The Way To His Heart

I love frozen pizza. I haven't tried many gourmet pizzas, but I can honestly say that I have yet to find a pizza anywhere (I even had it in Finland once--it was okay, except the ones with shrimp or tuna on top were just weird) that I like better than a frozen Totinos. For me, their flavor and flaky crust are worth the thousand-calorie intake.

After our wedding reception, my husband (let's call him Frank) and I stopped by a grocery store to buy frozen pizza (sadly, we didn't get Totinos) to eat together the next day after church. We were driving Frank's old 1989 Ford pick-up truck with my belongings from my twenty years of life loaded into the back. We had a three-hour drive ahead of us.

On my first day to Sunday school in my new town, I was introduced as [Franks]'s friend. The bishop spoke up from the back and said, "I think that's his wife." Because Frank is NOT the chatty type, his best friend (a coworker) and the bishop were the only people in his town he had told about the wedding (and the only reason he told the bishop was so he could get his temple marriage pass). I blushed and tried my best not to look like I had not had enough sleep.

(You may be wondering what happened to the honeymoon. We went to Disneyland a couple of weeks later. It wasn't crowded, so we went on a bunch of rides and had a great time.)

After church as we were eating our pizza, we noticed it had a strange taste. We had already consumed almost half of the first one when I looked at the bottom side and saw that it was very MOLDY.

~Shudder~

We threw the pizza away and I went to the fridge and cupboard to see what else there was to eat. I may need to point out that Frank was a bachelor just two days before. The fridge had a few condiments and ONE hot dog. The cupboard had ONE can of corn. That was it. I also should include that as Mormons, we don't shop on Sunday. Even if we did, the two grocery stores within forty miles were closed on Sundays.

In good wifely manner, I asked Frank how he would like his hot dog cooked. He said he always heats them in the microwave. I asked, "How long?" and he said, "I don't know. I've never eaten just one before." Then he guessed about two minutes, so I put it in while I found a pan to heat up the corn. In my mind, I thanked my mother-in-law for the bag of homemade jam cookies she had sent with us.

The microwave beeped its conclusion. I opened the microwave (oven*) door to see smoke and one very petrified hot dog. Even as hungry as we were, it was not edible and so joined the mossy pizza in the garbage can.

As we sat down to our meal of corn and cookies, we couldn't help but giggle. The next day we went to the store together after Frank got home from work. I piled staples into the cart (flour, sugar, honey, rice, fruits and vegetables, pasta, eggs, and laundry supplies), and some olives, cheese, pickles, chocolate chips, sausage, and (of course) hot dogs. Frank had been away from his mother's home cooking for ten long months.

I'll never forget the look of bliss on his face.

*The other night, Frank was commenting
on how everyone calls this a microwave, when it is
really a microwave oven that uses microwaves to
cook food. While I already knew this, I like the
idea of calling it the microwave oven
instead of the microwave.

I think I'll call it Mo for short.

A New Love Story

In the beginning I was so lovesick over you.
The first time I felt the flutter
(Like butterflies in my stomach)
I smiled, feeling closer to you:
Some one who had fast become
Part of me.
It wasn't long before my heart burned with love,
I swelled with admiration,
And my muscles were stretched to their limit
In anticipation.

Some mothers reach out their arms
And say, "I love you this much."
I could turn to show my profile
And it would reach just as far.
On your birth day I loved you so much
That it hurt
More than anything had ever hurt.
And I cried, knowing your arrival
Was the beginning of something holy.

After our first separation,
I held you close and told you
We would always be connected.
Loving you has increased my love
And my joy.
Someday you will start a family of your own,
And our story will go on...
I know there will be sad chapters,
But try not to worry:
Mommy believes in "happily ever after."

Written by me: July 2009, for each of my children

The Blow-up Brush

I grew up in a house with a mom, a dad, three sisters, one bathroom, and one brush (actually, my dad had a brush also, but he [wisely] didn't share it with the girls. And I have a brother too, but he wasn't born until after I grew up).

To say it was a little nuts in the mornings before school would be an understatement. It seemed that whenever it was time to go somewhere, the brush was MIA.

One morning I went into my parents' dim bedroom to ask my mom if she knew where the brush was.

"It's right here," she mumbled groggily. I could barely see her hand reaching out to me in the dark.

Relieved, I made my way to her bedside to get it from her, but was startled when I touched her empty hand. "Mom," I said, "Where is it?"

"It's right here."

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is. It's a blow-up brush." She had never talked to me in her sleep before. I began to laugh uncontrollably as I left her room to continue looking for the brush.

She called after me, annoyance in her voice, "Stop laughing at me! You don't understand. It IS a blow-up brush."

I laughed even harder. I couldn't help it.

I don't remember what happened after that because it was such a long time ago. I don't even know how old I was, but it is one moment from my childhood that still makes me smile.

I read a blog post by a lovely writer who said that "hearing someone [talk in his/her sleep] is so funny it's like a little treat for being human."

I agree completely.

The Scarlet (Actually, White) Letters

If I take a walk on garbage day, I like to read the writing on the garbage cans. In my city, the garbage person writes messages on the black tote cans with a white marker or chalk. The notes say things like, "Place cans 6 feet apart," or "Put out past trees," and even threats like, "Out past vehicles or it will be left." There are warnings about past slipups. I've secretly been glad that I have a nice, clean garbage can without any of my garbage sins displayed for all to see.

We left town on Wednesday for Thanksgiving. I asked a neighbor to put my garbage can back after Thursday's garbage day. When we returned home on Sunday, my husband asked me, "Did you know it says on the garbage can that you can only have the can in the street for 12 hours before or after pickup time?" Then I realized that on holidays, the garbage person doesn't come until Friday.

So much for my purity. I couldn't believe the garbage person would actually drive around on Thanksgiving to see who put their cans out too early. Or maybe a neighbor complained? I went to our can to view the graffiti, only to discover that the writing my husband spoke of was only the small square of instructions stamped onto the lid. Whew.

That was a close one!

Quoting the Cute

Five-year-old: "Seven Sakes!"
Me: "What does that mean?"
Five-year-old: "It means 'Holy Cow.'"

Twenty-month-old: "Saw-we."

One day we met my sister-in-law at a park in a town where none of us lived. She was going to take our children to her house while we went on a date. On her way out of town, she took a wrong turn (we took the same wrong turn--who engineered these roads?). My sister-in-law said out loud that she was going the wrong way & my five-year-old daughter said, "Well, we are going to your house. You'd think you'd know your own way."

Twenty-month-old: "I tuck" (translation: I'm stuck).

Five-year-old: "I'm just a little girl. I don't know about these things."

Twenty-month-old daughter sings (while bounce-swaying back and forth): "Mock-kah, Mock-kah (pause) E-I-E-I-E."

Two-month-old son says: "Goo."

"Here Kiddy Kitty"

Both of my daughters could meow before they could talk. My five-year-old daughter has been running around on all fours since she started crawling (do not worry, she also knows how to walk on her hind legs). I am astounded at her ability to dart, on hands and feet, across the back yard or the back room. One of these days I need to get video footage of it.

So anyway, my daughters like to pretend they are cats. I love the purry meows, the naps on my lap, and the funny way they rub my legs with the sides of their heads while I work in the kitchen. I don't love that I've had to dig cat food out of the mouth of my one-year-old= so gross! And I have finally convinced my five-year-old that hand licking is most unsanitary (when you are a human).

One day when she was four, my daughter asked me to open the back door for her. I was on the land line phone--tied to the wall. I reminded her that she knows how to open the door. Then she reminded me that she is a kitty and can not open doors. I told her to stand on her hind legs like the dancing aristocats and open the door because I could not come right then. About ten minutes later when I had finished my phone call, I turned around to see that she was still sitting there on her haunches, patiently waiting for me to let her out.

She's a good kitty.

At the Salad Bar

This is probably a silly thing to blog about. But this is my blog, & right now I want to talk about SALAD. My foster family (& Chuck-a-Rama) always had the best salad bars because they usually had my favorite toppings. For the sake of my personal history, I will now describe my perfect green salad. This may be more important than you think: they may be serving this exact recipe at my descendants' family reunions for years into the far future.

Foundation:
Fresh, Crisp Greens (For me, the more variety in the mix, the better. My sister grows the best greens: organic lettuces with tasty tiny baby greens of all flavors. Masterpiecefull!)

Toppings:

• Peas (1. Good: frozen peas, thawed 2. Better: sprouted peas 3. Best: peas from the garden = one of my favorite things!)
• Carrots (1. Good: sliced 2. Better: shredded 3. Best: small juliennes)
• Cucumbers (1. Good: sliced 2. Best: sliced, then halved)
• Tomatoes (I am not much of a tomato fan--I almost left them off my list. However, garden tomatoes are good on a salad & I can also eat halved cherry tomatoes or grape tomatoes [on a salad] with a smile on my face)
• Sprouts (1. No, not alfalfa sprouts 2. No, not mung (bean) sprouts 3. Best: sprouted Pro-Vita-Mix)
• Baby Spinach (if it's not already in the greens where it should be!)
• Broccoli (small trees)
• Cauliflower (small flowers)
• Olives (green & black, please)
• Mushrooms (sliced, then halved)
• Beans (kidney, black, pinto, garbanzo: pick one or two)
• Pineapple (tidbits)
• Raisins
• Dried Cranberries (aka Craisins®)
• Ham Dices
• Boiled Egg Slices (I feel a poem coming on)
• Ranch Dressing (unless I'm trying to lose weight...then I use those yummy salad spritzers)
• Cheese (1. Good: cheddar 2. Best: Swiss & Parmesan)
• Sunflower Seeds
• Almond Slivers
• Bacon Bits
• Croutons (small is best)

Now I'm salivating. We are eating SALAD for dinner tomorrow! Wait. I have to soak & cook beans & sprout sprouts & buy ham & Craisins® & sunflower seeds & bacon bits first...we are eating SALAD in two days!

Other toppings at the salad bars of family & food joints that I sometimes take or leave:

• Avocado
• Shredded jícama
• Slices of raw yams
• Artichoke hearts
• Corn (I think baby corn is best...I love miniatures!)
• Onions (green, purple...I'd go with chives instead, but that's just me)
• Bell peppers (I prefer yellow or red)
• Diced turkey or chicken
• Pickles (although I'd rather have dilly beans [pickled green beans with a hint of cayenne pepper])
• Celery (no thanks)
• Beets
• Cottage cheese
• Mandarin oranges

It may seem I have complicated salad, which is why we usually eat salad with just carrots & cucumbers with toppings on the table of whatever we have on hand (which often ends up being peas, tomatoes, raisins, croutons, & dressing). Oh, but a salad BAR...I could get drunk there! Only joking: I'm a Mormon, so I don't drink.