Punkin Presents

We got two boxes of Christmas presents today. Hooray! It's almost more than Punkin Boy can bear. I've lost count of the times I've heard, "When can we open the presents, Mama?" but it's a lot. Just today. Does anybody here remember the first picture of Pirate Boy I posted, where he was wearing this sweatsuit? My babies are growing up...

And yes, that is a large orange pumpkin there in the background. Our neighbors have a small pumpkin patch, and we've been cooking with the orange stuff a lot lately. I found a good cookie recipe on the 'net the other day, and I think I've finally got the hang of making the bread. Anybody else got a favorite pumpkin recipe?

I mentioned the pumpkin thing to my folks the other day, so in the package we received from them today were all sorts of non-pumpkin baking supplies. Double and triple hooray! I have the best parents ever.

By the Way

It's on my mind, although I haven't mentioned it: #1 Son is on his trip to China, or at least I presume so. (Miss Thing doesn't bother sending an email saying, "OK, we're leaving tomorrow" or anything. The only information we've got is what he told me after talking to her on the phone a couple weeks back. How any parent can be expected to live this way is beyond me.)

Now tell me, you parents out there (and even you non-parents with a bit of imagination): With the information that's been in the news lately, combined with the widespread pet sickness, would you feel comfortable about your kid traveling (and specifically eating) in China these days? Me neither.

Opposition in All Things

Whew, I feel wrung out. Those who are a bit familiar with the ongoing dramas in our life might think that every now and again I'd look at what we've been through recently and think Wow, how did we get through that? It'd only make sense. Except what I really do is look back on the past month or so and think, Ha! I thought that challenge was hard!

I was having that thought just a few days ago and remarked to someone that whenever I read my journal, I have to laugh at what I thought was a rough patch, 'cause this, now this that I'm going through is tough. Ha! Fortunately, the blessings are compensatory.

Let me tell you about my week. Sunday morning I got up to get breakfast for the kids and noticed that there was water leaking from our freezer. OK, not a good sign. I pulled open the fridge and discovered that someone (probably under 5 feet tall) had turned the controls all the way to zero-- that is, turned our fridge and freezer off. I investigated further and realized that it had probably been done the night before. And there we were, a week's worth of groceries, gone just like that: POOF. Remember last year when I was bummed about having the milk go bad a couple days before we could get more? Ha! And last year, we could afford to replace a gallon of milk.

But in opposition to this trial, our lovely church leaders got together and bought us all new food, even more than we'd had before. But wait, there's more!

This morning, Punkin Boy was complaining of a pain in his leg and cried when he tried to walk. The Man (TM) had woken up late and had 15 minutes to get everyone out the door to school. After he left, I was worrying about how I would get Punkin Boy to the doctor if his leg got any worse, when a sweet sister from church called up and asked if it would be OK if she and a couple of others came over and cleaned my house for me. I asked if she'd be able to drive us to the doctor-- of course, she said. My house is now cleaner than it's been in 2 years. I feel so good about that, and Punkin Boy was up running around by lunchtime. Whew.

Now we've got this other thing. In today's mail, we got an overdraft notice; TM's credit card payment came from an account that couldn't afford it. The bank is in another state, so even if we had any money, we couldn't get it there quickly. Once again, I'm having to look for a miracle. But I think I've figured out the lesson I'm supposed to be learning from this particular phase of my mortal experience: Don't put my trust in the arm of flesh. Just when you think you know it all...

Read It and Eat It

I was interested to see this article on CNN.com today. My dear sister has had some problems with this program in the past, and her objections (as I recall) were similar to the ones stated at the end of the article. I don't have a problem just picking up one free take-out pizza (although they hate when you do that) but I'd like to be able to afford to make it a family outing. And there you go; the company succeeds in its aims.

I notice, rather sadly, that there were no statistics quoted in the article for how many coupons were actually redeemed from this program. I bet they could even give details about how much money each coupon transaction brought in. That data would surely be enlightening. Let's see, 22 million x 700 calories per pizza...

So, come on and weigh in: Where do you stand on the issue of bribing kids with fatty foods so they'll read? (Did I just give my position away? Nuts!)

[Edited: I checked Pizza Hut's nutritional info and was interested to see that I wasn't exaggerating much with my estimate. A plain pepperoni personal pizza has 640 calories and 29 grams of cheesy fat. Don't get me started about the 1530 mg of sodium; I think I'm gonna throw up. It's tasty all right, but... gack.]

Acts of Love

After my self-absorbed rant of this morning, I realized I needed to do some repenting. I'd overreacted to something that, yes, did make my day less pleasant and did do the opposite of what I'd hoped to have going on, but my reaction made the day less pleasant for my family, and I felt terrible. I'm tough; I'll get over it. My sweet boys, though (and here I'm including my husband), they take everything to heart. I had to find a way to show my love.

Well, I went through the pantry and the fridge, wondering whether I could find something special to fix for dinner. (The stomach, being, of course, the most direct route to their hearts.) I started to believe that I didn't really have anything at all to fix, much less something special. Oh bother. I took something out of the freezer, but that won't be ready for another day or so. Then I realized that I could in fact make cheeseburgers, and that we even had some good toppings for them. That would be a good start. There was some red jello in the pantry, and I could add fruit.

Now, what for dessert? They deserved a good apology. We had received a plate of cookies this week and still had enough left for one each, but that wasn't from me to them. I really wanted to make up for my yelling, especially when Punkin told me very seriously this afternoon that he feels sad and even angry when I yell. OK, that's enough of that.

Then it came to me: the perfect Valentine's treat for my boys. I remembered reading a long time ago a tip about making heart-shaped cupcakes by under-filling the cups and placing a marble on the outside of each paper, inside the cup. The marble pushes the paper into a sort of heart shape, and with a dextrous flick of the icing knife-- voila! Beautiful pink hearts. I had enough batter left for a circle pan, which I planned to cut and paste into a heart shape, too, but Punkin Boy liked it just the way it was when it came out of the oven. I even found a handful of peppermints left over from Christmas; I crushed them and sprinkled them on top of each cake. (Punkin called them "the Mama cake and the babycakes"--I howled with laughter.)

The food turned out great, my meeting wasn't ruined by the messy house, and my husband brought me chocolate tonight. All is well and beautiful.

Cake and Pictures

I'm catching up on my photos; finally got the rolls of film developed from the past year. This is, of course, #1 Son and his birthday cake in the shape of Zorbak the "ebil" blue Moglin (just call him a bunny with a bad attitude). I mentioned it here, if you recall. It's not the best picture; compare it to the original here if you want. Enjoy!

Spice Cupboard of my Mind

So I was buzzing around my kitchen tonight (baking more banana bread, if you must know) when I found my mental radio station tuned to the Butthole Surfers' song "Pepper"-- you know the one, "They were all in love with dyin', they were doing it in Texas." The lyrics of songs sometimes get stuck at a certain point when they're running through my head, as if my subconcious is trying to send me a message. But strangely enough, I wasn't stuck on the "cinnamon and sugary" part.
No, it was this part:

Some will die in hot pursuit
In fiery auto crashes
Some will die in hot pursuit
While sifting through my ashes
Some will fall in love with life
And drink it from a fountain
That is [what, boys and girls?]

...pouring like an avalanche
Coming down the mountain

Yep. Some days I'm so sick of this place I'd even move to Texas-- or Alabama.

Things to Be Thankful For

High on my list of blessings this week is our neighbors a couple doors to the west, the B's. They are lovely people anyway, and they have daughters just a little younger than our sons. On Tuesday morning, the kids were supposed to have a play date, but The Man (TM) had gotten the flu overnight, and I realized at breakfast that it was upon me as well. So when sweet neighbor B1 called to see when Punkin would be over, we had to say, well, not this week.

So she made us a big pot of chicken soup. From scratch. And brownies. And cookies that looked like turkeys. She threw all this and some breakfast things into a box and brought it over to us. "Get well soon," she said. I about cried as I took it from her. She returned a little later with some stuffing and cranberry sauce for our Thanksgiving dinner. "We're not cooking this year," she said. This time, I really did cry.

Wednesday evening, her husband B2 called to see how we were doing. Fortunately, TM's (104-degree) fever had broken the night before, and he was up and around. I was still on my way down, but we were managing. "Have you guys eaten yet? We have some extra lasagne," he told TM. We had eaten, but about an hour later, he was at our door with a big dish of lasagne, a plate of pumpkin bars (with cream cheese frosting--yum!), and a totally geeky book that he thought TM would like. (He loves it!)

Today (still up on Thanksgiving night) I'm thankful for such kind and generous people in my life.

Long and Winding Road

I really thought I was doing OK with our straitened situation lately. I've been learning to make a variety of good meals with the same limited supply of food and keep the kids from complaining. I've learned not to whine myself even when I don't have chocolate in the house. I kept most of my misery to myself when I was out of pain medication. I keep going even when there's no money in the bank, little food in the fridge, and a severe lack of energy in my body.

But apparently there's something here that I still need to learn. I must have sighed just a little when I went to the fridge yesterday and found there was only one gallon of milk left to last us until Friday lunchtime. I must have had the fleeting thought that it would be hard to make that little bit of milk stretch so long among so many growing boys. But I had already resolved cheerfully to make the best of it (honest) by the time I got the lid off and discovered that, despite its expiration date, it had already gone bad.

I didn't cry, but I know I sighed then. I have so far to go still.

I Love My Social Worker

(How sick is it that I even have a social worker? Argh! But fortunately, it's not turning out to be such a bad thing after all. Geez. )

Yes, Darci the S.W. came by today. First, she came by while I was at my writers group (which happened to be in Cheyenne this morning--brrr!) and left her card. That was pretty cool, I thought. If she really thought she'd catch us at something, she wouldn't warn us like that. So I came in and fed Punkin Boy ('cause yes, I do that) and had some lunch too. Then I straightened up a bit.

While I was finishing up the dishes, Darci came by again. She looked apologetic. "Let me guess," I said. "You got another crazy phone call." Apparently. Claiming we don't feed any of our kids anything, even banana bread. She explained that she had to investigate and had talked to the kids yesterday. They seemed fine, she said (thank you very much), and asked if it would be too much trouble for me to let her look in my kitchen at the food I claim to have. Oh sure, come on in.

Sorry for the mess, I said, I've been working. (Yay, I had another project, but yech, the state of my house!) This time, she said it wasn't so bad, so I felt better. I explained about the church welfare system and mentioned that I had multiple cuts of meat in the freezer and fresh veggies and fruits in the fridge. "Mind if I look?" Darci said. Nah, go ahead. She seemed really impressed and amazed. But she believed me. That felt good, like my sanity had been restored.

We talked for a while about the situation and how sometimes #1 Son likes to exaggerate slightly to set his "mommy" off on one of her rampages. He thinks it's funny (*Jack*), and it would be if it didn't affect our family like it does. She is quite amazingly insane and wants no truck with reality if it means agreeing with me or The Man (TM). (She's still going on about how he's trying to steal her time with her baby, when in reality it's her threatening to kidnap him when he's supposed to be here with his father. Sheesh.)

So anyway, Darci and I had a very nice chat. We talked about how skinny #1 Son is and how skinny his dad was when he was younger. How he eats more than I do, and I certainly don't weigh 75 pounds. Dang fast metabolism. How sweet Pirate Boy is and how he loves to talk about his pirate crew to anyone who'll listen. And how healthy all the boys seem to be and how she'll just be closing out this incident and making a note in case of future psycho phone calls.

YES! I love my social worker.

Unreal

After all the psychosis surrounding our kids' eating habits lately, I've been a little more, let's face it, self-conscious about the dinners I serve and so on. So last night, as we sat around the dinner table eating big plates of spaghetti florentine, I joked to #1 Son, "So, are you getting fed lately?" It was only half a joke, really, but he laughed. Today I had a lavish dinner including a glazed ham and baked potatoes with the works, on the table ready to eat by 5:30, which was when I expected The Man (TM) and the older kids to walk in the door from school. TM has to leave again by 6:30, so I try to serve the meals so as to have as much relaxation and "family" time as possible on our hurried days.

Well, by 6:00, when TM hadn't shown up, I had started to get worried and Punkin Boy had started to get really hungry. I decided to put the meat and potatoes on TM's plate and pour the milk, so he'd be all ready to eat when he walked in. A few minutes later, I gave in and served Punkin too. And then I seriously started praying. At 6:15, the garage door opened and our missing boys arrived, #1 Son sporting a splint on his right hand. Oh good. There was very little time for explanation, but I gathered that the finger that we had thought yesterday was only jammed actually has a fracture, and the missing time was spent in the urgent care clinic. TM got the X-rays on a CD-ROM, which was kind of a relief because at least we had evidence that it wasn't any worse.

I was already formulating an email to Hell when someone brought up the subject of dinner (yes, here it is, still somewhat warm, miraculously) and how someone still thinks they don't eat. And TM asked, "Did CPS stop by today?" Ummmm, no. Should they? Apparently, they said they might. When did they say this? Oh, when they were giving our kids the third degree in the vice principal's office today after receiving yet another call from "a concerned citizen." Saying things to our kids like, "Tell the truth; we know you're not getting any food at home." Dear heavens.

Dorothy has dealt with this crud before, so she knows how awful it can be. I'm glad I'm not the only one this stuff happens to. Fortunately, our kids know the difference between "We get food" and "We don't get food" and they stuck to their guns, according to their accounts. Geez. How do you fight this garbage? We've already shown a social worker the inside of our pantry. We've explained that we get our food for free from our church welfare system, wonderful thing that it is, and we will continue to do so until we get back on our feet financially. As amazing as it may sound, it's true. And having obtained as much food as we want (because yes, that's how it works), why would we refuse to feed it to our children? Only a lunatic could believe that.