Fiddledeedee

When I relieved the kitchen of its overflowing garbage this morning, I discovered the floral flower watering can on top.  You know the one.  The watering can that never watered a flower in its life, but was instrumental in adding the final touches to Lana, the maple tree.

I then scanned the back yard and searched the naked tree branches, noticing that the blue mat was missing from the top most branches as well.  I suspect that it has become a part of the landfill behind our house, which disguises the nature preserve that we paid an extra $1,000 to live next to.

Money well spent.

We’ve managed to relocate all manner of toys, unwanted tree limbs, and dead rodent carcasses behind our 6 foot privacy fence. (The privacy is more for the sake of the neighbors, than for us, by the way.)  I thought certain that a navy blue Croc just went to its final resting place back there as well today, but alas, an older sister’s aim was off, and the younger sister lived to tattle.  The shoe was located in a neighbor’s yard.

The hot pink hula hoop remains firmly affixed to the topmost part of Lana, the Maple tree.  Frankly, I hope she stays.  As it gives our back yard a little character.  Which it sorely needs.

I don’t know if you’ve noticed it or not, but I’ve been droning on and on about the goings on in our backyard lately.  Mostly because it’s been my only frame of reference.  All 3 kids have been sick with a cold, and my view has been limited to a) a tissue trail from the only child who bothers to use a tissue, or 400, b) that same child’s last will and testament scattered throughout the house, and c) the back yard as seen from the family room window.

Bleak.

So I wanted to share with you a picture that Fiddledaddy found of our dream backyard.

The only thing that is missing is a hot pink hula hoop in the trees.

Now, I just need to start hanging out at our local Home Depot in hopes that the HGTV guy that surprises people in the store, and then shows up to redo their backyard, you know, SEES HOW DESPERATE I AM.

What do y’all think.  Isn’t that yard fabulous?  It’s just rustic enough to coincide with our lack of yard keeping skills.

I was a notorious climber when I was a kid.  Since I had to wear a uniform every day for school, I got into the habit of wearing shorts underneath after one unfortunate playground incident.  I believe the term parachute panties was coined in large part because of me.

Trees were a favorite.  We had a large tree beside our house in the vacant lot.  I spent hours sitting up in that tree, surveying the goings on of the neighborhood about me.  My mother called me Gladys Kravitz.  One day I thought I’d save some time getting home to dinner, so I fashioned the rope from my mother’s clothes line and suspended it from a branch.  Rather high up.  The idea was to shimmy down the rope to safety.  In record speed.  On my first try, I ascended about 6 inches, when the rope broke.  I fell all the way down and landed on my back, with the wind knocked completely out of me.

Four sets of neighbor eyes stood in a semi-circle staring down at me.  Curious about what death really looked like.  When I finally blinked and caught my breath, they disbanded.  Disappointment apparent on their faces.

I ran home in tears.  More upset about the broken clothes line than about my near death experience.

Undaunted, my tree climbing career continued.  Until at some point in early adulthood, I discovered I was deeply afraid of heights.  Which I have since mostly conquered.

When we moved into this house, I was pregnant with Emme.  My first landscaping decision was to place two maple trees in our backyard.  I campaigned hard for these trees, stating that they would some day make excellent shade trees.  But secretly, I was hoping that I’d have a daughter who would climb in my footsteps.  And since clothes lines were banned by our intrepid homeowners association, I had no immediate fear that she would repeat my childhood stunt.

A little over 10 years later, our maple trees (now named Lana and Mike) tower above our house.  Mike leans a little to the right courtesy of a 2004 hurricane.  Lana and Mike provide some shade against the blistering Florida temperatures, but they are far from climbing trees.  I’m still holding out hope.  Maybe for the grandchildren.

The kids still try to include Lana and Mike in their outdoor play.  Yesterday, Emme threw her sister’s hot pink hula hoop far up into the branches.  And there it stayed.  I caught her attempting to climb up Lana’s still thin trunk.  Not one single branch is sturdy enough to hold her.  I stopped her, assuring her that the hurricane season was eminent, and the hula hoop would be making a return appearance to the ground, or through a neighbor’s window.

But then Fiddledaddy got in on the action.  Concerned that the hot pink hula hoop could be seen by all of the houses on either side of us, he decided to take matters into his own hands.

First he threw a bright blue mat at the hula hoop.  It dislodged the hula hoop, and positioned it even higher among the naked branches.  And the blue mat decided to stay and keep hula hoop company.

Then he thought he’d use the yellow floral watering can to retrieve the hula hoop and bright blue mat.

This is the view of Lana from the yard.  And likely the view that every neighbor within a half mile radius has as well.

(If you look closely, the watering can is just above the blue mat. Classy.)

I’m thinking that the homeowners association is going to call a special meeting to amend some of the by-laws concerning brightly colored debris high up in the landscaping.  Clearly 10 years ago or so when the rules & regulations were drawn up, they had no idea who they would be dealing with.

Fiddledaddy was out of town all week on business. Which meant that I could get away with meals like Hot Dogs, Frozen Pizza, OH YES, YOU CAN EAT CEREAL FOR DINNER.  It also meant that I didn’t have to fight over the remote with anyone once the children were mercifully asleep.

A hollow victory, because I had to watch Lost all alone.  And Lost, especially 3 hours of it, is likely to lead to restless sleep and nightmares about smoke monsters and VW buses.

Thankfully, he returned bearing gifts.  The children acquired some video games, but I am the one who SCORED.  Fiddledaddy brought me a German Chocolate Cake.  Because nothing says “I love you and I’m sorry that I left you all alone with our insane children” like a German Chocolate Cake.

This is where I would like to tell you that I employed all of my will power and said “it’s the thought that counts” and fed the cake to my family.  Thusly saving my fragile metabolism. But that would be a lie from the pit of hell.  I scarfed that cake down before the dinner dishes were even cleared from the table.  And yes, reluctantly, I shared with the children.  But they did ask in unison, HEY, WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CHERRY ON TOP?

Anyhoo.  When Fiddledaddy is home for dinner, I like to cook a well rounded meal.  And by well rounded, I mean that there is a protein, a complex carb, and some vegetables.  BUT IT HAS TO BE SIMPLE.  I have no time, patience, or fortitude to whip up fancy meals anymore.  (As if I ever did.)

Swedish Meatballs are a favorite with my children.  I got this recipe from my e-mealz membership.  I can’t say enough good things about e-mealz.  They have saved me COUNTLESS hours and headaches by putting together meal plans and grocery lists for me.  (The button is on my left sidebar, and pssst, if you order a membership using the coupon code “Dave”, you get a 3 month membership for $12.50, instead of $15.00.) This is an extremely easy recipe, and you can make extra and freeze some for later.

Swedish Meatballs

Meatballs

• 2 lb.. Lean Ground Beef
• 1 Onion, finely chopped
• 1 Cup Fine Bread Crumbs *
• 2 Eggs, beaten
• 1/2 Cup Milk (recipe called for 1 C., I use 1/2 C.)
• 1 t. Salt **
• 1/4 t. Ground Pepper
• 1/2 t. Garlic Powder (or you could use Allspice)

Gravy

• 1 Envelope Dry Onion Soup Mix ***
• 1 Cup Water
• 1 T. Flour
• 1 C. Milk
• Salt & Pepper to season

* In lieu of bread crumbs, I use Rothbury Farms Seasoned Croutons.  They are with whole wheat flour and THEY ARE TASTY.  Gives the meatballs extra flavor.  Just beat them into submission bread crumbs with a kitchen mallet.

*** Also, it’s hard to find envelopes of Dry Onion Soup Mix that do not contain MSG.  I find them at the health food store.  I’ll buy several at a time, and then just stick them in the freezer until I need them.

Meatballs: Mix all meatball ingredients together.  I wear those handy medical gloves so that I can use my hands WITHOUT EVER HAVING TO ACTUALLY TOUCH RAW MEAT.  Form into 1″ meatballs.  Place in a 13 x 9 glass baking dish.  Bake @ 350 degrees for 30 minutes.  Drain off any grease.

Personally, I love the fact that these are made in the oven, and not in a skillet.  But I reckon you could if you felt the urge.

Gravy: In a large skillet, combine gravy ingredients.  Stir well.  Add cooked meatballs and simmer for 20 minutes.

I love to serve this over whole wheat wide noodles with a side of green beans.

Come to think of it, a slab of German Chocolate Cake might just complete this meal.  Followed by a brisk 20 mile walk.

Have a wonderful weekend!

The one and only time that I threatened to run away from home, was when I was about 5.  I believe the catalyst for my wanting to find some new digs had something to do with what time I was expected to go to bed.

My mother called my bluff, and shoved me out the front door on a chilly Ohio night.  I was clad only in my blue baby doll nightie, and pink fuzzy house slippers.  I never made it off the front porch.  When my mother tired of listening to me cry on the other side of the door, she let me back in.

Not a word was spoken.  I trudged past her, ascended the stairs, and put myself to bed.

The bed time hour is a hot button issue around here.  Jensen goes down by 8, and the girls follow up at 8:30.  It’s really more for me than for their sleep needs.

We have also discovered that an effective means of getting our point across, in the way of consequences, is to shave 15 minutes off of bedtime for each infraction.  HIGHLY EFFECTIVE.

Lately I’ve declared a new sheriff is in town.  We’re going through The Total Transformation Program to aid us  weary parents in dealing with some issues.  Cailey is my defiant child, Jensen is prone to OLYMPIC SIZED outbursts, and Emme is, well, 10.  I’ve been at my wits end trying to navigate the treacherous parenting waters, and feel that if we can get some good parenting tools, we can nip this manipulative behavior before they turn into teenagers.

In other words, before they turn into ME.

As I get further along in the course, I’ll be sharing A LOT MORE about that.  All I can say now is that I’m getting the information I need to make some very positive changes.

In the meantime, my children aren’t so sure what to do with a mom who SAYS WHAT SHE MEANS AND MEANS WHAT SHE SAYS.  No more marshmallow mommy.

I think they might be a little worried.  And planning an escape.  This was the scene from the backyard this afternoon.  If you’ll notice, one child has a jumprope tied about her waist, while the other smaller and not as strong child holds the other end.  I was guessing that the smaller child was going to lower the older sister over the fence into the nature preserve.

I wasn’t really worried, though.  The skeletal remains of rodents that have met with an untimely death from the business end of the shovel would have broken her fall.

And if that weren’t enough to send her flying back over the fence into the safety of her own yard, then the bobcats that lurk back there certainly would put a giddyup in her pole vault away from perceived freedom.

Frankly, it would have all been easier if these kids had just come with an instruction manual, in lieu of that too small diaper bag, and cans of never opened formula that the hospital sent us home with.  I’m just sayin’.

Hebrews 12:11
No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.

I had a scare a couple of weeks ago.  I was driving my van down my street, and as I came around a small curve, a young girl of about 10 was riding her bike straight towards me.  I stopped, thinking that she would look up and get herself back up on the sidewalk.  But she never looked up.  Her eyes were cast down, and she was texting on her cell phone.

When I realized that she was going to run right into the front of my van, I honked my horn.  The sound startled her enough so that she looked up just in time, and she swerved around me.  And no, she was not wearing a helmet.

Had she hit me, even though I had stopped, she would have suffered a good deal of injury.  Had she been heading toward someone who may have been distracted, or driving at a faster rate of speed, she could have been killed.

I couldn’t shake that thought.  We have a number of residents who drive far faster than they should on our street, given that it is a very narrow street, and is shared by bicycles and children.

I knew where this little girl lived, but I did not know her parents.  I debated going to her house and speaking with her parents.  If it were my daughter, I would want to know.  But, you just never know how something like that is going to be received.

A few days later, the little girl was playing outside at a neighbor’s house, a few houses down from us.  I walked down and introduced myself to her.  She knew immediately who I was, and that I was the lady in the van.  I asked if I could speak to her, and she said yes.  And I held her hand and talked to her about how dangerous the situation was that she placed herself in.  I knew that the experience had impacted her, by the look of fear on her face when I honked my horn.  She was very polite and remorseful, and I felt like I had gotten through to her.  A few feet away, some of her little friends overheard our conversation, and I directed a brief “please don’t text while riding your bikes” speech.  In my nicest mom voice. Which by the way, is not the voice that I would have used if I were giving the same speech to my own children.

I went back home feeling that I had done some good.

But then a few days ago, when I was leaving the house to go out, I saw another little 10 year old girl riding her bike down the street. This was one of the children that had overheard my texting speech.   She was chatting on her cell phone, driving in the middle of the road, then up on the sidewalk, then back to the middle of the road.  And then she stopped talking, looked down at her phone, and began texting.

I am a loud proponent of banning texting and even cell phone usage while driving an automobile.  Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think it would be an issue with children riding their bikes.

This is not going to be a judgment against parents that allow their children to carry cell phones.  I know there are circumstances that call for it, I get that.  But I wonder if these parents understand the danger that their children are putting themselves into by allowing them to carry cell phones while they are out riding their bikes.

I now regret my decision not to go down and speak to the first little girl’s parents.  I’m going to give the moms and dads the benefit of the doubt, and believe that they have no idea their children are putting themselves in harms way.

But you can bet that I’m going to be taking to my keyboard to get the word out.  Here, and in my neighborhood.

Have you seen anything similar in your neighborhood? I fear that I won’t hear anything in the media, until something tragic occurs.

Please.  If your children carry cell phones, talk to them about the dangers of texting and driving.