Halloween hasn't even arrived and I'm already planning Thanksgiving

Since my dear hubby, Bizarro Dad, usually works on Thursdays, and will probably have to go in on Thanksgiving Day, I've decided that perhaps we could have a small Thanksgiving the day before, which is his regular day off, and just have his family over. Then that leaves me free Thursday to make the rounds visiting my relatives. So far his sister doesn't mind the idea, but we have to see what his mom will say. Seeing as mom-in-law doesn't work outside the home, I don't see why she'd object, but still, I'm going to wait until she says yes before I rush out and buy a turkey.

In the meantime, I've found some very interesting recipes in my gi-normous Box-O'-Recipes from the good people at Easy to Bake, Easy to Make. There's this strange little pastry that's made from prepackaged breadstick dough, reshaped to look like a cornucopia, and stuffed with a mixture of cream cheese, cranberries, and apricot preserves (or, if you prefer, cream cheese, strawberries, and strawberry preserves). There's also this apple stuffing that looks neat, but instead of serving it on the plate, you serve it in a scooped-out, precooked, sliced-in-half acorn squash! It does look cute that way, but I want to know how I'm supposed to cook the squash. Do I bake it? Do I microwave it? Can I do it the night before so I'm not having to worry about cooking it at the same time as my turkey, yams, rolls, and cornucopias?

What about you? What are your Thanksgiving plans?

I'm such a ditz

For the last few weeks, my cordless phone has not been ringing loud enough to hear unless I was in the same room with it. This is strange, to be sure, as my ringer has only two volumn settings: on and off. For the last three days, we have not heard it ring at all, despite receiving many phone calls. Naturally we figured the ringer just died on us. Bizarro Dad bought a new phone today.

I just looked at the thing. The ringer is switched to off.

*that toddler*

Words I hate to hear spoken out loud

Farfignugen
Kotex*
Squirts*
Paisley
Cansonas (translation: underwear)*
Chi-chis (translation: boobs)*
Boobies (they're called BREASTS people, for the love of crap!)
Saliva
White Sox

*denotes word that is especially hated when it comes out of my mother's mouth

Yes, I am obsessed with Harry Potter, why do you ask?

For your viewing pleasure, the three headmasters of the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry Potter and the Pictures of Great Amusement

I blame you, cmhl, for being the one to finally explain how it is that one puts an image on a blog entry. Thank you for getting me addicted. *love*

And now, for your viewing pleasure:

I do so love this picture. Just think: what would happen if these kids (in character, I mean) actually did walk into Hogwarts dressed like this? They are already part of a dark culture, so to dress up as a Muggle's imitation of dark culture...what would everyone say? Would they be called Dark Wizards? Clowns? DARK WIZARD CLOWNS?

You know, I would totally be a Harry/Hermione "shipper" if the books had not made it blatantly obvious that Hermione and Ron were destined for each other. When you watch the movies, though, it is very clear that Emma Watson and Dan Radcliffe have some truly amazing chemistry together, and it does almost look like they could have something together. This must be why there is a strange interest (mostly among teenagers) in whether or not Emma and Dan are dating.


I have to tell you, this picture frightens and confuses me. Not because it's bad, oh no. It's because it is just so damn good! I know it is the job of the art department to make Dan Radcliffe (and hence, the movie) irresistable to teenage girls everywhere. But seriously, they did their job a little too well. Because I am totally crushing on this guy, despite the fact that I am much too old for him. Well, okay, I'm not that old, I'm not even in my thirties yet. But still. I'm too old to be having school-girl crushes, and I'm certainly too old for Daniel Radcliffe. This is me, being all scared. ...Then again, maybe it's not him I find attractive. Maybe it's just the leather wizard robes. Yes, that's it. I always did have a thing for leather jackets and trench coats.

Okay, I'm going to go crawl under a rock, now.

Google Image Biography

I swiped this from crouching mommy, hidden laundry because I have nothing better to do. Go to Google Images and put in the name of the town where you were born, the town you live in now, your name, the name of your grandmother, your favorite food, favorite smell, and favorite song. Then you post the images.

This is the city where I was born, and to which I have recently returned to live in once more. Ah, home. How I love thee, Houston.













This is the only image of my name I could find that wasn't a sleezy picture or a photograph of a woman who looks nothing like me.


















My grandmother's name. Interestingly, her mother named her Josephine, but when her father took her to the church to be baptized, he changed it to Eva. Grandma now hates the name Josephine.












Favorite food: this was actually a tough decision. Do I say Italian food? Chocolate cake? Pumpkin ice cream pie? Chocolate? No, no, if I have to pick out my favorite rare treat, I'm going with shrimp scampi.
















Favorite smell. This was another tough one. I nearly said roses, or that Vive Shampoo for men (which just does something for me). I could also have said "minced garlic and onions sauted in olive oil." But no, this has to be my favorite, by far. The smell of my children, freshly bathed and shampooed.














Favorite song: Riverwide by Sheryl Crow. This song was the theme-song for one of my most painful break-ups, and the inspiration for some Alias fanfiction I wrote a few years back.

Let's Go Astros LET'S GO!

Yeah, that's right. My beloved Astros are one game away from heading to the World Series. I fondly recall many games I attended during my elementary-school years. Ah, the cheering, the popcorn, the singing, the impersonating of the voice of the vendor who sold cold beer (much to my mother's dismay).

This was back when the 'Stros still played at the Astrodome. The Eighth Wonder of the World, they called it. Now the Astros play at Minute Maid Park, a new-fangled sort of stadium with a retractable roof (which the players don't want to retract right now). I've never been to this new venue. I only remember that when it was new, it was nick-named the Home Run Derby.

I haven't been to a baseball game in over a decade. (Oh crap, I think I just aged.) It's nothing against sports in general, or baseball. I just can't stand the seating in today's modern stadiums. Tiny little seatss, steep stairs, large crowds of strangers...no, not for me.

But I do love my home team. They put me in mind of childhood, school friends, cousins, and being encouraged to scream as loud as I liked. I wish you well, boys. Do me proud.

Out of the mouths of Latinos...

During our Hurricane Rita House Arrest, my mother-in-law told me about something she heard on a Spanish radio station. Apparently the DJs were reporting the mayor's call to stop with the evacuating already, the storm was too close. The DJs, after reading this, proclaimed: "Te chinga, nos vamos a Mexico." (F*** you, we're going to Mexico.) They then abandoned their post. Mom-in-law said you could hear them leaving, then it was just dead air. Nice to know the Hispanic community can count on the local Spanish radio announcers to continue broadcasting information.

Interestingly, the Spanish-language TV channels and radio stations are considered to be "the ones who tell you what's really going on" in this area. I don't know why, but for some reason the attitude of the local Mexicans is that the "white" TV stations hold back the truth. I've never really watched Univision's news broadcast, since I don't understand enough spoken Spanish to make sense of what's being said, so I couldn't tell you what channel 45 is saying that ABC is not. I just think it's funny that my grandmother thinks ABC, NBC, and CBS news all lie to her.

What? Me? Clean?

I know I need to clean the house. I do. But I don't wanna.

I'm in pain. My neck and back are killing me, and these two kiddos don't understand that and still insist on being carried, lifted, yanked away from the toilet, etc. Besides, it's Bizarro Dad's day off, so he can (and does) help take care of the little ones.

So, begging your pardon, I'm spending my time watching Chocolat and A Day Without Mexicans, thank you very much. Cleaning can wait, or maybe my brother can get off his keister and wash some dishes for a change.

I was STOOD UP!

But I'm not complaining, oh no. I was stood up by Hurricane Rita. (By the way, CMHL, thanks for caring.) Seriously, we got some wind, but as far as rain, it barely sprinkled. No, really. I've seen garden hoses with more force. We only lost power for about an hour on my block. Mom's block lost electricity for a couple of days. We didn't have any damage to the house, though a branch from the neighbor's tree fell into our back yard. My other neighbor's garage was shredded, but it was already partially destroyed from Tropical Storm Allison four years ago, so it was no big loss.

We did have some action around here, though. See, we may have stayed, but many of our neighbors evacuated. Some thieves tried to steal our neighbor's car. Friends of the neighbors saw the theft in progress, and started shooting at the thieves. Thieves shot back, blowing out the window of a very nice Cadillac. Here in the house, we heard nothing at all. Mom, Grandpa, and Uncle A, who were all across the street, saw the whole thing and called the cops.

I got the scoop from Mom, and relayed the info to my own household. My dad went all Jed Clampett, and pulled out this ancient shotgun (which I mistook for a rifle, it was so long) and started asking for extra shells. Fortunately Dad's shotgun takes the same rounds as our shiny Mossberg. Personally, I felt that he'd be better off just using his .380, rather than trying to use that old gun that hadn't been fired in over a decade. NRA bonanza notwithstanding, we didn't actually have to use any of our firepower. The revenge shootings occurred a few blocks away. We didn't here those either. Our air conditioners are really loud. Plus, we're all going deaf.

Now that I'm thinking about it, Bizarro Dad (my husband) said that when he went to the sporting goods store to buy ammo right before the storm, there were a whole lot of people doing the same thing. Nothing like a hurricane to bring out the Commando in all of us. But really, this IS Texas.

If you've ever seen that movie Miss Congeniality, recall that part wherein Sandra Bullock tackles a dude with a holstered gun right in the middle of Market Square in San Antonio. Candace Bergen reprimands her for taking this action for such a trivial reason. "This is Texas!" she says. "Everybody has a gun. My florist has a gun!" Well, that's really how it is sometimes. We all have guns, at least in this neighborhood. We don't all carry them around, but I suspect that's because not enough people want to spend the $90 to get the concealed handgun license. Well, that and criminal records.

Seriously, this state is just the wrong place for looting. If the citizens weren't shooting at you, the cops were arresting you. There were some punks who broke into a middle school to steal electronics. There was a middle school teacher who broke into fifteen houses to take heaven knows what. I mean, I know our state education funding is a mess, but dayum. The hospitals were not letting a lot of people in unless they were critical. That's how many people were getting stabbed and shot.

Well, we're all okay. The city is getting back to normal, although I wish I could say the same for the folk over in Beaumont. They took a severe beating. Please, if you haven't done so already, donate to https://give.redcross.org/ to continue helping those nice people.

Hurricane Rita, Category 5, To Hit Me Dead On

Never in recorded history has the Houston/Galveston area experienced a Category 5 hurricane. The Great Storm that took Galveston in 1900 predates modern weather categorization, but it was so devastating that even 105 years later, Galveston has still not fully recovered.

Rita can hit 100 miles from here and we'll still experience hurricane force winds.

We're boarding up our house. We're stocked up on water and food, clothes, medical supplies and ammunition. Yes, ammunition. It's a rough neighborhood, even in good weather. In disastrous conditions...well, hopefully our old friend from school who lives down the street will use his A.K. 47 for good instead of evil. I wish I were kidding.

Our area is not under evacuation order. We're staying here, since our land doesn't flood, unless my husband decides otherwise. Even if the kids and I get out, my husband is staying to provide EMT services, and my dad and brother are staying. My mother-in-law is with us. Mom and Grandpa and Grandma, who live across the street, were going to evacuate, but Grandma had to go to the hospital yesterday and has not been released. So Mom and Grandpa are going to hole up in their house (which is on even higher land than my house). Grandma's hospital is going to be locked down.

Pray for us. We really need it.

Random wonderings

How do you measure the worth of a person?

My instinct is to deny the size of their estate or the greatness of their celebrity status, but those things clearly matter to the world at large. When a poor man dies, he gets a small obituary. When a movie star dies, or a multi-millionaire, he gets his picture on the news while Tom Brokaw talks about how famous he is.

But maybe it's not so much the fame and fortune that matters, but the influence that goes with it. When President Regan died, there was all this talk about his influence on conservatism and the economy and politics in general. When great evangelists and other religious leaders die, there is talk about the influence they had on the population and on the individuals closest to them. But where does this leave the relatively unknown? Surely they have impacted lives in less obvious ways. Are they not worth just as much? Does their worth depend on what kind of influence they've had?

And what about deeds? How does that determine your value? Do you add all the good ones and subtract the bad ones? Do you get more points for saving someone's life than for talking them through a mental breakdown? Do all the small good things add up to one big thing? If you kill one person but save the lives of two others, does that put you ahead? Do the rules change if you're engaged in military combat on behalf of your country?

Are you worth more if someone believes in you? Are you worth more if you believe in yourself?

Potty Training Nightmare

Seriously, how long is it supposed to take to potty-train a child? My daughter Gina is nearly four years old, and not until the last month or so has she made significant progress in the art of using a toilet.

Even that progress, I notice, is limited to our own house. Send her to my mom's, or my mother-in-law's, or sis-in-law's, or pretty much anywhere, and she won't do it. She has to have her "triangle," which is what she calls her special Sponge Bob toilet seat topper that allows her the comfort of a soft seat and the security of knowing the hole is too small for her to fall in. She will scream bloody murder and pee on the bathmat rather than sit on the toilet without this object. Gina won't even approach the toilet if the bathroom light (a.k.a. the potty light) is not on. And, for whatever reason, she won't let anyone but me help her in the bathroom, though I suspect she might be willing to let her oldest cousin (a ten-year-old girl) help her.

Whenever I leave her with family, I always say "Remind her she's wearing panties. Ask her if she needs to use the potty. Show her where it is. Here, put her triangle on your potty. Make sure the light is on." But still, Bizarro Dad or I get a phone call saying that she's wet herself (and promptly got a towel or wipes and began cleaning the mess herself), and did we pack any extra clothes?

Then there's the overnight situation. I've kept her in a diaper at night because she generally comes to bed with Mom and Dad (with all four of us in one bedroom, this is to be expected). She usually wakes up with a dry diaper, but wets it shortly after she wakes. Well, now I'm making her go to bed on her own mattress (located on the floor next to my bed). So last night I put her to bed in panties. I instructed the family to leave the bathroom light on overnight, and I reminded Gina that if she woke up and needed to pee she should get up and run to the potty. I told her to remember to go potty as soon as she wakes up in the morning. And, because I'm crazy but not stupid, I laid down two of those absorbent changing pads on her mattress and a towel on top of those. I kissed her good night.

About six this morning the baby woke up screaming. Gina's mattress is right in front of Sia's crib, so I have to step on it to get to the baby. Guess what I felt on the mattress?

Gina seemed not to have been bothered by it, because she just rolled over to the right. She didn't even take off her panties. In fact, I'm not even sure she was awake when she peed.

When I finally got the baby calm and back in her crib, Gina promptly got up and crawled her stinky self into my bed. No way was I letting that fly. To the tub she went.

This is driving me nuts. Anyone have some advice? Anyone know where to get a twin-sized absorbent, leak-proof mattress pad?

Yes, I'm a little late...

...but it doesn't matter. Please contribute monetary donations for Hurricane Katrina victims to the Red Cross, or, if you're near the refugee areas or disaster sites, volunteer . There is especially a need for anyone with medical experience (bring your credentials, please) and people with senior leadership skills. Contact the Red Cross to find out specifically when you will be needed. The fear is that the volunteer effort will drop off after a week or a month, but the need will not, so please try to follow the organization's schedule. If you choose to contribute money, save your receipt! Some companies offer donation matching, but they can't match your donation if you don't have your receipt. And if you can't donate money or time, go donate blood!

If you are in the Houston area, contact your local schools, charitable organizations, and food banks to see if they are holding any donation drives. Do not take your donation directly to the refugee areas unless specifically directed by Red Cross to do so. Many schools are hosting refugee kids and are accepting donations at those locations. The following are a list of needs that you may be asked to donate:
Food
Clothing (all sizes, from baby clothes on up)
Shoes (tennis shoes, sandals, etc.)
Towels
Toiletries (toothbrushes, deoderant, shampoo, etc.)
Feminine products
Nursing pads
Diapers
Baby wipes
Formula and bottles
Babyfood
Bedding
Beds!
School supplies (including backpacks)
Medical supplies (latex gloves, bandages, medical tape, alcohol, antibiotic ointment)

Please also keep the volunteers themselves in mind. Many have been working for three straight days, and all they want is someone to get them a cup of coffee, but there is no coffee to be had, nor any coffee machines.

Scouts, Scouts, and More Scouts!

Saturday I went to a Scout Leader training session (called Little Philmont, for some reason), and can I just say *squeak!*

It was completely overwhelming. They used a lot of terms I had not heard before. I still don't know the difference between a district and a unit. But I did get lots of good information and some ideas I can use with my Pack.

I must admit, it was quite fun seeing all the different Scout leaders in their uniforms. Most blouses were that tan color, but I did see some yellow ones, and even one green one (worn by our special guest speaker, who is apparently a Venturing leader, in addition to his other impressive callings and distinctions). I still have no uniform blouse, and I know I need to get one before my first meeting with the boys, but I don't think I'm going to go out and purchase one until a) my Cubmaster application is accepted, and b) my husband, Bizarro-Dad, gets his next paycheck.

Speaking of Bizarro-Dad, guess what his new calling at church is? Young Men's Secretary, which places him in a leadership position over what? That's right, Boy Scouts. He's not a Scoutmaster, but he is going to have to meet with all those teenage boys on a weekly basis, at the same time that I'm meeting with the little whipper-snappers.

Guess what the problem is with this equation? Go on, try to guess.

Our two little girls. What do they expect us to do with our three-year-old (hereafter known as Gina) and our 15-month-old (hereafter known as Sia)? Sia is a fairly quiet baby, but Gina is very active, and wants to be involved in everything.

My mom has offered to watch them on the evenings that we have meetings, but my mom is currently caring for her two elderly parents, one of whom is likely to need surgery on this week's meeting day. Well, I guess I can take the girls with me this week. I'm not really meeting with my boys yet, and I mostly just want to sort some things out with my church leadership. Little things like which boys are already registered, how often do they want to hold den meetings, and what the heck is our pack number, anyway?

And I need to start sorting this stuff out fast. Girl Scout meetings start next month, and I want to have my Cub Scout routine figured out before I take on a bunch of five-year-old girls. (Good news: I can take the girls to the Girl Scout stuff, since most of their activities allow for Tag-Alongs.) And since my sis-in-law is the troop leader and not me, I won't have quite as much weighing on me there as I do as the Cubmaster.

Scouting IS new territory

At church today I received a new calling: Cub Scout Master.

Yeah, you read that right. I am to be the woman in charge of all those screaming little 8- to 11-year-old boys on Wednesday nights. I'm the one who's supposed to tell them: Hey you kids! Cut that out! We've got Pinewood Derby cars to build!

I'm excited, to tell you the truth. Excited and scared. And nervous. And maybe just a little bit shocked. And perhaps just a teeny tiny bit terrified beyond belief!

I'm not usually the kind of person who likes little boys. They irritate me most of the time. But maybe it's time for me to get over that. Maybe the Lord wants me to overcome my flaw and be a better person by giving me the chance to work with boys so I can learn to not be so easily annoyed by them.

Oh man.

That's it. I knew it. I knew it!

My next baby is going to be a boy.

Not that I'm pregnant. (That I know of.) But I still do plan to have another child some day, and now here I have reason (albeit a strange one) to suspect my next baby will be a boy! Why else would the Lord inspire the Primary presidency to call me to watch over the scouting needs of a bunch of boys when I have two small girls at home?

(For those of you who are not LDS, church leadership positions are offered after names have been prayed over and the people doing the praying feel inspired to pick a certain person. Then that person is asked if they are willing to accept the calling. Then it is brought before the membership of the church for sustaining.)

So there you have it. I get to be all cub-scout-mastery and teach boys about geology, water safety, and how to tie a decent knot.

Except that I don't know how to swim, I can't tie good knots, and while I do enjoy geology, I was never good at the whole identify-this-rock-just-by-looking-at-it thing. I'm more of a this-is-how-volcanoes-work person.

*sigh*

It will be okay. Eventually everything will work out. I just have to calm down, focus, and figure out how to get a better budget for my boys.

I still have other stuff to do for church, besides scripture study itself. And then I told my sis-in-law that I would help her with her troop of Girl Scouts (Daisies, age 5).

Wow, I'm just going to be a scouting fool.

Absurd Logic

The other night the baby made a colossal mess on the floor during dinner time. I'd had a full day of child-chasing and nose-cleaning, etc. Hubby had a full day (or was it a three-quarter day?) of work. I asked him to clean up the mess.

Him: Why do I have to clean it up?
Me: I've been cleaning up messes all day, all week in fact. You can't clean up one mess?
Him: That doesn't count because I wasn't here.
Me: (bewildered) What?!
Him: You can't count that against me because it's not like I was here. I was working.
Me: It's not counting against you. That's just stupid.
Him: (Gives me a look.)
Me: I just want some time where I'm not cleaning up the kids' mess. Just like you want to have one day when you're not lifting patients into the ambulance.

He was all huffy with me after that for calling him stupid. I admit, I was wrong to say that. But really, how else would you describe his argument? Him not being home to help me during the day is supposed to be grounds for him not to help me once he does get home? What? That doesn't even begin to make any sense.

And it's not like he never helps with the kids. He changes diapers. He feeds them meals. He takes a turn holding them when we're together at a barbeque and I want to eat. He'll even help do laundry if I phrase my request just right. ("Honey, can you put the wet clothes in the dryer for me?")

But when it comes to cleaning big messes, he suddenly gets all weird on me. Sure, he'll grab a towel when a drink gets spilled, but macaroni and cornbread? Nope, not if he can help it.

I know, I really do know, that he is tired at the end of the day. It's hard work, lifting heavy dialysis patients onto their stretchers and into the ambulance. I want him to have some down time. I try not to make unreasonable demands.

But you know what? I want some down time, too. I want my one day not to have to have to clean up urine, or snot, or rejected food. And I want to not be upbraided for wanting it.

Random Salsa

The Dante's Inferno Test has sent you to Purgatory!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Extreme
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	High
Level 2 (Lustful)	Moderate
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Low
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very Low
Level 7 (Violent)	Low
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Low
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Very Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Dude, I was this close to the third circle of hell. I'm such a sucker for ravioli.

Drama, or What Did I Do in a Former Life that I Have Such Sucky Karma Today?

Seriously, I've been waiting for plumbers every other day for the last week. I haven't been able to wash my dishes in my own sink for three weeks. And today? *sigh* More of the same, plus some all new problems.

So, the super-cheap plumber that I found? Yeah, he was WAY LATE. He said he'd be here at 8 AM, but he didn't show until after 3 PM. Which, for that price, I can handle, but it was getting really frustrating having to explain to my entire family (individually) why the plumbers weren't here yet. I understood. I totally did. It was the guy's kids' first day of school, and the kindergartener wasn't having it. Plus a bunch of other stuff. Life gets in the way. I'm okay with that. If it were just that, I could just write this day off as mildly annoying and be done with it.

But no. Oh no. When I woke this morning, I discovered that I had not one but TWO sick children on my hands. Lots of nose-wiping, juice-pouring, and all that jazz. Lots of kid-movie-watching, too.

But wait, there's more! Hubby calls me at 9ish to tell me that our car has died. Or rather, that it's gone all funky, and will soon die, like, by the end of the day.

At his request, I call around until I find the only dealership in town that will still service our vehicle (made by a company that has gone under and yet still constatly manages to send us factory recall notices). Service department speculates on what the problem is but won't give us a rate over the phone (which of course means $$$$$).

Hubby can't stand it anymore. He still has vivid memories of our old Ford Escort station wagon, which would always develop a new problem as soon as the existing problem was fixed. There is simply no way he is going to stand for that again.
Him: I'm ready to trade in this heap and get a brand new vehicle.
Me (sympathetically): Yeah, I know, me too.
Him: No, REALLY. I'm serious.

I'll fast forward past all the internet research and arguing over whether we can even afford this thing and still pay all our bills. Suffice it to say we were both frustrated, on top of which he was trying to do his job (EMT for ambulance transport service) while I did mine (chase down snotty baby, remove snotty 3-year-old from bathroom sink, feed everyone, deal with plumbers, deal with father's relentless questions, deal with crying mother on the phone).

Yes, crying mother. She lives across the street from me in the home of her parents, helping to care for her dying father and diabetic mother (both of whom are going senile). Apparently my mom and Grandpa got into an argument today, mostly having something to do with Grandpa treating her like crap and being rude and ugly to everyone simply because he feels like it. Mom said she couldn't take it anymore, and was moving out. (Later tonight, though, she backtracked and said she didn't want to leave her mother alone to care for Grandpa and their high-maint home. Grandma continues to remain philosophical about her fate, if by philosophical you mean able to ignore a lot of her husband's crap because she knows he will soon be gone.)

Lots of drama today. Lots of headaches and bodily fluids and long phone calls with car dealers and insurance specialists. Lots of discussions about pipes and plywood and airbags.

But hey, at least I get a new minivan out of it!

I Always Knew Chocolate was the Gift of God

Yesterday evening my 13-year-old sister-in-law came over in a storm of tears. She wouldn't talk about what was wrong, and my only clue was that her brother (my husband) and her mother seemed to be upset with her when they brought her over. Strange thing was, Hubby didn't seem to understand why she was upset with him. My thoughts: well, dear, raising your voice at her will have that effect.

It was arranged that sis-in-law would spend the evening with me whilst Hubby took their mom out to the movies. (Free movie passes + scary movie= You go ahead, I'll stay home, thank you.) Poor Little Sis, she was just so emotional, and she didn't want to talk about it. It didn't help that my three-year-old was also crying, but more in that wailing, I-have-an-owie-AND-my-dad-is-leaving kind of way. I comforted my daughter and tried to comfort Little Sis. I gave everyone a couple minutes to cool off.

Then I became Inspired.

I announced that I had a sudden urge to make a humongous batch of brownies, and asked who was in. Little Sis and Niece the Elder (who was also staying with me for the evening) both raised their hands. My daughter probably would have if she knew about that sort of thing, but as it was she happily exclaimed "Brownies!"

I gave the girls the ingredients for a double batch while I went to the bathtub to wash the appropriate pan (see previous post re: heinous plumbing issues). Don't freak out. A 13-year-old, a 10-year-old, and a three-year-old are actually pretty good brownie batter makers, just so long as you give them pre-packaged brownie mix and a hand-crank mixer rather than an electric one. They did a good job.

Some outdoor time seemed to help with the cheering up. It also gave me a chance to wash some dishes. In a plastic barrel. In the front yard. With the water hose and a bottle of lemon-scented dish soap. I told you my plumbing issues were heinous.

When the brownies were finished and cooled, we had them with vanilla ice cream. Not an elaborate dish. But something about making it, and sharing it, and devouring it like a pack of wild animals with spoons, seemed to help brighten the day.

It does leave me with a deep and profound question: which part makes you feel better, the idea of making brownies, or the brownies themselves?