Siblings

Back home after another weekend with my siblings. Since our parents died suddenly in 1999, within months of each other, it's like we have this pact to stay together no matter what. We're quite different from each other in many ways, and we all have powerful egos and big ideas. But we've managed to maintain that happy extended family feeling for each other, and our kids.

In this area of my life, I am one lucky woman. Each of my siblings would give me the shirt off their back. Each of them would drive to my side in the dark of night if I asked them.

Like the photo above, we spend a lot of time around someone's kitchen table. But the chocolate milk has been replaced with coffee or wine. Grey hair has replaced dark. And there are a lot more people joining us now. But we have the same joy as those kids.

A Thanksgiving Poem

The 10-yearold Cupcake brought the following home from school.
I for one, love it and love HER!

Thanksgiving With My Mom's Side

We eat and eat all of the day
People laughing being so gay
We talk and talk while watching slide shows
Everyone is kind all friends no foes

School's out: celebrate or commiserate?

As of 1:00 p.m. Friday, school is out here.

Reasons to commiserate:
1. Lunch. I now have to provide the kiddos some lunch. I hate making lunch.
2. Flip flops. They reproduce by the score in my mud room.
3. Wet beach towels.
4. Piles of papers from backpacks, desks, and lockers. I will have to nag and plead incessantly until they are gone.
5. The front door being slammed, slammed, slammed, slammed, slammed.
6. Thousands of extra kids in the house.
7. Kids who's bedtime is now past mine.
8. They now have more time to fight.


Reasons to celebrate:
1. It's freaking summer! NOT WINTER!
2. No more reams of papers to read, sign, fill out, etc.
3. No more dragging reluctant 10-year-olds out of bed in the morning
4. A 3 month reprieve from music concerts
5. Some time to take the family for picnics
6. Soccer games
7. Late night talks on the screened porch
8. The pool
9. Root beer floats
10. Beaches
11. Traveling to Iowa to see family and some COUSIN TIME!

How to play tricks on kids if you are old

The prior post reminded my sisters, my cousins, and me of our Grandpa Ginny. Ginny was the original character.
For one thing, he never wore anything but overalls.
He tied those overall pant legs shut with baling twine in winter so the wind wouldn't blow up his legs.
He used to approach a meal surrounded by his seven children and wife and say "Well Wife, looks like I screwed myself out of a place at the table!".
Every morning he'd say "By God, it's a beautiful day!"
He told us not to swim in the stock tank because we'd catch cold, get polio, and come out like Humpy Kubichek.
Whenever he'd read his beloved Louis L'Amour books, he'd make a pot of coffee and a pan of beans.
He had arms like lead from milking herds of cows by hand all his life.
He caught his 5th child during a home delivery, while the Doc was hung up in a blizzard, and put the baby in a basket in the open oven door to keep it warm. That baby is my Uncle Sam.


ANYWAY . . . . I have a point. My sister wants me to tell you this story.
Grandpa Ginny and Gramma Gie had a log cabin/playhouse out back. They lived in a large hotel but that's a story for another day. One day prior to Halloween, Grandpa found a large stash of eggs. He knew that town kids were hiding their stash for mischief on Halloween. So Ginny brought them all carefully into the house, and he and Gie hard boiled each and every one of them, put them back in the cartons, and placed them carefully back in the playhouse.

That's my gene pool, and I'm HAPPY TO BE FROM IOWA!!!!

Uncle Sam's Bathtub Pork

Anyone remember I mentioned that my Uncle Sam, at his cabin in the woods, makes pork in the bathtub? This is my gene pool, it explains a lot of my behavior, and I wouldn't trade it for anything. Uncle Sam is an ISU-educated Civil Engineer with a Midas Touch at everything he does. In a few weeks I'll share his chili instructions.

Here is his recipe, verbatim:

SAM'S BATHTUB PORK

The problem with this recipe is that you really need a cast iron bathtub. Now those are becoming somewhat hard to find. You see them in folks' front yard with a statue of the blessed mother, some folks put flowers in them, others use them for horse troughs. Well the best use is a barbecue pit. I forgot to mention that some folks still think they should be used for bathing. Get yourself a cast iron bathtub. Go to the dump, recycle shop, antique dealer, or through the stealth of night get one. You'll be the envy of the neighborhood.

Now you'll need a grate to lay on top of the tub. The fire goes in the tub and the grate sits over the fire. A heavy screen from a gravel plants is ideal. They throw them away, you catch one. If this is not available, build one. Next you need a pan to sit on the grate with a grate inside the pan to put the pork on. Find a friend who can weld. If you don't have a friend, make one but make sure he can weld (or she. I don't know many lady welders but work with what you have.) You'll need a hood to cover the pan. Go to any heating and cooling contractor and they can make a light weight hood. A steel barrel cut in half will work but it does get heavy.

Now you put the fire in the tub, the grate over the fire, the pan over the grate, the grate in the pan and the hood over the grate and the pan and you have a bathtub barbecue. Ain't that somethin'.

The fire is an integral part of this whole operation. You need some well cured Iowa oak. I suppose oak from Missouri, Illinois or even France would work but I know Iowa oak is just right. You can use cherry, apple, pecan, mesquite, plum or maple but it has been my experience that oak smoke blended with the fat of pork is a culinary delight.

Let's talk about the fire. You start it 1/2 hour before you put the pork on. You don't start it and walk away. Get some kindling. That's small dry pieces of wood that will start readily. Use newspaper under the kindling, it's cheap and quick. Put dry oak wood on the fire while it is starting. You want all the paper and kindling to be burned out before you lay on the pork. In that first 1/2 hour you should build up a good bed of burning oak coals. This is the working bed of your fire. You will add oak wood to the fire throughout the cooking process. Make sure you have pieces that vary in size. The largest should be no bigger than 5" in diameter.

And if you're going to cook pork, you should have some. Go to your local meat market and ask for a full loin of pork, bone in. This is a piece of the hog that is 1/2 of the whole back. It's all those pork chops all hooked together. You will want to cut it in half for cooking purposes. This piece of pork will serve up to 30 hungry souls after cooking. Before you put the pork on the fire, you spread it with salt. Plain old kitchen salt. Use the container it comes in, pour salt on the outside of the pork (all sides) and rub it in with your bare hands. Now put it on the grate that sits over the pan that sits over the grate that sit over the fire. Put on the cover and let it go. You must tend the fire! It must not be too hot (the meat will catch fire) or too cold (the meat won't cook). Lay your hand on top of the hood, If you can leave it there, your fire is not hot enough. If you touch it and it's too hot to leave your hand there, it's probably about right.

You will need to cook it for 4 to5 hours. Check it a couple of times in the process. At the 3 hour mark you can slice off some pieces to taste. When it is done you can grab a rib bone and it will feel loose. If it feels loose eat the pork. If it doesn't feel loose maybe your feel is bad. Cut the piece of pork in two pieces, look at it, and make up your own mind.

Happy Birthday Twins!

Today my twins turn 15!
Despite my complaining about their snotty behavior, they are each turning into interesting young women and will make most excellent adults. And when their daughters are teens, I'm buying front row seats. My birthday is on the 14th, so it's a birthday month at our house.

Hubby and I brought home an extremely nasty New York cold virus so don't get near us. I can hardly type I'm so dizzy with congestion and cold medication

So their homemade red velvet birthday cake will have to wait a few days. Unless they want cold virus cake.

I miss my folks

Earlier this year I told you about my Mom. This week, Little Sister wrote a great post about her last Christmas with our parents. Last month was my Dad's birthday. Thought I'd tell you just a bit about him.

Dad died of a heart attack in 1999 just nine months after my Mom's sudden death. We think he died of a broken heart.

He was born Thomas Arthur Jenkins in Chariton, Iowa in 1929. He descended from hard laboring Welsh and Swedish immigrants. According to family stories, my Dad was the original little rascal and in fact bore a striking childhood resemblance to Spanky McFarland. My Dad as an adult looked like the perfect mix of Captain James T. Kirk and Sergeant Carter. Feisty? You betcha!

Dad's nickname in High School was runt - he probably topped out at 5'5" - but he played a mean game of baseball and football. After High School, and some serious wandering including a stint in a logging camp in Oregon, he ended up in the Air Force. With the wonderful GI Bill, he was able to attend Iowa State and dive head long into Civil Engineering. He spent his entire working life as a Construction Engineer with the Iowa DOT. He once told me there wasn't even one cold dark winter morning that he didn't look forward to going to work. He was one of those lucky bastards who just loved what he did for a living.

My Dad was a feminist before his time. While he would spout knee-jerk reactionary statements, he made sure each of his three daughters knew how to change a tire, run power tools, work with wood, scale a fish, rig up a fishing line, shoot guns, and build a campfire. He loved having kids, and when he came home each day, he was truly home. He was often roped into quite unmanly activities like dressing Barbies and watching thousands of majorette routines. Luckily he also had a son to keep his masculine pursuits from disappearing altogether.

Dad could be hell sometimes, with that Welsh temper. But he was usually a lot of fun. He could sing like the dickens - again the Welsh genes - and play harmonica. His laugh was entirely infectious. He appreciated the little things, and for such a man's man he just loved doilies, candles, and cloth napkins. He drank coffee like his life depended on it, and by about 1971 that was probably true.

In the late 1960's my parents bought a three acre section of a run-down farm, tore down the sagging barn, and built the greatest home place. He made a swing out of an old basketball and a burlap bag, threw it over a dangerously high tree limb, and created a heart stopping ride out over a ravine. He built us a playhouse on a deck overlooking that same ravine.

While tearing down the barn, Dad inhaled plenty of microscopic dried bird droppings hovering in the air. This was before face masks were commonly used. Soon after, he became so sick he was hospitalized but Docs were stumped. Years later we learned the culprit - histoplasmosis - a bacteria found in avian fecal matter. Usually the scarring of this infection causes no harm, but in Dad's case it grew right across his center of vision. He basically lost his sight in his late 40's. After that came the loss of his driver's license, his ability to hunt, work with wood, read, or to see anyone's face with clarity. He handled this loss with dignity, and with magnifying glass in hand forced himself to learn the computer and all the Internet had to offer. He dove into Genealogy to fill the holes where his hobbies used to be.

I miss hearing him say "atta girl!" or telling my kids to "come over here and give me a big bear hug". I miss making him coffee. I miss setting a pretty table with my cloth napkins and having him gush all over it. I miss the smell of his Old Spice aftershave. I miss telling him a good joke. He's been gone almost ten years, and I still can't delete his email address. I regret that I didn't apologize to him, and Mom, for being such a mouthy ungrateful kid.

We miss you Grandpa Tom! Hope there's coffee in Heaven!

Giving Thanks 2008

And a lovely time was had by all at my brother's manse on the hill. He has the most incredible view of the Decorah valley right out his living room windows. Above is a shot of the ubiquitous KIDS TABLE where we put 10 of the 14 kids in attendance. The other 4 had graduated to the adult table. They were thrilled until they learned that sitting at the adult table includes kitchen clean up duty. With much freedom comes much responsibility kids! Now get to work because those dishes aren't going to wash themselves.

Another group shot of the kids. Two of mine are 2nd from left and 2nd from the right.

We had a Thanksgiving adventure involving that sectional couch - stay with me, it's long but funny. The night before some friends and their extended family were up for drinks and snacks. We had a great time, and talked about getting together again on Thanksgiving Day. During our Tgiving meal, we thought it would be hilarious to walk down to their house, dessert in hand, and station groups of us at each 1st floor window and all peer in at exactly the same moment. While talking I looked up in time to see 4 of THEIR kids walk past the front door. So of course in our hysteria we decided THEY were plotting the same thing WE had just discussed, so I yelled "HIDE!" and we all dove over that sectional and hid from view. Of course, it wasn't them, just a few of their kids heading to another neighbors house. But we've decided that from now on, our Thanksgiving tradition will involved some adult yelling "Hide! It's Them!", then we must immediately seek cover.

My brother frying the turkey. That is a fake fur Iowa Hawkeyes football helmet-shaped thing on his head. He has owned and proudly worn that thing since 1980. If that hat could talk, you would tell it to shut up because there are kids listening.
Doesn't he remind you of Clark Griswold's cousin, played by Randy Quaid? Funny coincidence, for many years, they owned a historic house in Decorah known as the Griswold House. It used to belong to Luther College. How appropriate. Last I checked my brother doesn't own any white dress shoes.
The founders of the feast: all the women. From the left: ME, doing my best Jabba the Hut impression, sister Valley Vortex, Cousin Vet Tech, sister Cheesecake Maven, and SIL Southern Belle.

We don't have any lovely photos of the food because we are pigs and dig right in. The menu included: deep fat fried turkey, marinated roasted turkey breast, fried potatoes, cornbread stuffing, scalloped oysters, squash, tossed salad with smoked almond tapenade, crudites, dips, sweet corn salsa, 3 different cranberry compotes, green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, chocolate pecan pie, pumpkin pie, apple pie, and gingerbread cookies.

We DID end up walking the pies down to the friends' house where we caroled on their porch until someone noticed. With a combination of our five families, and their three families, we played "Mafia". Great game for a group of all ages and all you need is a deck of cards - if you want instructions let me know.

Another wonderful Holiday with family. Life is Good. Money stinks, but life is good anyway.

No Politics, Just Cookies

Dear Friend MG already posted a hilarious account of our cookie day, and I have to offer my two cents. MG and I whipped up multiple batches of gingerbread cut outs, chocolate chips, chocolate crinkles, and pecan sandies. A fantastic way to usher in the Holiday season. Poor MG was a bit undone by the constant interruption and noise of three kids plus a neighbor kid add-on. MG lives in adult-land where you have complete sentences, listen to your own music, and have utter control over the frosting and the powdered sugar.

It's nice to be posting about happy things, like gingerbread men, instead of political rancor. My recipe for these cookies is incredible.

MG is going to hate the above photo - it makes him look about 40lbs heavier than he is. But on his blog I look like Mrs. Claus on prednisone, so we're even!

Here you can see the mess we created, helped along by two nine-year-old "elves'

Previously I had posted here a photo of one of my teens and her girlfriends at their first formal dance of their High School years. She was so upset by this that I acquiesced and took it down. Twin #1 also begged me not to post her photo. You'll have to take my word for it, they were beautiful!

Three Bloggin Sisters

A new blogger to introduce! My youngest sister has now joined the blog-o-sphere. Some of you have visited my other sister Cheesecake Maven, but she's posted maybe twice in the last 4 months and is losing online cred in a big hurry. Youngest sister and I will taunt her mercilessly over Thanksgiving about how much better OUR blogs are and I'll be sure to point out my 24 loyal followers. We have a brother too, but he can barely hold his own in spoken conversation and would fail miserably at a blog - you reading this brother dear? The only way for his sisters to get his attention is to have a large TV screen placed on our heads playing uninterrupted football games, westerns, and WW2 movies.

The theme of three sisters runs heavy in my family. My Mom had two sisters and they were quite the trio. I have two sisters and we are also more alike then we'd care to admit and should probably have a talk show. We'd give those VIEW women a run for their money plus we'd have fights which would really bring in the ratings. And I have three daughters and I'm certain they are headed for the same love 'em/hate 'em/can't wait to see them relationship that sisters through the generations have had.

Evidently, the Three Sisters theme is heavy in imagery - enjoy a small sampling of my online discoveries.

A Day of Good Things

First, some great things about going "Up North"
1. Truly Northwoods cabins beside one of the clearest lakes I have ever seen in my life.
2. Watching my New York Italian husband catch fish. Of course, he makes his daughters and me bait his hook and take off the fish he catches, but he sure enjoyed the catching!
3. Watching my 9-year-old take to snorkeling like she's done it all her life.
4. Laying in the sun, listening to the loons, feeling the boat sway in the waves, with my line in the water.
5. A king sized campfire
6. Good times with my husband, my kids, their cousins, and my siblings. THIS is what life is about.


Now, today's good things and to hell with Martha Stewart
1. A large homemade iced mocha! With espresso from my stovetop pot, Hershey's syrup, and 1% milk. My espresso doesn't have that deep dark flavor you'd get from a commercial machine but it's pretty darned close.
2. Cleaned out several cupboards and purged old crap. I feel a garage sale coming on!
3. Time to bake a batch of chocolate chip pecan cookies.
4. We'll soon have a Democratic Administration.
5. My job with benefits, something we haven't had since 1990.
6. I'm trying a new tactic with my raging 14-year-old. I'm ignoring everything. This takes about 300% more energy than calling her on her disrespectful behavior towards me. She still has rules, consequences, etc but I don't answer all her teenage drama. It takes all my strength not to fight back.


Excuse me, the first sheet of cookies just came out of the oven - hmmmmmm, warm chocolate chip cookies - is there anything better?? Anyway . . . .

7. The weather is delightful
8. I've got my comfy shorts on
9. Kids are all at friends' houses until 5pm and I have the radio to myself. Can you say Geezer Rock??
10. Time to do some serious laundry. This is one household chore I actually enjoy. I love the smell of detergent and the feel of warm clothes fresh from the dryer.

Up Nort!

We're going Up North, or as they say in Minnesota Up Nort! Early tomorrow morning we leave for a small hidden lake near Itasca State Park and the headwaters of the Mississippi. We're meeting my sister Cheesecake Maven and her band of criminals.

We've split the meals right down the middle: I'm doing one supper and one lunch. However, as I chop and pack and slice and pack I realize that I have yet again purchased and prepared too much. You'd think I was a war refugee the way I hoard food. I'm famous for this.

I have a gallon of fruit salad, pounds of grapes and cherries, two homemade dips, a dishful of crudites, and entire bundt cake, two batches of brownies, peanut butter, jelly, brie cheese, crackers, antipasti salad, and about 1000lbs of pulled bbq beef. In fact, the last 1/3 of that is still cooking on the porch in the crock pot, mustn't forget that.

We don't own a cooler large enough for this! We're going to have to get a trailer to haul our crap up there.

So you all must come over sometime early next week to help eat all the leftovers.

Lazy Hazy Crazy Days of Summer

Our 4th of July potluck was great fun. ALL my siblings and their kids came up, so we had a houseful. Lots of friends came by with all kinds of marvelous food that I didn't photograph because I was too busy stuffing my face: brats, asian noodle salad, tomato salad caprese with fresh basil, homemade creamed corn, chocolate sheet cake, fresh melon, lime beer, iced tea, jalapeno jelly on cream cheese, nacho dip, roasted sweet potatoes, etc. The above photo is twin #1 on the playhouse roof watching the fireworks.
Some of the gang inspiring anyone to perform stupid human tricks. My brother, far left, started things off with his hammer toe. Sister Shirley chipped in with her webbed toes - want to see the photo??
Sister Ruth, doing one of many stupid human tricks.
Friend Tim, the hands-down winner!
Nothing beats a good campfire.
More of the same.
Friend Bill doing the hardest human trick of all: texting when you're over 44.

What I DIDN'T get photos of:
The vintage baseball game in Northfield
The perfect view of local fireworks from my backyard!
All that luscious food.
All the teenagers finding a place to "hang" that wasn't with parents
My 6-year-old nephew falling asleep on the couch
All of us enjoying bacon and coffee the next morning, with the party mess still around our feet.
Good friend MG leaving the party with a nasty case of food poisoning from a breakfast at a Twin Cities diner - he was so green and sweating profusely - poor guy looked miserable.

As friend Shannon says, 3 day weekends should be the law - every single week!!! Just think of all the gas we'd save and all the increased mental health we might enjoy. I know I'd like more time with friends and family. I'd be willing to bet our economy wouldn't see any adverse affect.

Grandma's Kitchen

Blogging funny-woman Sheletta reminded me of a story my cousin told.

She was shopping in one of those upscale candle shops - guess in that case it was "shoppes" - and started sniffing the merchandise. The sales person gushed "Oh, you just HAVE to smell this one, it smells exactly like it's name!! Grandma's Kitchen!!"

To which my cousin replied "How'd they get a candle to smell like cigarettes, bacon grease, and a little bit of Hi Lex bleach?"

Home Again

We're home after an emotional weekend. On one of the most beautiful June days I've ever seen, we celebrated my Grandma Gie and buried her ashes in the cemetery right next to my Grandpa Ginny. He's been gone 18 years and she missed him terribly. Now they are walking through the warm Iowa prairies together with three of their children by their side.

She was born and raised a Catholic who had the nerve to fall in love with a Baptist. Neither family supported the marriage, and both congregations shunned them. So the Methodist minister rode out to the farm in the 1930's and said they were welcome at his church. Therefore my mother was raised Methodist. All of her brothers married Catholic women, so we now have a family divided right smack down the middle between Liberal Protestants and Conservative Catholics. But we love each other all the same.

At her graveside I read an excerpt from "And what is so rare as a day in June?" by James Russell Lowell. One of her favorites. She could recite the entire text.

After the burial, we retired to my Uncle Sam's vacation cabin in the woods for cards, and camaraderie around the campfire stocked with Iowa white oak. This cabin isn't what you might expect - it's smack in the middle of the woods and used mostly for hunting. There is no lake, no beach, no dock, etc. Just a large iron bathtub in the yard where he cooks up a pig now and then. He left the next morning to wait for five feet of flood waters to leave his business and begin the clean up.

That night, my siblings, kids, spouses, etc gathered on my brother's porch to watch the sun set perfectly over the valley of Decorah, IA on the longest day of the year. I haven't yet cried for my Grandma. Instead I feel a profound sense of peace. She went home, and home is where she wanted to be.

This is what life is about: sunsets, children, loving old folks, celebrating the little moments, Iowa white oak in a campfire, a nice glass of wine, holding your spouse's hand, walking through prairies, laughing with loved ones, breaking bread together, and going home.

RIP Grandma Gie

This morning at 2:30am, my Grandma Gie went home. She was 96 years old. There just isn't enough blog space to tell you all how much she meant to me.

She was born Margaret Rose in a very small town in northern Iowa. She married young and raised seven children on a poor farm alongside the love of her life, my grandpa Lloyd, during the Great Depression. Both had high school educations, with a life-long love of learning and the written word. She could quote classic poetry and literature. She could play piano like a pro, and by ear. She could whip anyone's butt in poker, 500, and word games. She made food that would make the Pope weep. She lived to a ripe old age with all her mental faculties intact, and lived to see 22 grandchildren, and at last count about 100 great and great-great grandchildren. She smoked like a chimney and ate all the wrong foods. Her humor was legendary. I want to grow old just like her.

I'm going to miss her more than words can say. She's my hero. Walk with God Grandma.

Happy Mother's Day Mom, I Miss You!

This is my Mom Jean Jennison Jenkins. She's been gone since 1999 and not a day goes by that I don't think about her. She was a great mother, and the world's best grandmother. Asthma robbed her of a long life. She was raised in a desperately poor but amazingly happy Iowa farm family during the Great Depression. In their tiny farmhouse she shared a small bed with two sisters. The house had no indoor plumbing, electricity, or heat but kept 7 children sheltered. She was educated for many years in a one-room rural school and graduated high school as valedictorian. Her siblings are all generous, educated, and cheerful and just the best bunch of aunts and uncles I could have asked for.

My Mom was a genius - really! She had an IQ of about 140 and read like a demon. After two years at Iowa Teacher's College (now known as the University of Northern Iowa), she taught 5th grade in Jefferson, Iowa. After meeting Dad in Ames, they launched fast forward into parenting. Dad said they planned on six boys, but instead got one boy and three loud, mouthy girls.

While actively raising us, she also volunteered for nearly EVERYTHING including tracking down and remodeling a house in Burr Oak, Iowa that had been a hotel owned by the Ingalls family - yes the Ingalls of Little House in the Big Woods fame. The short chapter of their lives in Burr Oak was dropped from the book series. The Laura Ingalls museum remains open for business for interested tourists.

Mom loved to be outdoors and housework just bored her stiff. She lived for fishing, hiking, mushroom hunting, gardening, golfing, picnicing, you name it. Our parents were always packing up the '67 Dodge station wagon and taking us to area parks for all-day picnics. They also hauled all four of us, and the dog, up to Lake Kabetogama near International Falls, MN every June for the annual fishing marathon. They drove us to California and a few trips to the Rocky Mtns in that old car without air conditioning and only an AM radio.

Although she hated housework, she and Dad literally put together our house in 1970. They ripped down a barn, and built a four bedroom house in it's place. Together they did a great deal of the physical labor. After moving in, she spent the next nearly 30 years shaping up a yard that started as a stock pen.

My Mom was the perfect optimist. She was always looking on the bright side, and never meant to cause anyone even on ounce of trouble. She delivered Meals on Wheels, ran Girl Scout troops, made krumkake by the thousands for the local Nordic Fest, drove old folks up to Rochester for appointments at the Mayo Clinic.

I miss her spirit, and I miss her influence on my kids. She deserved to watch me suffering the verbal blows of teenage girls!! She was gone too soon.

I love you Mom.

Happy Birthday Dear Youngest!

Our youngest turned 9 yesterday! This photo was taken at about 2-years after her older sisters had worked their magic with face paint.

Our tradition on birthdays is to eat out, and for the past 3 years that's always been at Buca de Beppo. We love Buca - the crazy pope statues, the Italian family photos, etc. But what really brings us back is their fried calamari. I'm sure it comes in giant freezer packs and all their kitchen staff do is toss it in the hot oil but we just don't care. We could eat barrels of it.

All week she'd been asking for burgers on the campfire for her birthday. I was all good to go with that plan, even after a very long day at work. Let me tell you, my dogs were barkin! At the last minute she changed her mind and wanted Buca. I almost snapped her in two with my hug. I would have let Dick Cheney cook our food, I was so tired.

So we ate our fill of calamari, and linguine with seafood, and Penne Arabiatta. And finished with another family favorite - the Buca Birthday Cake. It's a giant slice of red velvet cake as big as our toaster oven. It would be hard to choose between the calamari and the cake if forced to pick a winner. All around another great family birthday. The best part? Buca leftovers for supper tonight!

Tempus Fugit

Time certainly flies, doesn't it?

I went to the grocery store today, and as I walked in I saw a Mom with two wee girls in tow. Those little ones were talking a mile a minute and pulling on Mom's coat while she wrestled them into the cart.

And there I was with my lovely long spring coat but no little hands tugging at the seams. My reading glasses were perched on my head so I could read the price labels. I pushed my cart all alone while browsing at my leisure. I held my remarkably small purse that didn't contain one diaper, one sippy cup, nor any pacifiers.

When did I become an old Mom? Yesterday I was taking little ones to preschool, buying wet wipes, and wrestling my own small girls into the grocery cart. Funny thing is I thought those days would never end. I thought I'd never drink an entire cup of hot coffee nor shop leisurely for groceries on my own. But suddenly those days are gone.

Don't get me wrong, there are many aspects of those days that I most certainly will NOT miss. Trying to control a toddler tantrum AND get the fixings for a few meals simultaneously is not something I wish to repeat. And believe me, being able to read the newspaper AND drink an entire cup of coffee is a treat I relish.

I just get wistful for my little girls.

This is my wonderful husband holding his nephew. That nephew is now a college freshman. Johnny C, as we call my better half, is one funny guy. He has the driest sense of humor and will crack the best jokes, but he'll say them only once and quietly at that. So if you miss it, you miss it.
One of his favorite activities is razzing his Mom. Before each visit, he'll grow a full beard. Then each day during the visit he'll shave it into some new and interesting shape. Makes her crazy. This photo was taken on day 2 I believe.
John is a one-of-a-kind Italian. First generation. Spoke only Italian until Kindergarten. Bilingual since then. But he has blue eyes, pale hair, and rarely shows emotion. I like to say I signed up for an Italian but got a German.