Crap

As I'm pondering the fact that I need to clean out my closet again, something I do a couple times a year, I've made a decision. With each year I get older, my goal is to have less crap in my closets, the garage, the attic, etc. than the year before. I don't want my kids to have to go through piles of crap when I die. And attention to my parents: I have no intention of systematically and sentimentally combing through all your crap when you die. I'll be hiring an estate sale specialist to do that. No offense, but I don't know of any possessions you have that I need to add to my crap.

Um, sometimes I get in these moods when clutter drives me crazy. And right now it's bugging me. Our garage is out of control. My closet is ridiculous. There is crap on the dining table, the dining table that I try to keep polished and pretty even though no one ever sits there except Junior and all his HAIR. Speaking of Junior, he proudly rolls around in the mulch when I go outside and make eye contact with him. What is that about? Then he comes in the house and leaves a trail of dust and mulch everywhere on the already disgusting carpet.

I think I better go clean something to get out of this mood.

Spoiled, but not a brat.

I am feeling a bit spoiled. Friday we leave for San Diego. A few days after we get back, I leave for DeeBee's where she and I will spend the week sipping margaritas poolside. In July we have potentially two more trips, Houston and Seattle. (Actually, Houston is nothing to feel spoiled over, but Seattle could be really cool.) And before I know it, my summer will be over.

Sometimes if I'm feeling a bit spoiled, I think back to the "plasma days." Those would be the low times, several years back, when I would go to the local plasma center for an extra $25 for groceries. Eww. The last time I donated, I came home and found myself with my face plastered to the cold tile floor because 1) it helped me feel less nauseous and 2) I didn't have the strength to get up. I think Alan was a little freaked out. It was the last time I donated for a reason.

I also remember a time when I was sixteen and living with Mother and Dale in a 900 sq ft, very modest home. My room consisted of a twin bed and the washer and dryer. When the house belonged to my grandmother, that room was used as the pantry. There were occasional water bugs in there, and I recall a night when a HUGE one ran across my comforter! Oddly enough, we really weren't poor and I couldn't have been happier living there.

I'm not saying I know what it's like to live in poverty, but I've lived through tougher times. Haven't most of us? I know enough to appreciate that this will be the view from our hotel Friday night. :-)

Pantry Meals

We've coined a new term around our house - "pantry meals." That's when I totally don't want to go to the grocery store, so much so that I'll come up with a meal by throwing things together from the pantry and fridge. We're very wasteful, a trait not uncommon among fellow Americans, when it comes to food. If you looked in your pantry right now there would probably be canned goods that keep getting shoved to the back, or better yet, saved for when some organization's having a canned food drive. So I've really been trying to use the food we have on hand instead of the constant throwing-it-out. That usually means I come up with something involving pasta, since it would be sinful to NOT have pasta and tomato sauce available at ALL times. Last night, however, I made my own version of a potato casserole. Certainly not a dish for dieters, but that wasn't my goal. My goal was to stay away from HEB.

It must have been good, because Alan had about 4 helpings. That may not be saying much though, since he could probably eat hash browns every day of his life. From a 9 x 13 pan, I think we have one serving left. Anyway, here's the simple recipe:

Green Chile Potato Casserole (because I had to give it a name)

4 slices bacon

1 can diced green chiles

3 tblsp minced onion

1 bag frozen shredded hash browns

1 can cream of mushroom soup
3/4 cup sour cream (just guessing)
1/2 cup melted butter
shredded cheese for topping
salt and pepper

I cut the bacon into bite-sized pieces before frying, cooked until it was nearing the crispy point but not quite, drained the grease and then added the green chiles and minced onion. By the way, I would have used a freshly chopped onion if I would have had one. From there just cook the bacon to your desired doneness. Then I tossed the bacon mixture with everything else in a huge bowl except the cheese. I'd go easy on the salt since the bacon's so salty already. (You're going to think you need to add liquid or more soup or something, but the frozen hashbrowns have plenty of water in them.) Spread in a slightly greased or sprayed pan and top with whatever cheese you have. I went light on the cheese, only because I didn't have very much. Bake it around 400 for 30 minutes maybe? I don't know. I would even turn the broiler on for a few minutes at the end to get some crispy action going. We ate it as an entree, but it would be a great side dish as well. Oh, and we like to add Louisiana Hot Sauce to any dish like this.

So there you go - a meat and potatoes meal.

Changes, finally

I totally snagged that photo from the internet, but it is similar to what you might see along a West Texas road. I like the stormy skies, too, which is what we've been experiencing the past couple of nights. Also, WOW Blogger! You finally decided to update the template selections. What's it been, three, four years?

A simple life.

I've been amused by the dog park. Stepping inside those gates is like stepping inside an episode of The Dog Whisperer. It's so funny to watch 20 or so dogs figure each other's temperament out. They know almost immediately who's safe, who's the aggressor, who's a little scared, and they take care of it. Sometimes I wish humans were more like dogs. Except for the part where Duke peed on a woman's bare leg today. That was highly inappropriate. And embarrassing.

Oh, and before we started going to the park, we thought Duke was a big dog. He's apparently not so big:

Boys and Toys

Alan's purchase at an auction last Saturday:

For Alan this was spur-of-the-moment, because he only had 24 hours to research and consult with those in the know. Alan doesn't do spontaneous very often, but this is telling of how much he's been wanting to have a bike again. I have to admit, it's pretty.

Making up for how much time I spent on the couch yesterday.

I consider today my first real day of summer. The weekend doesn't count because 1) I had to work Saturday, and 2) having weekends off is normal. Having the first Monday off, therefore, means vacation. I should have gone to the school to take care of a deadline that was due Saturday and to also do some filing. Like what exactly is the district going to do with the data they needed Saturday? Nothing, so I'll just skip that for a while.

I should have also started and/or finished painting the new porch ceiling. The only time to work outside right now is in the morning, with temps well over 100 by afternoon. But I passed on painting as well. I see no forecast for rain in our near future, so the bare wood can be exposed a while longer.

Instead, I did something I enjoy which was go to the nursery, look at plants, buy a couple, and play with dirt. I did something else I like which is to cook, so I made a big pot of red beans, and will soon be grilling steak and baking cornbread. Alan had to be at a wellsite all day in the heat with no lunch, so I promised him a big dinner.

I also took Duke to the dog park, where he found and made what he seemed to think were his best friends for the 20 minutes we were there. I even got to see Bailey for a short time at the eye doctor. So all in all, it was a great start to summer va-cay.

My next post will be a picture of Alan's spontaneous purchase over the weekend.

21 Months

Sounds like the gestation period of a large mammal. Actually it's the period of time that I can't seem to stop calculating, thinking back to, adding to. There have been some very rough parenting moments the past 21 months. Moments we haven't shared with pretty much everyone except family members who needed to know or we needed them to know. That makes me feel guilty and awkward because I know we're keeping "secrets" and feigning normalcy. People can get their feelings hurt when they feel they aren't important enough or close enough to you to be confided in. I've allowed friendships to suffer, because it was easier to distance myself than take a chance on someone asking too many questions.

We've experienced a lot of emotions - sorrow, disappointment, shame, anger, extreme fear, and oddly, relief. Sometimes your kids do things that at the time you're really upset about, yet you know in the back of your mind you'll laugh about someday. These are not the kinds of things we've experienced. It has sucked, and I have sucked as a parent at times.

Feeling shame is a big one, because shame led to envy. Alan quoted something to me a few weeks ago that was an "a-ha" moment for me. He said that Dave Ramsey (of course it would be Dave Ramsey that Alan is quoting!) said something to the effect of "Greed is when you want what others have; envy is when you don't want others to have what they have, just because you can't have it." Ouch. That totally hit home with me. Shamefully, I've had some moments the past few years when rather than respect and admire and be happy for people who seem to have great lives and wonderfully-balanced kids, I've envied them. That's horrible. I really have been trying to change that the past few months, and thankfully that poignant quote is a reminder of how ugly that green-eyed monster can be.

So why mention all this now. Yesterday was the last day of school, a day some teenagers might do some "celebrating," yet we were not woken up in the middle of the night with distressing news. But I woke up several times looking at the clock and wondering. Thank you God, for the peaceful night. It was a milestone, of sorts. And I've just been feeling this increasing need to release some of this, whatever it is. I can't find a word for what I'm carrying around.

Having said all that, life is not horrible. Some things are really good. But even the things that aren't still have value, like little opportunities for growth. I may not look back and laugh at some experiences, but at least I can look back and be thankful for what I learned.

I spy a finished project...

It's done:

I had the honors of taking the first bath, and a bubble bath at that. I don't take baths in this house, because I have a thing about old icky bathrooms. So it's been a while since I've had a bath. I believe I'm a bit fatter around the middle since my last one. If you're having a fat day, taking a bath is a bad idea. Everything seems to expand in all the wrong places and float to the top like a buoy. And the bubbles didn't help hide it, either. I did discover, however, that a nice soaking bath is a great way to remove paint and caulk from your skin!

The room could use a little decorating, but I'll get to that later. All that matters is we're through, and we're still married. :-)

The porch is also done, minus ceiling paint:

I think if I were an outsider looking in, I'd be thinking "um, big deal." It's just a plain ole porch. But if you had seen it before - the dated, closed-in walls with the siding that was literally falling off, you'd appreciate this as much as I do. It feels so much better.

I don't know what the next project is. For now, my nails are clean and I get to read my book that's been sitting patiently on the couch.

Independence

I've probably said before that I believe in the motto, "if you want something done, do it yourself," as it pertains to women. I think girls/women should learn to be self-reliant. You're not always going to have a guy around, so be able to take care of yourself.

I like conquering (or at least trying to conquer) things around the house: vacuum cleaners, garbage disposals, clogged toilets, etc. And so I'm thrilled that I've finally figured out the new gas-powered edger/weedeater combination thingy we bought. We bought it for ME, so I was really getting frustrated that I was having so much trouble with it. It's so friggin heavy, and although I'm not teeny-tiny, I'm not a big girl either. But I'm proud to say I can now manipulate that power tool like a samurai sword! Although I am worried that by summer's end my right arm will look like Popeye's.

Now this doesn't mean that I don't need a man. I need one in particular and would never want to live without Alan. And I will gladly accept the things he does for me that I could and should do myself. He brings me aspirin and a glass of water. He gets me a blanket (sometimes he throws it at me, but hey - same end result). He pumps the gas in my car and cleans the windows while I just sit there enjoying the breeze. The point is, I can take care of myself if I need to. I just don't always want to.

Food, fondly

Everyone should have a specialty when it comes to cooking. Have at least one dish that you do really well that you can fall back on when necessary. Mine happens to be green pepper steak, and okay my tuna casserole is awesome, too. But neither is difficult to make or requires much finesse in the kitchen. So I don't have a lot to brag about.

Some people have taught me what I consider to be their specialties. I learned how to make beans and cornbread from Mother. In Texas, we say we're "making beans" not "cooking beans." She didn't tell me traditional measurements, but rather showed me how much salt to pour into my palm. When to add the salt is important, too: You wait until the beans' markings have faded, take one out and mash it on the counter with a fork. If it mashes easily, you're ready for the seasonings. And although I feel I make a big pot of beans that are just as good as hers, my cornbread doesn't compare. I just can't replicate it. I think that's fitting, considering she had to make cornbread countless times growing up in a poor family.

I learned how to make chicken fried steak and gravy from my stepdad, Dale. The important part is the gravy - I vividly recall him showing me how to season the drippings and flour with salt and pepper at just the right time, before adding the milk. It's perfect every time, but I'd still rather have him make it. Somehow it's just better.

Banana pudding is my paternal grandmother's specialty (in my mind anyway). Mema made banana pudding for me and DeeBee everytime we visited, it seems. She never used instant pudding but rather made the from-scratch recipe on the box of Nabisco's Nilla Wafers. I use the same recipe today and refuse to try an instant version. Maybe it's more for sentimental reasons, but I hope I always take the time to get out the double boiler and make it slowly.

Breakfast was my dad's specialty, and probably still is. He didn't wait until Saturday or Sunday for a big breakfast. If he was so inclined, I'd wake up on a school morning to a full blown buffet - eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, and my favorite part - he'd add freshly sliced tomatoes and avocados. Doesn't it just make you feel good when someone cooks a big meal for you? I know kids tend to take things like that for granted, but I truly remember loving Daddy's breakfasts. I hope I told him "thank you" at the time.

Funny how memories associated with food are so powerful.

Count to 10

Not gonna lie, I'm tired. As in tired "of" things, not physically tired. I know so, because the other day I posted something on Facebook that sounded quite whiny, and I really don't like to read those whiny, "woe is me" posts.

For the first time in a very long time, I dreaded going to work today. The reasons are varied and don't matter, as they would be very whiny.

Tomorrow I dread because I have to deal with contractors on a project I've grown very tired of. Due to circumstances, I'll likely be irritated by day's end and biting my tongue (if that's possible with me of late).

I also have a parent conference tomorrow that has me worked up. This encounter, among others, has me questioning how long I want to teach. The first job I ever loved, and I'm already considering my staying power.

So I'm not sleeping right now. I'm mulling over how I'm going to handle these things in such a way that I'll still like myself at the end of the day.

I hope I'm not out of Nyquil. :-)

It's hot in Texas.

It's days like today, 95 degrees in the sun for over three hours:



that I fondly remember days like this:

(This is Alan. I like him.)

And this is one of many students that makes me love my job. She's as sweet as she looks.

Duke Bear

Here sits a puppy who has big dreams. He wants to chase tennis balls, cats, rabbits, squirrels, birds, lizards, pretty much anything that moves (unfortunately that includes kids racing by on bikes). He wants to run without a leash through tall grass and over rocks and up and down hills and swim in freezing water temps. And the poor thing has to stay in a backyard all day while his pack leaders are gone. I feel sorry for him. He should be a hunting dog, and we just aren't hunters. But we showed him a good time camping over the weekend. Maybe we should do that more often.

Standardized

If I've been keeping to myself more than usual or coming home not wanting to do ANYTHING, this is a clue that it's testing season in Texas public schools. It'll all be over next Thursday, and whatever skills my students choose to apply or not apply on their tests will be out of my control. Some people are in favor of pay for performance for teachers. That's fine - just give us a fair playing field. Test every student's IQ, and while you're at it test them for learning disabilities, dyslexia, ADHD, and emotional disturbances. And don't forget to take into account their exposure to reading and correctly spoken English at home. These are many of the students I'm trying to reach every day and consequently wouldn't trade for a privileged group.

Today in one of my classes only ONE student raised his hand to answer the question, "explain what synonym means." I about died. I just hope the rest of the students were so worn out from lack of A/C that their brains were temporarily fried.

We call this his "Bugs Bunny Toe"

On being single

Okay, clearly I'm not and don't want to be. I'm just making observations this week, this being the first time I can remember when I've been completely by myself for a whole week:

- I would probably be super skinny and healthy. I could live on vegetables with some occasional Cheetos and Girl Scout cookies thrown in. But mostly vegetables.

- I can watch "my shows" whenever I want. Alan and I have many things we like to watch together and a few things we don't. I'm sure if I were gone for several days he'd be watching Family Guy, Squawk Box, or any movie he's seen 10+ times already. I've been watching a million episodes of House Hunters International.

- I wonder how long it would be before I could sleep comfortably in the bedroom and not on the couch. Considering the news of burglaries in the surrounding neighborhood over the past few months, I'm not loving the idea of sleeping where I can't hear someone trying to break in. These particular burglaries take place at night while people are at home in bed. It's as if the burglars WANT to confront the homeowners. Creepy.

- It's not a good idea to watch scary movies by yourself. See above.

- It takes a good 5-6 days to fill the dishwasher. Likewise on the washing machine. And come to think of it, the trash. But I still don't like taking the trash out, even if it's only been once this week.

- I just can't walk the dog as much as Alan. He takes Duke for a walk every day, religiously. Literally, rain, sleet, or snow. I've witnessed it.

- The house is cleaner, yes. But I find a clean house is typically an empty house and thus, a lonely house.

I'm ready to be married again.

Trash to Treasure

Before: White Trash



After: Country Cute

Thanks to my father-in-law, Leigh, who did most of it by himself while we were trekking around D.C.

Pontius Pilate, that's me!

So many things I love about teaching, and then there are parents. I actually had a parent compare (on Good Friday, no less!) the consequence I gave her daughter for not having her homework to the crucifixion of Christ. The consequence? She had to walk at recess instead of play.

On the Surface

I sat in one of those tiny patient rooms at the doctor's office today, and sat, and sat, and sat. So I had all this free time on my hands to think, with no magazine or book in hand. You know how when you have too much time to think that you sort of overdo it, just a bit? I started imagining that the doctor comes in and questions why I wanted this cyst removed from my arm. Does it cause me physical discomfort? No. Does it bother me? Hell yeah. In a very vain sort of way. I hate it. It's ugly and embarrassing. And so I imagined the doctor was going to object to removing it, wherein my pleading would begin. Look Doc, I have plenty of other skin imperfections that I'm self-conscious about and can't change, so you will take my money and remove this cyst TODAY.

Turns out I didn't need to plead or argue, but was still given plenty of time to think about the superficial things that bother me about me. I used to be able to say that there was one part of my body that I thought was okay - my legs. I've always had these long, thin legs and probably always will. But over the past few years I've become quite the spotted freak with what I like to call freckles, but what my gynecologist sort of implied were age spots. OMG. That was hard to swallow. And the only thing I know to do to somewhat diminish them? Get really tan. Not a great alternative.

And then I have the worst stretch marks ever, and have for the past 19 years. I try to embrace the scars as proof of bringing my daughters into this world. But no matter how much I love the girls, it doesn't lessen the sting when I look in the mirror.

I'm also starting to see a little age in my face and neck. Now truly, I am trying to embrace my age. I've earned it, right? I don't mind a few little lines here and there, but that doesn't stop me from applying wrinkle creams and moisturizer every day.

I don't want to be this vain. I don't think it's been very healthy for my daughters to hear me complaining about my body over the years either. I hope they are very happy with themselves, inside and out.

Anyway, back to my doctor's appointment. I've been elated for three weeks knowing I was able to get in to this particular surgeon to have the cyst removed, and I seriously had to work hard to stop smiling during the whole two-hour appointment. All in the name of vanity. So maybe it was supposed to be a reality-check when the doctor told me it was a good thing I came in. The cyst looked "peculiar" he said and needed to come out. It's probably fine, and I'm not worried in the least, but wouldn't that just be a kick in the pants? :-)