolbe!”
What!?
Kolbe collects his trophy and makes a joke about it. Dave has a chat with the Cub master as the tournament of champions finishes up. The Cub master calls Kolbe forward.
"I asked Kolbe how I could make this right," the Cub master shares. "Kolbe said he'd be happy to take the first place trophy, or he'd settle for ten bucks."
That's my boy. We laugh and applaud Kolbe being Kolbe.
The Cub master calls up the actual second place winner, Kolbe’s good pal, Daelyn. Kolbe hands over the trophy. Daelyn’s dad, a kind man and a class act, makes a point to share a few words of encouragement with Dave and me. All is right with the Derby world.
After the race I putter around in the kitchen and overhear Kolbe talking to his dad.
“I had a great time at the Pinewood Derby today, Dad,” he says. I want to cry. Maybe there’s something to this character schmaracter.
I vacuum up sawdust. Dave boxes up the Dremel. We put paints, sandpaper, brushes, and decals into the storage room to race another day.
A Derby to Remember
We raced in our sixth Pinewood Derby this morning. Over the years we’ve built a lot of cars, and we’ve built a lot of character. At the moment, I’m tired on both accounts.
We’ve engineered tug boats and rockets, fire engines and tanks. We’ve been up into the wee hours of race day adding fins or turrets or stickers. We’ve been found, hair-dryer in hand, finishing a paint job minutes before the checkered flag (or whatever) flies.
We’ve spent a pretty penny on these jobbies. Base price: $4.99. Purchasing a new Dremel on the eve of the race will set you back another $60.00. Then there’s the ultra-accurate scale for $19.99 plus shipping. Reminds me of camping. Every year is pretty much the same.
Today’s race, however, was a first.
I show up a few minutes into Kolbe’s race to meet a grim-faced Dave.
I get the verdict: The weight of Kolbe’s car is pushing the wheels into the wheel wells. His car is slow. Painfully slow.
I plunk myself down track-side to hear the dad behind me quip, “We just come to watch the meltdowns.” He’s a father with five boys and a good sense of humor. He's been there, done that. I give him a friendly slug and tell him to be quiet already – this year it’s my son facing drama at the derby.
Kolbe loses every heat. In point of fact, he comes in dead last in every heat. We dry a few tears and give the standard pep talk.
All this is hard. Because parenting is hard. Because being a competitive person turned parent is even harder. I have laughed about this with my friends over the years. Oh, we put a good face on it. We say the right things and encourage the correct responses. We’re building character, by golly! But at a certain point – character schmaracter – we just want our kid to win. We maintain a thin veneer of civility, but scratch the surface and you find a Hollywood stage mom.
We get to the awards. A little time and a bowl of junk food leave Kolbe downright jovial. The Cub master calls the awards for Kolbe’s den.
“And second place …Kolbe!”
What!?
Kolbe collects his trophy and makes a joke about it. Dave has a chat with the Cub master as the tournament of champions finishes up. The Cub master calls Kolbe forward.
"I asked Kolbe how I could make this right," the Cub master shares. "Kolbe said he'd be happy to take the first place trophy, or he'd settle for ten bucks."
That's my boy. We laugh and applaud Kolbe being Kolbe.
The Cub master calls up the actual second place winner, Kolbe’s good pal, Daelyn. Kolbe hands over the trophy. Daelyn’s dad, a kind man and a class act, makes a point to share a few words of encouragement with Dave and me. All is right with the Derby world.
After the race I putter around in the kitchen and overhear Kolbe talking to his dad.
“I had a great time at the Pinewood Derby today, Dad,” he says. I want to cry. Maybe there’s something to this character schmaracter.
I vacuum up sawdust. Dave boxes up the Dremel. We put paints, sandpaper, brushes, and decals into the storage room to race another day.
Friday, February 24, 2012
Newton's First Law of Inertia
Seven Quick Takes:
1. Science Fair is upon us, so I'll begin my takes with an excerpt from a Dave Barry classic:
Read the rest here.
2. This week could have been The Perfect Storm -- the Pinewod Derby, the Science Fair, a social studies' diorama, and a Boy Scout camping trip -- all in the span of about five days. Add one stomach bug and two sinus infections.
The good news is that Lent is also upon us. While this sinus infection prevents me from articulating exactly (or even approximately) what I mean, there is a renewed grace in my life. And let me tell you, this is a good thing because I've needed every last ounce of grace I could muster.
Click here to read Elizabeth Foss articulate what I can not manage at the moment. This line captures it all for me:
I'll add a sniffly amen to that.
3. File this under I'm glad I noticed -- Kolbe gets a projects and gets to work. My job is to help locate odd items and to hold things steady as he glues. Two words for this boy of mine: awe some!
4. Overheard -- Tim and his friend compiling a packing list for their camping trip. My job is now to help locate odd items and to pack a big lunch. Two words for this oldest boy of mine: awe some!
5. File this under Something to look forward to -- John and his best bud, Henry, watched their big brothers get ready for the camping trip. "When we're big," Henry said en route to pre-school, "we get to be Boy Scouts. Aren't you exciting?"
Yes, John is nothing if not exciting.
6. From a four-year-old at the atrium -- On Ash Wednesday we go to church and get rashes.
7. Details matter -- John is putting the finishing touches on the crucifix he had drawn in the atrium. "Wait," he tells me. "Jesus needs a belly button."
Go to Jen's blog, congratulate her on finishing her book, and add your Seven Quick Takes.
1. Science Fair is upon us, so I'll begin my takes with an excerpt from a Dave Barry classic:
Although a science fair can seem like a big ''pain,'' it can help you understand important scientific principles, such as Newton's First Law of Inertia, which states: 'A body at rest will remain at rest until 8:45 p.m. the night before the science fair project is due, at which point the body will come rushing to the body's parents, who are already in their pajamas, and shout, `I JUST REMEMBERED THE SCIENCE FAIR IS TOMORROW AND WE GOTTA GO TO THE STORE RIGHT NOW!'
Read the rest here.
2. This week could have been The Perfect Storm -- the Pinewod Derby, the Science Fair, a social studies' diorama, and a Boy Scout camping trip -- all in the span of about five days. Add one stomach bug and two sinus infections.
The good news is that Lent is also upon us. While this sinus infection prevents me from articulating exactly (or even approximately) what I mean, there is a renewed grace in my life. And let me tell you, this is a good thing because I've needed every last ounce of grace I could muster.
Click here to read Elizabeth Foss articulate what I can not manage at the moment. This line captures it all for me:
After the busy happiness of Christmas and the inevitable juggling of schedules and commitments that comes with the new year, I like to peel back the layers of abundance and get down to the basics of relationship. Lent is renewal; it’s a chance to renew relationship with God, with family and with myself.
I'll add a sniffly amen to that.
3. File this under I'm glad I noticed -- Kolbe gets a projects and gets to work. My job is to help locate odd items and to hold things steady as he glues. Two words for this boy of mine: awe some!
4. Overheard -- Tim and his friend compiling a packing list for their camping trip. My job is now to help locate odd items and to pack a big lunch. Two words for this oldest boy of mine: awe some!
5. File this under Something to look forward to -- John and his best bud, Henry, watched their big brothers get ready for the camping trip. "When we're big," Henry said en route to pre-school, "we get to be Boy Scouts. Aren't you exciting?"
Yes, John is nothing if not exciting.
6. From a four-year-old at the atrium -- On Ash Wednesday we go to church and get rashes.
7. Details matter -- John is putting the finishing touches on the crucifix he had drawn in the atrium. "Wait," he tells me. "Jesus needs a belly button."
Go to Jen's blog, congratulate her on finishing her book, and add your Seven Quick Takes.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
From My Kitchen to Yours - Rotisserie Chicken Rocks
This cartoon over at Barefoot and Pregnant summarizes an angst I regularly experience.
Cooking is just not my thing. Problem is, I have these kids. And they have a pesky habit of wanting to be fed something hot and nutritious -- or at least hot -- every evening around 6:00. We manage breakfast and lunch just fine, but dinner is a challenge. Basketball makes it even more of a challenge as we either eat way early, way late, or on the run.
By the time any sports season runs its course, I am anxious to serve up something – anything -- that doesn't come packaged in styrofoam, in a square cardboard box, or with a plastic toy. I want real food, reasonably healthy fare that everyone will eat.
Let me tell you, the pickings are slim.
I attended an ultra-couponing class a while back. One of the first steps in saving big bucks is to identify the meals you regularly cook. We were asked to jot down our twenty most commonly used recipes. Sounds easy enough. I got stuck at ten and really scrounged to come up with twelve or thirteen entrees I make with any regularity.
Early in marriage, I was fairly inventive and energetic in the kitchen. I loved Southern Living (still do) which offers recipes that are both easy and doable. I've peeked at Martha Stewart a time or two, but tend to avoid any recipe that begins with "Step 1: Get out your pasta machine." Pasta machine? Ummm . . . no.
Despite the lack of a pasta machine, back in the day, I really did put effort into cooking. Fifteen years and four fairly picky eaters later, I shy away from inventive and find myself considerably less energetic.
A year or so ago I uncovered a dangerous truth: Little Caesars offers Hot and Ready Pizza for $5.35. No calling ahead. No wait. Six minutes from their oven to my dining room table. Unless I'm splitting Kraft Macaroni and Cheese five ways (not that I've ever done THAT!), I can't feed the tribe for $5.35.
And then I discovered rotisserie chicken. These babies typically run $4.99. Occasionally you can pick one up for $3.99. Check the refrigerator section for a few birds marked down to $2.99. Yes, for five dollars or less, here's decent nutrition. The added bonus? Someone else scours the roasting pan.
Rotisserie chicken in hand, what meals can you concoct? We like:
"Mom," he pleaded the other day. "Can you just buy me my own chicken?"
Relatively cheap, low fat, healthy . . . yeah, I can supply an occasional chicken.
Here's one word to the wise: If you're pulling a shock and awe grocery run at 5:32 (not that I ever do THAT!), avoid the rotisserie chicken marked 10:00 a.m.
Cooking is just not my thing. Problem is, I have these kids. And they have a pesky habit of wanting to be fed something hot and nutritious -- or at least hot -- every evening around 6:00. We manage breakfast and lunch just fine, but dinner is a challenge. Basketball makes it even more of a challenge as we either eat way early, way late, or on the run.
By the time any sports season runs its course, I am anxious to serve up something – anything -- that doesn't come packaged in styrofoam, in a square cardboard box, or with a plastic toy. I want real food, reasonably healthy fare that everyone will eat.
Let me tell you, the pickings are slim.
I attended an ultra-couponing class a while back. One of the first steps in saving big bucks is to identify the meals you regularly cook. We were asked to jot down our twenty most commonly used recipes. Sounds easy enough. I got stuck at ten and really scrounged to come up with twelve or thirteen entrees I make with any regularity.
Early in marriage, I was fairly inventive and energetic in the kitchen. I loved Southern Living (still do) which offers recipes that are both easy and doable. I've peeked at Martha Stewart a time or two, but tend to avoid any recipe that begins with "Step 1: Get out your pasta machine." Pasta machine? Ummm . . . no.
Despite the lack of a pasta machine, back in the day, I really did put effort into cooking. Fifteen years and four fairly picky eaters later, I shy away from inventive and find myself considerably less energetic.
A year or so ago I uncovered a dangerous truth: Little Caesars offers Hot and Ready Pizza for $5.35. No calling ahead. No wait. Six minutes from their oven to my dining room table. Unless I'm splitting Kraft Macaroni and Cheese five ways (not that I've ever done THAT!), I can't feed the tribe for $5.35.
And then I discovered rotisserie chicken. These babies typically run $4.99. Occasionally you can pick one up for $3.99. Check the refrigerator section for a few birds marked down to $2.99. Yes, for five dollars or less, here's decent nutrition. The added bonus? Someone else scours the roasting pan.
Rotisserie chicken in hand, what meals can you concoct? We like:
1. Red beans and rice with chicken.And last but not least . . .
2. Chicken and dumplings
3. Chicken enchiladas
4. Chicken pot pie
5. Chicken soup
6. Rotisserie chickenTim has hit a growth spurt and consumes protein like a rabid Pit Bull. Rotisserie chicken enters the house, the lemon pepper aroma wafts his way, and he downs a leg and a thigh.
"Mom," he pleaded the other day. "Can you just buy me my own chicken?"
Relatively cheap, low fat, healthy . . . yeah, I can supply an occasional chicken.
Here's one word to the wise: If you're pulling a shock and awe grocery run at 5:32 (not that I ever do THAT!), avoid the rotisserie chicken marked 10:00 a.m.
Monday, February 20, 2012
The Downton Finale
So the last episode of Downton began with a stunning Christmas tree in the front hall and ended with a proposal in a snowy courtyard. It was worth Daisy's endless whining. It was worth the specter of Patrick Crawley. It was worth all of Branson's posturing.
The Mr. Bates storyline was wrenching. Poor, poor Anna! I cried.
As much as we all hated Richard Carlyle, I loved the way it all played out, even (or especially) Mary trying to make amends at he left Downton for the last time. He tipped his hat as he left which makes me reconsider the accusations I levelled against him last week. Maybe, like O'Brien, there's more to him.
I loved Mary this season. I hope Michelle Dockery is enjoying her new found fame. She knows how to nuance a role.
I am a sucker for a happy ending. I read Tess of the d'Urbervilles right up to the bitter end, dead certain that it would all turn around in the final chapter. Shudder! I watched Saving Private Ryan, the whole while thinking some mother out on the plains of Nebraska would get that miraculous news that her boys had come through. Didn't happen. I loved Jane Eyre because there's redemption and even an epilogue! Happy sigh!
So there we were watching the snow fly in front of Downton Abbey. It was everything that makes this show a visual wonder -- Mary's stunning maroon gown against her milky white complexion, Mathew's blue eyes, her excited "yes!," their kiss, their laughter -- call me a sap, but I cried.
Even better than that, though, was the return of the venerable Lord Grantham as Newt exited stage left (hopefully never to be seen again). The Earl of Grantham tells the hard, hard truth under pressure, admits to Mary that she's not the only Crawley to have erred, advises her to go to America and bring back a cowboy who will shake things up a bit. Honorable, decisive, dashing -- and sweet to his wife once more. Cora and Robert are a long married couple who has endured war, family crises, and Spanish Flu -- and the sight of them embracing was even sweeter than watching young love blossom. I cried here, too.
I have all sorts of crazy ideas about next season, but rest assured that Jullian Fellowes will have even wilder ones.
The Mr. Bates storyline was wrenching. Poor, poor Anna! I cried.
As much as we all hated Richard Carlyle, I loved the way it all played out, even (or especially) Mary trying to make amends at he left Downton for the last time. He tipped his hat as he left which makes me reconsider the accusations I levelled against him last week. Maybe, like O'Brien, there's more to him.
I loved Mary this season. I hope Michelle Dockery is enjoying her new found fame. She knows how to nuance a role.
I am a sucker for a happy ending. I read Tess of the d'Urbervilles right up to the bitter end, dead certain that it would all turn around in the final chapter. Shudder! I watched Saving Private Ryan, the whole while thinking some mother out on the plains of Nebraska would get that miraculous news that her boys had come through. Didn't happen. I loved Jane Eyre because there's redemption and even an epilogue! Happy sigh!
So there we were watching the snow fly in front of Downton Abbey. It was everything that makes this show a visual wonder -- Mary's stunning maroon gown against her milky white complexion, Mathew's blue eyes, her excited "yes!," their kiss, their laughter -- call me a sap, but I cried.
Even better than that, though, was the return of the venerable Lord Grantham as Newt exited stage left (hopefully never to be seen again). The Earl of Grantham tells the hard, hard truth under pressure, admits to Mary that she's not the only Crawley to have erred, advises her to go to America and bring back a cowboy who will shake things up a bit. Honorable, decisive, dashing -- and sweet to his wife once more. Cora and Robert are a long married couple who has endured war, family crises, and Spanish Flu -- and the sight of them embracing was even sweeter than watching young love blossom. I cried here, too.
I have all sorts of crazy ideas about next season, but rest assured that Jullian Fellowes will have even wilder ones.
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