Overheard

To be completely honest, while the following overheard snippets were actually heard by me (out of the mouths of my loved ones), I can't remember when. Yesterday I noticed them in a draft I had never finished.

I do hope you enjoy.

My husband noticed our son "taking care" of his baby sister and remarked incredulously:  "He wiped her hands with an English muffin!"

When asked if he wanted a balloon at the dentist's office, our dear boy said, "Hmm. I'm not sure. A balloon is a lot of personal responsibility that I'm not sure I want."

I only wish I could remember ALL of the crazy things that are done and said around here!

A Need to Connect & Peachy German Pancakes

I have a problem; I love talking too much. I go on and on, and when I wear out the ears of those who know and put up with me, I move on to strangers.

Yes, I’m one of those people who can’t seem to keep her mouth shut in a doctor’s office or in the line at the bank. I have no idea why I feel compelled to open my mouth and start rambling on. I know some people consider it rude, but I just can’t stop myself. I guess I have a need to connect with people.

Recently my talking-to-strangers problem has taken a turn for the worse. Now I’m feeling the urge to write letters to strangers. I have a mental list of unsolicited letters I want to write, and the list keeps growing.

Some of the people are actually companies. For example, quite a while ago we bought a giant-sized jar of Nutella at one of those club stores. It was a treat for sure, but the design of the jar made it nearly impossible to get all the chocolate-hazelnut goodness scraped out.  For years I’ve wanted to write a letter and suggest redesigning the shape of the jar, but I’ve managed to keep silent.

Sometimes I want to write thank you letters to strangers, but most of those would be undeliverable:  “Dear sympathetic-looking lady behind me in the grocery check-out line-- Thank you for smiling in what I took to be an encouraging way when my children were fighting over who got to put the frozen peas on the conveyor belt. It made life a little easier.”

And while I’m not normally hung up on celebrities, I might actually write a letter to Ree Drummond, a blogger and television cooking show host better known as Pioneer Woman. You see, I watch her show on Saturday mornings, and occasionally some of the children stick around after cartoons to watch with me. But my little Molly always watches with me; she loves Pioneer Woman.

Last fall on vacation, we happened to be driving through Pioneer Woman’s part of Oklahoma when her new store was opening, so we planned a quick stop. However, when we drove into town, the line for the store was blocks long. With road-weary, tired, and hungry kids in the van, I settled for taking pictures out the window as we drove past. But my normally jolly and easy-going Molly cried tears of bitter disappointment for a long time, and my heart broke.

Long line

Another long line

I’m hoping that if I write a letter and ask, Pioneer Woman might send Molly a birthday card this year, thus assuaging my guilt over causing my little girl to shed so many tears.

The other kind of letter I write looks more like a column in a newspaper. I don’t start it out with, “Dear Reader,” but those of you who take the time to read my ramblings are dear to me. Thank you for reading the words I feel the need, for some inexplicable reason, to write to strangers.

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It’s been peachy around our house since we took a trip to an orchard last week. We didn’t buy enough peaches to can or dry, but I did freeze a few. Mostly we’ve just been eating them fresh; they were especially nice atop this German pancake at breakfast. If you don’t have peaches, top the pie-like slices of pancake with other fresh fruit, cooked apples, or syrup.

This recipe doubles (or, for my family, quadruples) easily. Just increase the size of the skillet you use; you may also need to adjust the baking times accordingly.

German Pancake

1/2 cup flour

3 eggs

1/2 cup milk

1/4 tsp. salt

1 Tbsp. sugar

2 Tbsp. butter

Preheat oven to 425℉ and warm the iron skillet in the oven while making the pancake batter.

Beat together flour, eggs, milk, salt, and sugar either by hand or with a mixer. A few lumps are okay. 

Remove the skillet from the oven and add the butter to the hot skillet. When the butter is melted, pour the pancake batter into the skillet. Bake for 12-18 minutes or until the pancake is set in the middle. Cut into slices and serve with your favorite topping.


*This column ran in the Hancock News on July 26, 2017 (without pictures and captions).
**This post has been shared at Strangers & Pilgrims on Earth for The Art of Home-Making Mondays.

Did You Think You'd Ever Say. . . ?, No. 7

"Son, if you don't put your grammar book away right now, you'll be grounded!"

*Because I like to be honest, you should know I had to say this because my son was avoiding a chore. I am not breeding a new kind of kid who wants to do nothing but schoolwork during free time.  

Did You Think You'd Ever Say. . . ?, No. 6

"Stop licking spaghetti sauce off the floor!"

_The Hancock News_ Column--May 4, 2016

Motherhood is not what I expected it to be. I’d seen my sisters cuddle their babies, chase after their toddlers, and chauffeur their teenagers. I’d read pregnancy and parenting books. But nothing could prepare me for the life-change of being Mommy.

For starters, I never expected motherhood to be so noisy. My kids are loud. My boys makes all sorts of noises and cause all kinds of ruckus, but the girls scream. Loud and long and frequent are their screams. Sometimes the boys cause the screams, but just as often it seems they do it just because. One of them recently started having night terrors, waking us several times a night with unsettling screams that stop just as abruptly as they start. I never expected a child could do this without ever waking up.

I didn’t expect to be as stupid as I am now as a mother. For all that I value the peace that comes after bedtime, I risk it all for a photo opportunity. If my children look particularly angelic in bed or I find them hugging a book they fell asleep with or if they’ve conked out under a clothes basket or on 

top of one, I can’t help breaking out the bright flash that can wake the living dead. 

I never thought I’d say the ridiculous things I say now. “No, we don’t put meat between our toes.”  “Please, let’s not drink the ketchup.”  “Turn the light on so your brother can go back in time.” “No. We don’t kiss toilets.” Never would I have imagined that these actual words would come out of my mouth.

I hadn’t the notion before children that I could handle so many nights of so little sleep, sometimes because three children all have bad dreams on the same night, leaving me tottering on the edge of our bed. I never thought I could handle being covered in vomit with such grace. Before children I don’t think I was tough enough to deal with a toddler stabbed in the chest by a sharp fork while leaning over the open dishwasher or with a preschooler shoving a pebble so far up her nose that she couldn’t 

dig it out again. 

Not one single book or magazine prepared me for being so excited about “happenings” in the potty or my boys’ blossoming (good) taste in music. I had no idea I’d be the recipient of so many dandelions and busted up acorns. I didn’t expect to have to come up with excuses for the tooth fairy not showing up until after breakfast more than once in the same week.

So these aren't dandelions or acorns, but I get plenty of sticks and rocks and others nuts, too.

I didn’t expect that for more than a decade I would know not a single instance of boredom. Who knew how thrilling it would be to see my child reading a book for the first time? I had no idea, for better or worse, that my daughter would act so much like me. I never thought I’d feel so undeserving of the love my children give to me.

I never expected motherhood to be one bit like any of this, but I sure am glad it is. 

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The Mother’s Day tradition in our house is that Mommy and kids bake cookies together. Now that there are seven children, this can be a little hectic, but it is still a tradition worth keeping because this mother loves her cookies. This year’s choice is Molasses Crinkles, the cookies I usually found in Oma’s cookie jar. Happy Mother’s Day!

Molasses Crinkles

3/4 cup butter

1 cup brown sugar

1 egg

4 Tbsp. molasses

2 1/4 cup flour

1/4 tsp. salt

2 tsp. soda

1 tsp. cinnamon

1 tsp. ginger

white sugar for dipping

Cream butter and sugar together, then mix in the egg and molasses. Add combined flour, salt, soda, cinnamon, and ginger and mix well.

Shape dough into balls the size of a walnut and dip the tops into sugar. Place on a lightly greased cookie sheet, sugar side up. Bake at 375 degrees for 12-15 minutes. Cookies are thick, chewy, and have crackled tops.


*This post has been shared with Strangers & Pilgrims for the Art of Home-making Monday.

Did You Think You'd Ever Say. . . ?, No. 5

"Turn the light on so your brother can go back in time!"

Sure, it sounds all weird, but also today we ate cookies that looked chocolate but tasted like bubble gum. My friends, that was beyond weird.

Did you think you'd ever say. . . ?, No. 4

"No. We don't kiss toilets."

_The Hancock News_ Column--June 10, 2015

Without thinking too hard, I’ll bet you can think of something you’ve said that you regret. It is easy to allow our emotions to take over and react to somebody else’s words without engaging our brains.

I was guilty of that a couple weeks ago at a Hagerstown Suns game. My husband’s family was visiting, and since my father-in-law loves baseball, he treated our entire family to an evening at the ballpark.

We arrived a little bit into the first inning, and already a group of elementary school students were running wild all over the place. I’m sure they were excited to be on a field trip at the end of the school year. 

With these children running up and down steps and playing tag amongst all the other ticket holders, I’m sure the last thing baseball lovers wanted to see was our crew of little ones headed their way in search of a good seat.

We had no problem finding eleven decent seats together; on this evening probably half the seats or more sat empty. My husband and I sat with the younger three children while the older ones sat behind us near their grandparents and uncles.

I admit I was more than slightly worried about how we’d keep our teething toddler and preschooler content during an entire baseball game. If those elementary children couldn’t sit still for even one inning, how would my little ones manage it?

Well, it wasn’t easy, but I was surprised by how well they behaved. A cup of ice kept the baby sitting nicely on a chair by himself for at least three innings. My youngest daughter bounced from lap to lap but loved yelling, “Charge!” on cue and tasting cotton candy for the first time--Grandma and Grandpa’s treat.

While the man in front of us did get bumped a few times by little hands as the littlest one navigated between Mom and Dad, even the kind man next to us remarked about how well-behaved our children were. It was a miracle.

I was proud.

Until about the sixth inning. You know, before the stretch.

My kindergartner had been sitting still so nicely. She didn’t really understand baseball and was trying to figure it out, but I could tell she was getting bored and tired. And her foot fell asleep. I don’t even think she realized it, but her foot started kicking the seat in front of her, the empty one next to the man who’d been jostled by the little ones.

I didn’t notice until this “gentleman” started yelling, “No! No!” at her and began swatting at her foot. She had no idea what was happening as I grabbed her foot to keep it from kicking. The grumpy man turned back around and crossed his arms over his chest, not even acknowledging my hasty apology.

And that’s when I said what I still regret. I looked at my little girl who was barely holding back tears and was clinging to her Daddy, and, wanting to be a responsible parent, I said to her, “Now you need to apologize to him.” My daughter’s eyes widened in hurt and fear.

I soon realized there was no way my daughter who was hiding her face behind Daddy’s arm could manage an apology, and what’s more, after my initial reaction, I realized she wasn’t the one who should be apologizing.

This man abandoned all polite social conventions when he yelled at my daughter and tried to hit her. He could have turned around and asked nicely or perhaps asked us, the parents, to keep our child from bothering him. Had we realized, we would have gladly remedied the situation. 

I am sorry for not standing up for my young daughter, but even now I can’t think of what I could have said to that crotchety old fellow that I wouldn’t later regret. Instead, I’ll plead with you, the reader.

We were all little kids once, and none of us were perfect. Please be understanding and kind when dealing with small children, and if a child is being a nuisance, it is not your responsibility to discipline, scowl, or be nasty. Help the parent or other adult in charge by alerting us to the situation. And, above all, help us teach our children the right way to behave by being a good example yourself.

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I’m still upset by the whole baseball ordeal and not feeling kindly toward that crabby man. Perhaps that’s why I chose this recipe. Then again, Crab Louis is a perfect summer meal because the season provides fresh ingredients and because there’s no need to heat up the kitchen with cooking.

Classic Crab Louis salads use iceberg lettuce, hard-boiled eggs, tomatoes, and real crab. The version my family eats uses whatever lettuce and vegetables we like and have on hand--it’s a regular salad bar! And we make it cheaper and easier by using imitation crab meat.

I had no picture to match this column. . . but crabs are at the beach!

Crab Louis Dressing

1/4 cup ketchup (or chili sauce)

1 cup mayonnaise

1 tsp. horseradish

1 tsp. worcestershire sauce

salt and pepper, to taste

(I will occasionally add sweet relish or chopped green onions.)

Mix together dressing ingredients and chill until ready to serve. 

Prepare lettuce, tomatoes, sliced hard-boiled eggs, and imitation crab meat (or well-picked over real crab lumps) plus whatever other salad ingredients you like. We particularly like sliced cucumbers, cheese cubes, sunflower seeds, carrots, sugar snap peas, and bell peppers. Serve salad bar-style with dressing on the side so everybody (especially children) can create their own salad masterpiece.

Did You Think You'd Ever Say. . . ?, No. 3

"Let's not chew on the chair."

Allow me to clarify. I was not talking to the dog. It was a child.

Almost Over

Today I noticed our baby ramming his head into the wall in the hallway.

"Do you see him doing that? Why do you think he might be doing that?" I asked my husband, worried that baby had some medical problem.

Wise husband replied, "I guess he's just seen one too many political ads."

Amen.

Did you think you'd ever say. . . ?, No. 2

"No, we don't put meat between our toes."

Did you think you'd ever say. . . ?, No. 1*

"No. Please let's not drink the ketchup."

*Don't be misled. This is not in anyway the first surprising thing I've heard my husband or me say to our children. I always chuckle when we say such things and think that we should write them down, so here is the first such written record.