GRAMMAR 101

 

Picture me: flailing on ground and gasping for air with bloody dagger piercing my heart. 

I made the Wonder Hub backtrack through the narrow streets of Ocracoke Village so I could take a picture of this sign, which is an official OPS (Ocracoke Preservation Society) posting.

Please, people.  For the sake of our very civilization, for the love of all that is good and holy, understand this: REAL is the opposite of FAKE. 

I see that Dictionary.com has forsaken dignity and common sense by adding this:

Real: Informal . very or extremely: You did a real nice job painting the house. 

Dictionary.com, you are dead to me!

The rest of you: beware.

Jean the Machine

Jean,*

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My quads can reach, when begging
For the end of twelve minute songs.
I love thee to the level of Wednesday's
Obnoxious alarm, long before sun and sanity.
I love thee freely, as lungs strive for air;
I love thee purely, as sweat pours down.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In all my aches, and in my sore buns.
I love thee with a love I seem to lose
At two pm, with endorphin's crash,
Yawns, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better Friday morn.




*Jean is my spinning instructor.  According to the boys, she's a BEAST.  I was banned from her class for more than three months by a physical therapist who was convinced I had a bulging disk.  Thanks be to God, the pt was wrong(!!!!!!).  This morning was my first time back in class, and I felt like a kid on the first day of summer vacation.  I predict that tomorrow I will feel like a ninety year-old woman with a sore hiney.

Random Thursday: Beach Brain

1. We were passing Williamsburg when I realized I had forgotten my bathing suit.

I was reticent to tell the Wonder Hub, who had asked me on three separate occasions if it was packed.  I finally 'fessed up the next morning.  His (compassionate) response?

"Sucks to be you."

2. I was sitting on the sunny deck of the beach house with my mother-in-law, midway through our first beach-front pot of coffee when I realized I had forgotten a hat.

And my million dollar sunscreen of champions, the one and only… nothin' is gettin' through this sucker...sunscreen.

3. It's probably a good thing that the Wonder Hub was in charge of food.

For the record: he did a great job.  He used the list my friend Wendy (thanks, Wendy!) emailed me and tailored it for our week.  He planned for big breakfasts, easy lunches, dinners out and lots and lots of snacks.  He even looked up a recipe.

I wish you knew how amazing that is.

The Wonder Hub operates on the Five Finger Menu Plan.  Count with me:

1. Breakfast (of the pancake/waffle variety)
2. Tacos (with all the fixins)
3. Spaghetti (sauce from a jar. Blech.)
4. Pizza (frozen)
5. Breakfast (of the egg variety)

4. A good man makes you pancakes.  A really good man lets you dip your pancakes in his syrup without complaining.  A great man reaches over and pours you more syrup when you've used all of his.

5. I spent a ridiculous amount of time going through photos yesterday.  Among the shots you will never see are:

Twenty (or so) of the boys, on the deck and at the beach, in really inappropriate (but completely hilarious) poses.

Five that are now deleted from both the memory card and the computer.

Two words: FULL MOON(S).

Really, photographs of children's hineys are cute when they're little and sweet (referring to the children here), but not so much when they're teenagers.  Believe you me.

6. Fran texted and told me two things.  The first is that they have named their GPS Molly Sue.

Have I mentioned how much I love them?

I'll have to ask permission before I reveal the second.  It's a wee bit incriminating.

7. Moose mocks me every time I say, "text message," instead of "text."  As in, "Send your brother a text message."

For that reason alone I will always, always say, "text message."

7. I knew after about 15 seconds on the beach that it didn't make the slightest bit of difference that I hadn't managed to get a haircut before the trip.  My hair looked like this all week:

The beach just might be the perfect place for someone with my hairdressing skills.

8. Molly and I were on the beach at high tide, the full moon rising just beyond the deafening waves.  I felt the awesome (as in AWE, not as in dude) majesty of my God.  It was a tangible thing that made my heart skip beats in wonder.  As we stood silently and praised Him, I understood that this was God's mighty power, restrained.

9. I will pay you one million dollars to come and finish my laundry...but only if you show up at the door with several hundred dollars worth of groceries and a strong desire to banish the sand that has taken over my floors.

I'll make the coffee if you'll promise not to comment on my hair.

Beach Week, by the Numbers

One
Beach house

Seven
people, sunrises, days, sunsets

Zero
meals cooked by Yours Truly

Six
breakfasts cooked by the Wonder Hub

Two
lovely grandparents

One
really sniffy dog

Forty-three
pounds of junk food

Six-point-eight
miles of 4x4-only beach leading to the house

One
scary six-point-eight mile drive in the dark at high tide

Three
excited boys who got to drive 4x4 on the beach
(not at high tide)

Two
days before we realized Molly didn't need a leash

Multiple
wild horse sightings

One
dead horseshoe crab, stinking to high heaven and brought into the house by a boy on a dare

Five
attempts at finding the best bbq in NC

Twenty
minutes til a body goes numb in the Atlantic

One
Ferry ride to Ocracoke Island, on a futile search for Blackbeard's gold

Two
sunburns

Fourteen
pounds of sand brought home in shoes and clothing

One
Easter sunrise walk...

while unknowingly being followed by

One
stalker with a camera

One
Benediction given, with arms raised high
"He is Risen!"


One
Perfect gift

for

One
perfect mother-in-law

The End

Happy Day!

 (While I am lounging at the beach, my blog administrator (aka Carey) is holding down the fort.  I wrote this in 2007, and it remains just as true today.)

I don't know why, it just is! Well, actually, I do. It's a happy day because God is good, good, good. If I scrolled back through my posts (or your posts for that matter), I would take an emotional roller-coaster ride through the ups and downs that are a natural part of being human on this earth. My God, however, never changes. He is Everlasting, Constant, Patient as All Get-Out, and Sweet. Say it out loud: Everlasting, Constant, Patient as All Get-Out and Sweet. How has He been courting you lately? Tell me please, I'm dying to know. I do believe he's courting each of us, like the (everlasting, constant, patient and sweet) Gentleman that He is, but yet in so many different ways. Tailor-Made Courting. I know that He courts at least one of you through emotional experiences. He courts me that way, too, sometimes, but more often through my brain. Through the Elie Wiesel book, The Time of the Uprooted, He courted me. He showed me that He is Everlasting. That He was indeed there for the victims of the Holocaust, that He remains there for His chosen people, many of whom have never, ever sought His face. He is Eternal. Say it out loud: Eternal. Then think about what that means. Generally, I think of the future when I think of eternity. But think backwards instead. God is Eternal. He has always been.

I have been studying the prophesies of the Old Testament, have recently read a book on Mormonism, have read extensively on the Jewish people and faith, and have come to this conclusion. God IS. I cannot believe that He was once a man, as the Mormons do. It doesn't fit with his Character. I believe that salvation by faith, through grace, is the only way to Heaven. I believe that every other religion on earth seeks salvation through works. I believe that God, in his perfection, cannot be in the presence of sin, and therefore, in order to be in His presence, our sin must be paid for, eradicated, canceled out. I do not believe there is anything we can do to pay for our sin, but that we must simply accept the grace offered to us by Jesus on the cross. I do believe that the prophets, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, even David, spoke of Christ when they told of the Messiah's coming, hundreds of years before Jesus walked on the earth. I do believe that God, throughout eternity, has had a plan for the salvation of not just His chosen people, but for all who would come to Him. I believe that the bible is the true, true, true, LIVING Word of God, throughout the Old and New Testaments, that it is its own best commentary and proof, that if we would only take the time to dig in, God will speak to each of us through it.

I do not understand everything, but I understand enough to believe and to trust in the inherent, complete GOODNESS of my God. I believe, with all my heart, that His love for you is personal, intimate, and unchanging. I believe that He is courting you, and I hope that you respond and take the time to explore the depths of His love.

Random Thoughts

 (While I am lounging at the beach, my blog administrator (aka Carey) is holding down the fort.  This post was written on Wednesday, September 24, 2008.  RIP Davis.)


It's Wednesday, my least favorite day. It's like the halfway point in a marathon, a huge mental struggle. I'm giving myself 18 more minutes to drink coffee and sit at the computer before getting back in the race.


Here is Miss Diggy Dog, who clearly knows she's in trouble. This was taken yesterday, right before the tomato bath.

Here is Davis, the neighborhood mouser, who clearly thinks he lives at my house. I always stop to pet him. As a thank-you, he regularly brings me dead mice. It's lovely to be loved.















And here is the last Costco cupcake. If you've never had these, you clearly don't know what you're missing.

A Day in the Life

(While I am lounging at the beach, my blog administrator (aka Carey) is holding down the fort.  I wrote this post on a beautiful September day in 2008.)


Early this morning (between breakfast #1 and breakfast #2 and before tipping over the very full #!%&* garbage can on the way to the curb) I printed out the forms required for new patients by the new dentist. Yes, the same dentist I couldn't find last week. Today I planned to be prepared. Organized. Ready. Armed.

You so know it didn't happen. Not in a million years did it happen.

It went down like this:
Getting ready to sit down and fill out stupid forms, notice out of the corner of my eye that dog is tangled up (yet again) on her long, long lead in the backyard. I step outside and start talking to her about what a dork she is and how she will love it when we finally get the invisible fence installed (planned to finish yesterday, but got distracted when an enormous bug chomped on my hand, wouldn't let go and then left me with numbness up to my elbow and a hand the size of, of...something big and owie and swollen), when I notice that the next door neighbor is out sweeping her deck and listening to me chat with my dog. I untangleMolly , which requires unhooking her from her lead, and step to the fence to visit. We commiserate about half-finished home projects while Molly romps around the yard, and all the while I'm thinking about my wet hair and the stupid, stupid forms. I go to excuse myself and notice...you guessed it, the dog is gone. I am instantly terrified because this dog has a squirrel fixation that could easily lead her out into the traffic of the busy street nearby. I picture myself crying and explain to the unforgiving children exactly why I let her off her lead. Neighbor and I go on a Molly hunt, which lasts just long enough for my hair to dry in a lovely, stay-at-home-mom-who-has-let-herself-go fashion, and find her waaay down the street, rolling around in someone's backyard. She comes joyfully to me when called (like it's any other day and I don't need to redeem myself in the eyes of the new dentist), and as she trots up I notice a smell. Make that a Smell. Miss I Just Had A Bath Yesterday has rolled in something that has not been living for quite some time. And I'm supposed to picking up Bubba right.now.

You can imagine the rest: we arrive at the dentist's office late, forms incomplete (heck, forms not even started), and I don't even bother to apologize. This is my life, and they will just have to learn to deal.

A Charlie Brown Valentine's Day

 (While I am lounging at the beach, my blog administrator (aka Carey) is holding down the fort.  This post was written while the Wonder Hub was in Iraq, Valentine's Day 2007.)

At 6:30am I was sitting at the table, working on my first cup of coffee and my new bible study when the doorbell rang and scared the crap out of me. I eased around to where I could see through the windows on either side of the door, and not seeing anyone there, crept forward. I saw them just as I reached for the doorknob: A scraggly bunch of flowers, haphazardly stuffed into a plastic vase. A disproportionately large card was wedged among the flowers and towered over a small, slightly used teddy bear reclining at the foot of the vase. I opened the door just in time to see the back of a flight suit retreating into a running vehicle. Wrong height, wrong haircolor, thank God, or I might have had a heart attack. They really do all look the same in those things.

I brought the vase and bear into the house and opened the envelope. Inside your basic, run-of-the-mill Valentine's Day card was pasted a perfectly square piece of paper that read:

Dear Karen:
Happy Valentine's Day. Just
a little over a month until I
return--we'll celebrate Valentine's then.
I love you.

My heart warmed as I imagined the two of them planning this. My husband giving instructions, emailing the text for the card, but being too embarrassed to say anything mushy. His friend going out and purchasing one of those grocery store bouquets (the kind you get the teacher at the end of the year) and stuffing it artlessly into a used vase. I have no idea where Teddy came in, maybe he was discarded by one of the friend's children and looked like a good addition. No matter, I'll cherish him. I'll cherish the whole thing, because my Charlie Brown flowers are way better than anything the FTD guy might have delivered.

What I'm Reading at the Beach

Stormy Weather, by Carl Hiaasen
Dope Sick, by Walter Dean Myers
Homecoming, by Bernard Schultz
Crow Lake, by Mary Lawson
Redeeming Love, by Francine Rivers
A Mercy, by Toni Morrison

So Long, Farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, Goodbye!

I'm going to the beach tomorrow.  Lord willing and the water don't rise, I will be gone for a week. While I am there you will pine away and miss me terribly.  You will wonder what on earth I am doing and why I have forsaken you.

Except that I haven't.  Forsaken you, that is.  You see, I love you so much that I have arranged (via my own personal Blog Administrator--or her eldest son if things get technologically iffy) for you to have six blog posts while I am gone.  These are things that I wrote between 2006 and 2009, that are at least mildly entertaining, and that each, in their own way, demonstrate to you something about Karen.

Here is a little sneak preview:

Naughty Dog

Happy week, all!

Random Thursday: Some Random Week in April

1. What exactly does it say about me that I had the Random Thursday post completed by Tuesday afternoon?

Wait. Don't tell me.

2. I told the Wonder Hub that I would like to add "long-suffering" to my official title.  It would read something like Mrs. Long-Suffering Husband's Rank Last Name.

He knows why.

3. On a completely unrelated note, it drives the Wonder Hub nuts when I don't delete random emails from the inbox.  There are 136 unread emails in my work account, and one thousand eight hundred and ninety-six in our joint account.  It makes him crazy.  He cannot, for the life of him, figure out why I do it.

It makes him crazy.

Mawage. Mawage is wot bwings us togeder tooday.

4. I received an email from the middle school librarian today.  It read:

The library book, Garfield, Bigger Than Life, was due January 24, 2011 and has a replacement price of $16.25.  Students are issued overdue notices twice a week to remind them to return or renew their items; letters are also mailed home.

When I marched my youngster to his locker this afternoon, he paused, looked at me, glanced down the long hallway as if considering making a run for it, sighed, and dialed the combination.  Residing inside said locker (ahem):

Two winter coats
Four hoodie sweatshirts
Three complete, stinky gym uniforms
Two pairs of flip-flops 
One sack lunch, moldering and unidentifiable ("Oh. I think I saved that sandwich for after [FALL] soccer practice.") 
One Garfield book

5. As I was relaying the story at dinner I tried to emphasize to the WH how much stuff was in this teeny little locker.  I said, "They're so small, I bet you couldn't even cram a sixth grader in there!" Immediately, from around the table rang a chorus of,

"Yes. Yes, you can! But only the skinny ones!"

6. Yes, I'm a proud parent.  Why do you ask?

7. Have you ever just had to know so badly how a book ends that you sit in the hot, stuffy car in the commissary parking lot for an hour to finish it?

No?

Me either.

8. I watched seven minutes of "Extreme Couponing" the other night on tv.  Is it just me, or is this another form of hoarding?  For the love, who needs 87 bottles of mustard?  I wanted to tell the woman that yes, she saved $500 on mustard and cream cheese, but a) what on earth was she going to feed her children?, and b) if she broke down the time she spends weekly clipping coupons/planning her trip/entering it all into her laptop/doing the actual shopping/storing her stash, she's saved about $.05 per hour.

No, thank you.

9. The beach house has no internet.  The Wonder Hub sneaked this little detail right by me when we were house shopping.  I freaked for a minute, and then got over it.  A week of detox will be good for all of us.  Molly needs to get off Facebook and spend time in the real world.

I haven't had the heart to tell her yet.

There will still be blog posts.

I know, now you can sleep tonight.

10. Fran just texted me and said that every time she drives a little crazy, Pastor will say, "Ok, Karen."

I'm all about leaving a legacy.

When I Grow Up

I could be a librarian.  Except that being a librarian would be akin to being a kid in a candy store.  I would undoubtedly stick my head in a book and leave the library patrons to their own devices.  I would get fired.  They would take my library card away.  I would cry.

I could host a talk show.  I could.  I wrote about it once, over here.  I think it would be a blast.  I would invite people like Jimmy Carter (although I should probably finish his book first), and Tim Tebow, and my brother Alan, and the two ladies I met in the commissary last week.  I would invite the woman who plays Martha Washington's slave at Mt. Vernon, and my neighbor from down the street.  I would show the world that we all have a story to tell, that we can encourage each other in our respective journeys; that God is always in the mix, seeing to our growth and helping us in our troubles.

I could run the world.

Oh, wait.  I already do that.

I could be a college professor.  It's in my genes, even if math isn't.  I think I would be good at it, because, as Mel says, "I became a college professor so I wouldn't have to grow up."  I've already got the not growing up part down, the next step is getting a PhD.  I would spend my days steeped in Shakespeare and Donne and Cummings and yes, even Chaucer.  I would share my love of great literature, and encourage students to create their own.

I could be a high-powered businesswoman. No I couldn't.  I don't even want to.

For the record: I could not "be" anything that requires the regular wearing of pantyhose. 

Not even for Donald Trump's paycheck.

I could run a coffee shop.  Or a bookstore.  Or anything that puts me in regular contact with people.  Somebody else should probably be in charge of things like paying bills, and ordering beans, and kicking people out at closing.  Those I might not be so good at.

I could be a famous writer.  Or even a not-famous writer, so long as what I wrote was good.  I do have a reoccurring dream that I'm in a bookstore for the signing of my very first book.  I look up, and standing in line are all my favorite authors, waiting for my autograph.

I could be me.  And here, friends, is the crux of the matter: I'm forty years old.  I really feel that I'm just getting started.  Now, even more than in my younger years, I feel that the world is wide open.

The possibilities are endless.

What I'm Cooking: This Week...and Next

We're T-minus six days 'til I have to get to put on a bathing suit.  There are, obviously, both good and bad things about this.  In honor of the Wonder Hub (King of the List), let me list them for you:

Good
My in-laws are coming!
We're going to the beach!
I've asked God to be merciful and warm it up for us

Bad
The ten million things I need to do before their arrival
The ten million things I need to do before their arrival
God, while undoubtedly pleased with my input, can do whatever He likes with the weather

And foremost in my mind:
What on earth am I going to feed everyone?

First things first.  What am I going to feed them this week?

(In no particular order and subject to change according to how tight my jeans are feeling.):

BLTs.  Yeah.  Bathing suits and too-tight jeans aside, I have two pounds of bacon and a loaf of whole grain white bread sitting around.

For the record: I am anti-white bread, whole grain or otherwise. BLTs are the sole exception to this rule.

Also for the record: It will take the whole loaf and all two pounds of bacon to fill these people.  Who am I kidding?  It will take more.  I will make a huge, mandatory salad.  I will have the bacon cooking in the background.  They will devour their salads without complaint.  There will be peace on earth.

Also, avocado.  Avocado on a BLT makes it a BLAT, which tastes much better than it sounds.

Quesadillas made from the Dr. Pepper pork roast, which I cooked alllll day long on Saturday, and which we haven't actually found the time to eat.  The boys did have a little as a late-evening snack last night, and declared it good.

More of this soup, which was most excellent.  I really want you to make this.  Unless you hate curry, then I really don't.  If you make it, I recommend that you:
a) don't get all proud of yourself for making a vegetarian meal and then realize that you used chicken broth instead of vegetable broth and then realize that "pride (indeed) goeth before a fall."
b) don't leave it simmering on 4 instead of on low when you leave the house to take a boy to meet his friends at the movies, inadvertently cooking the tar out of the sweet potatoes and turning them to mush.
c) do use fresh ginger, and consider exceeding what the recipe calls for.
d) do sub fresh summer squash (the yellow stuff) for green beans.
e) do add the zucchini and summer squash right before eating so that they retain a little crunch.

BBQ Chicken Pizza.  Perfect Friday night food.  Perfect for knocking my father-in-law's sock off.  I think.  I hope.  I'll get back to you on that.

Raisin Bread French Toast with Maple Butter Apples from the 80 Breakfasts blog.  Of course I'll double, triple, or even quadruple the recipe.  The bacon will be gone, so I will serve this with Morningstar Farms meatless sausage patties, and fourteen gallons of milk.

Side note: the best french toast I ever made was with Challah bread.  If that opportunity presents itself, I highly recommend you jump on it.

Spaghetti with meat sauce.  Mostly because I can't think of anything else, but also because I can make the sauce with my eyes closed, let it simmer all day, and be confident that it will be a huge hit.  Spicy sausage guarantees rave reviews.  I'll serve it with more Mandatory Salad and two loaves of Costco's freshly baked whole grain bread.

And next week?  What will I feed them at the beach?  Please tell me, because I have no earthly idea.

A few words before I keel over...

I am fa-ried.  I have been worn out by two people in their 60s.  I love them so.  When I grow up I want to be just like them.  They are a true representation of Jesus' love, people, Christians the way God intends them to be:

No judgement, ever
Speaking the absolute truth, in absolute love
Joyful, even in profoundly hard times
Serving others, and taking joy in doing so
Really, really taking joy in serving others
FUN
HILARIOUS
Loving, loving, and then loving some more
Madly in love with Jesus, having taken the time to know Him, and therefore know that He is worthy of their love

I keep thinking what the world would be like if more people were like Pastor and Fran.  If more people put others before themselves.  If more people loved like they do.

I could happily lay my body down and die from pure exhaustion, but my heart has been filled to the brim.

Random Thursday: Pastor and Fran Week

photo credit: my favorite cousin

 1. Molly Sue and I took boys (and girl) to their various social engagements Friday evening.  She sat proudly in the Suburban's front seat, bun warmers on and ears held high.  As we dropped off the last boy (and pretty girl), Molly turned to me forlornly.  I shrugged and told her, "They're teenagers, Mol.  They leave us.  It's what they do." To tell you the truth, I was feeling a little forlorn myself.

Molly has been feeling forlorn all week.  She got no blog post and hasn't had a single long walk.  I don't think I've serenaded her once.  Pastor pets her though, and I saw her (out of the corner of my eye) do her thing to one of the Monkey's friends yesterday, so her life isn't all that bad.

2. Is it a sign of desperation if a person gives serious consideration to getting on the scale before putting in her contact lenses, for fear of the extra weight they will add?

3. The March birthday gifts have moved from the kitchen counter to the antique desk.

My goddaughter's gift is one of them.

Last week, the Wonder Hub offered to deliver it in person this week.  I thanked him and said no, I needed to get it in the mail right away.

He had dinner with her last night in Colorado.

4. I had the following texting exchange with Charlotte's son's phone, thinking I had sent the original message to Charlotte:

me: Hey! Thanks! Lost track of phone while holding neighbor's new baby. Ug, my hormones are freaking out!
Charlotte's son's phone: hi mom. why are you telling that to ___? hahahahahaha
me: Hi Monkey. Oops!
CSP: hahahahahaha what about your hormones?  wierddddddddd!
me: You're grounded.

5. The Wonder Hub took Pastor, Fran and me on a tour of the Pentagon.  When we were in the somber room set aside to recognize Medal of Honor recipients, I looked down and realized I had walked the labyrinth corridors of the world's largest office building with toilet paper hanging off my shoe.

I couldn't get it off.

I scraped and scraped my shoe against the lush and perfectly-kept, deep blue carpet in the Medal of Honor room, silently apologizing to the recipients.

When it finally came off, we all stood there looking at it.  It was dirty, from the floors of the Pentagon and from who knows what else.  I never wanted to leave something more in all my life.  I seriously considered it, until the WH ahem-ed.

He's such a grown-up in that uniform.

For the record: I like walking behind him while he's in that uniform.

6. That grown-up was pulled over by an officer of the law as we attempted to leave the vast parking lot of the Pentagon.  He handed over his license and in his best grown-up voice explained to the officer that no, he doesn't drive this way every day, and yes, he would be sure to avoid the buses-only turn lane in the future.  He got off Scot-free and I commented that it was a good thing he was driving, since my (SD) license is expired.

7. Pastor, Fran and I went to DC Tuesday in the rain.  We opted to tour the monuments from the safety of the car.  I was a little bit of a maniac, what with the rain and all those dang tourists and the fact that no matter how I did it, I kept ending up on the street in front of the WWII memorial instead of the one by Lincoln. When I inadvertently ran a red light over by the Tidal Basin (while glorying in the cherry blossoms, for Pete's sake) Fran wondered aloud how I might drive with a valid license.

I comforted her by promising that I would drive no differently.

8. I made the pizza for Pastor and Fran.  In a moment of divine inspiration, I made three instead of our usual two.  They loved it.  We all pigged out until we could pig out no more.  I saw Moose and Fran eyeballing the last piece, but she clearly hasn't been around long enough to know the rules.  Moose grabbed that piece, right from under her nose, shoved in his mouth and declared, "Now I've had a whole pizza!"

What I'm Cooking: April 3-9

Every week is an adventure at my house.  Whether it be vegetarian adventures or feeding people with no groceries adventures, life is never boring.

This week is an adventure because, as I type, two of the people most dear to me in this world are driving up the I-95, pointed in the direction of my humble (read: paint job still not finished) house.

I'm giddy!

In the oven, this very minute, is cooking a German (red raspberry) streusel, which we will have for dessert after a dinner of...

Greek salad, homemade hummus, tzatziki (not homemade, give me a break), and large quantities of some kind of bread which the WH will go get when he is done killing zombies in the basement.

For the record: Zombies must be killed.  At least that's what they tell me.

Also on the menu (in no particular order and subject to change according to Moose's ability to suck down carbs in a single bound, the number of times I need to wear my cool new rainboots to sporting events this week, and the level of crabbiness I may or may not exhibit at any given moment.):

Lacrosse moms in the wind, rain, sun and hail on Saturday

The soup I didn't make last week but for which I am now the proud owner of all necessary ingredients, due to a desperate, early-morning commissary run.
Ree's Dr. Pepper Shredded Pork, which I also didn't make last week but for which I am now the proud owner of all necessary ingredients...  I'm happy to report that sometime over the course of the last week I have been relieved of that nagging bit of resentment I once felt concerning this recipe. So.  Shredded pork, sweet potato fries and coleslaw.  I bought a 7 pound pork roast and am hoping against hope for leftovers.
My Favorite Pizza.  For Pastor and Fran.  Because I want to impress them with my cooking skills.  Pastor and Fran were among the dubious recipients of my very first Thanksgiving meal, waaaay back in 2003.  They'll tell you it was wonderful, but they're like that.  I want to knock their socks off, and this recipe (for which I hold absolutely no resentment) is just the ticket.
Tacos.  The basic kind, make with beef and seasoned with this.  At the Wonder Hub's request.
Tonja's Infamous Chix Penne.  Tonja and I went to Rapid City Christian School together, you know, a couple of years ago.  When she posted something about this recipe on Facebook, I begged her for it.  Seriously.  A recipe with infamous in its title?  I'm IN.

And that, my friends, is it.  That's all.  I won't cook another thing, even if they cry like little girls.

The Dang Chicken Report (post-edited at 4:36am)*

So....last week, at the time I made the menu, I had not yet gone to the commissary.  As of this moment I still have not gone to the commissary, nor have I gone to any other grocery establishment.  This, as you may well imagine, has made for an interesting week.

Although interesting is not the word the children might use.

The week began with the Dang Chicken, which Charlotte recommended I stuff with garlic, slather with olive oil, sprinkle with rosemary, and sear in the Dutch oven (work with me, people. I'm going for alliteration here).  This would have been lovely, had there been any garlic in the house.  Additionally, I ran into one little problem.

The Dang Chicken had stuff stuffed into its nether regions.

For the record people: I can't.do.it.  I have never done it.  Every Thanksgiving it is the Wonder Hub's sworn duty to (cringe, shudder) stick his hand into the nether regions of the turkey while I hide in the other room.  

When I realized that there was stuff, I did the only thing I could possibly do.  I begged for mercy.

Charlotte stepped in without batting an eye and dealt with the Dang Chicken.  I did not leave the room.  Actually, I did not leave her side.  I stood there making gagging noises while she...did it.

So.  No garlic.  No burning desire to drive to the nearest store, be irritated by the fact that I can never find anything, be irritated by the fact that there are never actual checkers, only self-check lanes, be irritated by the fact that I can never get through the dang self-check lane without messing something up and needing help (thus eliminating all value of self-check and irritating the people lined up behind me), and finally, be irritated that although I have purchased one solitary item, my receipt is two feet long.

(Yes, I have grocery store issues.  I have commissary issues.  If I were Ma Ingalls, I would likely have issues with killing chickens and slaughtering pigs.  It is the plight of the woman who is solely responsible for the feeding of her people.)

After mentally running through the irritating scenario above, I Googled something like "whole baked chicken" and came up with this:

http://whatscookingamerica.net/Poultry/RoastedChickenVegetables.htm

(Insert drum roll......)

I am thrilled to report that it was a hit!  I used the last of the root vegetables in the crisper and served it all alongside a salad.  Some of us had it on our salad.  One of us had three plates of chicken salad.  The Least Likely to be Impressed among us offered his sincere compliments.

In the end, stuff and grocery deficits aside, you just can't write a better ending than that.

*except that you can, but only when you can't sleep because of the way you wrote it the first time.

Mrs. Stoebner: Prophetess

"Karen reads well and does good 5th grade work. She is frequently tardy and a slow starter--consequently she doesn't get done on time. I'm trying to encourage her to be more responsible and organize herself to get going on time."

Checks for "improvement needed" in:

Completes work promptly

Uses time wisely

Work is affected by frequent tardiness

Controls talking