Boiecheze Sandwich

Per my mother's request, I would like to share a little anecdote with you special readers this evening.

I realized while I was putting this blog together that I have no recent pictures of my children. Bad Mom!

I will rectify this atrocity as soon as possible.

I made french fries and grilled-cheese sandwiches for dinner tonight. The grilled cheese sandwiches have a special recipe (my mother's secret ingredient) that make the taste sortof ka-pow in your mouth; perhaps I will share it with you some day.

As we were eating, my little girl "why" child turned to me and said:

"Mom, why are they called 'grill-cheese'?"

To which I replied, as I often have to when my children ask these types of questions: "Because they are."

Please note that I have explained the term grilled cheese to her before, but she just likes to drive me crazy with repeated questions.

My son, who hadn't appeared to be paying any attention at all, said:

 "I'm eating a Boiecheze Sandwich!"

Grammy's face rather scrunched up in confusion as she turned to look at him and asked me, "What did he say?"

I clarified with a small smile on my face. "He said he is eating a Boy Cheese Sandwich."

It took about a second and a half to sink it, but my parents were soon laughing with delight. Considering how difficult it is to amuse either one of my parents, that's quite a feat.

That's my boy.

I suppose from here on out, we shall have to call them Gyrlcheze and Boiecheze Sandwiches.

Happy Blogging!

A Borrowed Cup and Spoon

There is nothing like a cup of something warm, be it sweet or savory, to make you almost feel human again.

A cup of white chocolate hot cocoa is doing just that for me at this very moment. The cup is borrowed, as is the spoon, but I couldn't resist the white mug to go with my white chocolate.

So, I will sit here next to my pile of tissues, my warm cup and catch up on my DVR.

What are you doing tonight?

I hope you are warm.

I hope you are well.

I hope you have something warm to drink.

I keep promising myself that I'll feel better tomorrow.

I'll cross my fingers.

In the mean time, I've got a date with my TV.

My Custom Magazine

Many years ago, my mother-in-law shared with me a binder she had which contained pages from magazines she had especially liked. She did not tear the pages out, but made copies of them and then put them in plastic sheet protectors.

I knew a fantastic idea when I saw one, so I started my own. I did not make copies as she did, ink too much an expense for me. I tore the pages out and merrily put them in the binder. Eventually, I accumulated so many magazines that my binder became three. I also had to start organizing so that I could reasonably find what I was looking for.

The smallest binder has recipes that I'd like to try or articles about food in general.

The next binder up in size has the most variety. The sections include things I love, indoor and outdoor decor, gardening, organizing, party ideas, family activity and vacation ideas, and personal pampering and indulgence ideas.

The third binder is, by far, the largest. It has hosting tips, general craft ideas, and plans for nearly every major holiday during the year. The holiday plans include crafting, decorating, party plans, gift ideas and much more. I also have several intact crafting and holiday magazines in the pockets of the binder, the ideas inside too many to justify tearing pages out.

Now, I have three binders that make a magazine customized completely to me.

Just a (very) small sampling of the pages, starting with a seasonal teaser!

(P.S. I've made these. Super easy!)

I'm perfecting my "oh, it was so easy, you wouldn't believe it!" laugh...

June Cleaver, eat your heart out! 

Someday... 

Love this overcoat! So pretty and feminine!

I told Ben I need to live in a place where this is my back yard. He is not adverse to the idea... ;)

Outdoor parties are my oxygen in the summer!

The best thing is that these binders contain only things I love.

The second best thing is: No Advertisements...

My First Memory

Strange as it may seem, my first solid memory is of a tree.

I only vaguely remember family pets, the snow during winter, siblings going to school before I was old enough to join them, the interior of our home and parts of the yard surrounding the house.

But, when I think of our home in Indiana, my first thought turns to the tree.

It was a crabapple tree on the west side of the house my family lived in when I was born.

I distinctly remember that tree because it took at least the course of one summer for me to learn how to climb it. There was a v-shaped crook between large branches low enough to the ground for my siblings to put their foot in and climb easily.

I remember struggling to find the strength and balance to reach that space as they did and use it to follow my elder brothers and sisters up that tree. I must have been very small indeed when I first attempted this because no matter how many times I tried jumping, clambering or pulling myself up, I was unsuccessful. I was five when we moved away from Indiana, so I could have been as young as three or four when I first tried.

The upper branches my siblings played in seemed a world away to me and I had to look up at them wistfully, incapable of joining them in their fun. I suppose one could say they were cruel for not offering a hand up so I could play with them, but the parent in me says it was wise for them to leave me out. If I was not strong enough to climb the tree, would I be strong enough to keep my footing or stop myself from an accidental fall?

So, I had to wait until I was capable of getting up there on my own. There was something mysterious and magical about those elusive branches. It was the tallest place I could imagine in my young mind. It was even taller than my father, who is not a short man, by any means.

You can imagine, I think, that moment when I realized that I could finally reach my foot up there and heft myself into the branches. I scrambled up joyfully, mounting branch after branch to get as high as I dared. I was suddenly on top of the world, ruler of everything I could see. It was a giddy feeling.

I was finally a part of the magic, standing amongst the branches that had eluded me for so long.

Just a little further west was a neighborhood road. We could sit in the tree, concealed from view, watching cars and people go by.

I never ate any of the crabapples in all the hours I played in that tree. I was under the impression that they were not good to eat. My siblings said they were sour, or something to that effect. Since I have never tried a crabapple, I don't know if that is true.

                                     

Instead, as they ripened, we discovered a new use for the seemingly useless fruit. They made excellent ammunition from our leafy fort. I remember, with some chagrin, throwing crabapples at anyone who passed by close enough. I don't know if any of my projectiles ever found its mark, but I thought it was great fun trying.

I do believe that I even threw them at my elder siblings as they walked by, whether on the way home from school or from a friend's house, I don't know.

Perhaps I was just caught up in the adventure of the heights and the bravery and mischievousness that comes from being hidden. Perhaps I was just looking to pay them back for all the hours I missed out on playing up in that tree with them.

Six Months from Now

So, for my first blog post of 2012, I thought I'd talk a little about my plans for the year. No, not my resolutions. I have written down a few resolutions for 2012, but I figure that they will be of little to no interest to anyone but myself. I thought it might be more interesting to talk about where I want to be six months from now. Not just for you, my dear readers, but for myself. What about the rest of the year? I can't make my brain think past June, honestly, so I'll worry about the second half of the year a little later on.

The Next Six Months

1. By the end of February, I'd like to have a completed rough draft of my current novel: TDC. (Abbreviated.) The title is still under review as it has been determined in the past year that it will be the first of a three novel series. I need to decide what the series title will be to tie it all together.

2. By the end of June, I hope to have my first wave of editing done on TDC. Shortly thereafter, the first few beta readers will receive a copy to read. I'm working on a short list... who'd like to be on it? (Just beyond the end of June, where my brain won't go, lies a publishing deal and in my dreamiest of dreams, a movie deal... Someday, I'll tell you which actors I've been squealing over to play my characters...)

3. Within six months, nearly all of our debt will be paid off (except for school loans), which will be a great weight off my mind.

4. By the end of the school year (first week of May), I will have a five-year-old, a three-year-old and a husband who has graduated from a university with a Bachelor's degree. I plan on being a grown-up by then, just to keep up with my family. (I don't have much hope for this personal goal in such an eventful time in my family's life.)

5. Once April has started, my gears will shift toward planning two brilliant birthday parties and a killer open-house style graduation party. Somewhere in there, I will convince Mother Nature to allow for the kids' first outdoor Easter Egg Hunt and not rain (or snow) on any of the planned parties.

6. By the end of June, I will have been married for thirteen years. Somewhere in there, feeling like a grown-up is sure to happen, right?

7. Before these six months are finished, my dear husband will hopefully have found a full-time career job within those doors that a college degree will open. In what city, state and country this will take place, I have no inkling whatsoever. I'm crossing my fingers for someplace green. Beyond that, a charming accent on the part of the natives would be fabulous.

8. As a result of #7, moving out of the Basement will become a reality and I will again be responsible for my own home, entirely. I have mixed feelings about this, but it will certainly have an impact on my goals of grown-up-hood.

9. As a result of #8, my children will be set loose to run around the home I am responsible for... I have mixed feelings about this.

10. By the end of the six months, I will have made a firm decision on how my five-year-old is to experience Kindergarten. I am fully capable of homeschooling and have a strong desire to do so. However, my sweet girl has been wanting to GO to school since she was three. It would also give my little boy some one-on-one time with his Mama.

11. Somewhere in the beginning, middle and end of all of this, I will find time to get healthy and fit back into my medium-fat jeans.

So there you have it... as much for me as anyone else, here is my projection of my short-future. Some of them are guaranteed to happen. Others are completely and utterly up to me to make happen. Whether I see the reality of all these things is not so much the point as that in six months I will be a different person, ever so slightly.

Who will you be in six months?