A Fiery Inferno

Just to give you a clue as to the scope of my housekeeping skills, it has been 9 years since I’ve cleaned my oven.

In other words.

I’ve never cleaned my oven.

In my defense, when we purchased this particular oven, the big draw, for me, was that it was “self cleaning.”

Allrightythen.

That’s my kind of oven.

However, I soon learned as the years flew by, that “self cleaning” is really misleading. There are buttons to be pushed, muck to be scraped, and flammables to be removed before the oven actually cleans up after itself.

I was more than a little afraid. I had a vague memory of a girlfriend telling me that her oven caught fire when she used the “self cleaning” function. I suppose an actual fire would do a terrific job of incinerating unwanted pizza drippings.

I also heard a rumor that you have to leave the house for 4 hours while the cleaning occurs, because of toxic fumes.

Well, I did the math on that one. I’d have to have all 3 of my offspring OUT OF THE HOUSE for 4 long hours, while my house burned to the ground in my absence.

So, I did what any respectable procrastinator would do. I did nothing. For nine years. When I was single, I actually used my oven for storage. But, since marriage and subsequent children, I use it daily. Often several times daily.

Nine years. Several times daily. Do that math.

As you might imagine, eventually there would be an oven crisis of such a magnitude, that Fiddledaddy would finally put his giant size 10 foot down and say, “Today, the oven must be cleaned.”

Saturday was that day of reckoning. I was cooking some wheat/gluten/egg/dairy/soy free chicken nuggets (not easy to find, btw) for Jensen. When there arose such a terrible stench, that windows needed to be opened.

This is Florida. In July.

Fearfully, I peered into the oven, to see several pod like growths bubbling up from the bottom. They appeared to be breathing. I turned the oven off, and with long metal spatula in hand, attempted to remove these alien pods. It was as though someone had planted marshmallows on the bottom of the oven.

I shot an icy glare over the bar at my family, but then realized, that these were not marshmallows at all. But rather, sweet potato drippings from a batch that I had been cooking the day before. My bad.

I placed my bugging eyes back in my head, and continued with the icky gooey clean up. During this time, Fiddledaddy had retreated into the deep recesses of the house to hunt for the stove paperwork. He came back, victorious. He read the actual instructions (of which I seldom have need of), I cleared out the flammables, we finished with the scraping, and he turned it on.

Then I said a prayer. “Dear God, Please don’t let us die in a fiery inferno. And I’m not just talking about hell. Amen.”

The instructions did indeed say that the house must be well ventilated. But, the fumes would not be all that toxic. Thinking ahead to the next 4 hours of complaining (mostly mine), Fiddledaddy did what any intelligent father and husband would do. He packed up the children and took them to their grandparents to swim.

Thusly avoiding any unnecessary brain damage to the children. I am beyond hope, so it was determined that I would remain behind, with fire extinguisher in hand.

WOOHOO. The whole house to myself. I had visions of much cleaning and occasional bonbon eating. But then I began to sweat. Because the air conditioner was off and the house was open.

This is Florida. In July.

The house soon reached a balmy 91 degrees. Humid degrees. A humid heat is much worse on the hair than a dry heat. I won’t even go out to the mailbox when it’s 91 degrees. I’m not a fan of the heat.

And yet, I continued with my vacuuming, mopping, and tossing of tiny Polly Pocket accessories. Something I can only get away with when the Polly Pocket Police are not home.

It was a veritable workout.

At long last, my oven was finished cleaning itself. And it was time to cook dinner. Not wanting to heat the house up any more than the already sweltering 116 degrees, I decided to fire up the grill to cook burgers.

Fire may have been an unfortunate choice of word.

Because interestingly, the grill did indeed catch fire. Flames were shooting out from places that fire wasn’t suppose to be. The grill? Not self cleaning. We’ve owned the grill for 9 years. Guess how long it had been since I cleaned it. So the grill joined with the oven and rebelled.

My trusted appliances are turning on me.

I simply look upon all of this as a sign. And it’s a sign that reads “Carrabbas.”

If only they would fire me.

So I made the mistake of asking why.  Because, as we all know, this thing called change?  I don’t much like it.

He started throwing 4 syllable technical terms at me and when my eyes rolled up into my head just before it imploded, he mercifully stopped explaining.

Just tell me when it’s over.

Well, it’s over.  I was given strict instructions not to touch anything on my blog  which just nearly killed me.  Is he kidding me?  I can’t go back and obsess over grammatical errors and syntax mutilation?  I have to leave well enough alone?

So I found myself Twittering more than usual.  Because I can edit myself all I want there.  Oh.  Lisa Whelchel is Twittering!  Follow her.  She’s fun.

Anyhoo.  All this to say that during the server change, comments were lost.  Irrevocably lost in cyber space.  I believe this only affected July 1st.  Which is unfortunate because I had just posted a giveaway on Fiddledeedee Reviews. If you posted a comment to be entered into the giveaway, please just check to see if it’s still there.

And last but not least, I wanted to share a tender parenting moment with you.  I was softly singing “If I Were an Oscar Mayer Wiener” to Jensen before bedtime.  He found this hysterical.  Mostly, I suppose, because mommy cannot carry a tune.  And well, it’s a song about a wiener.  Fiddledaddy asked him, “What is your mommy singing to you?”

He replied, “A lullaby.”

I’m pretty sure this will be brought up in therapy years from now.  Along with a rather lengthy laundry list of parenting foibles.

Have a wonderful 4th of July weekend everyone!  I’m going to take a nice long weekend, but I’ve lined up some posts of questionable taste so you’ll never know I’m gone.

I’ll give you a hint.  It’s from the same site that brought you the totally awesome Stokke Tripp Trapp High Chair.  And the giveaway item in question has FOURTEEN pockets.  Oh, the organizational possibilities!  Check it out here!

And then I got over it.  Because I quickly discovered that as the author of my very own blog, ALL I HAVE TO DO IT HIT “PUBLISH!”  And viola, an article, no matter how mediocre it is, is out there for everyone to see.  Or in those early days, all 3 people who read my blog.  Including Fiddledaddy who was simply making sure that I got my facts straight.

And btw, he has long given up that endeavor.

I’ve not really thought about magazine publication since then.

Until this week.  I got an e-mailed rejection notice from MomSense (the magazine sponsored by Mother’s of Preschoolers – MOPS).  I stared at it.  And blinked.  I didn’t remember submitting to them at all.

And I looked at the date of the submission.

“September 12, 2006”

And I fought the urge to hit “reply” with ARE YOU SERIOUS?  IT TAKES YOU PEOPLE TWO AND A HALF YEARS to review your submissions?

But I didn’t.  And then I looked at the piece I submitted.  And I could see why it took them 2 1/2 years to get back to me.  Likely they were baffled.  Really baffled.   It’s a little odd, perhaps disjointed, and the humor is a tad dark.

But since this is my blog, I’m going to publish it now.  I’m sure it was a post in some form or another when I first began blogging.

Interestingly you might note that in the 3 years I’ve been blogging my writing is still a little odd, perhaps disjointed, and the humor is still a tad dark.  Or at best inappropriate.

At least I’m consistent.

A Crazy Little Thing Called Love

The following is an excerpt from a letter that my mother wrote to a friend of hers, circa 1967.

“We have a 7 year old girl – blonde hair and huge blue eyes. Her hair is to her waist. She’s a prissy little mess. Loves the boys…wonder where she gets that? Her Nun really gave me a lecture on Dee and the boys when I went up for her conference. I had to sit there with a straight face – then come home and lecture DeeDee with a straight face. Her Daddy won’t admit it, of course, but he’s really quite pleased he has one that attracts the opposite sex so much.”

Now for a glimpse into a letter that my mom wrote to her own mom in 1970.

“Dee came home last Friday, held out her left hand and said “I’m engaged!”. Tom gave her a ring (dime store, but darling) and it’s shaped just like an engagement ring. It’s silver with a big rhinestone. She said he wadded it up in a piece of paper and threw it at her. She said, “Mom, I smiled at him and told him ‘Oh, Tom, you shouldn’t have’.”

My very first love was a fellow named Jeff. For some inexplicable reason, I called him “my David.” I was 3. He was 6. To my mother’s horror, I would stand on my side of the street, waving a candy bar in his general direction, luring him with “my David, come play with me!”

Thankfully, my girls aren’t following in Mommy’s footsteps. Well, not exactly. Cailey (the 4 year old) is in the “boys are yucky” phase. I hope that lasts another 14 years. But to date, Emme (the 6 year old), has had two noteworthy crushes. Her first was Mr. Rogers. When perched on the edge of the couch, watching “Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood”, she would often remark dreamily “Look Mom, he’s so handsome.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was far too old for her. Much less that he was dead.

This year our church put on an Easter musical. Emme developed a full blown crush on Nick, the guy who played “Jesus.” We acquired a CD of all the music. After Emme had seen the show a couple of times, we began listening to the CD at home, ad nauseam. She talked about Nick constantly.

“Mommy, do you think Nick will notice my loose tooth?”

“Mommy, can we have Nick over for dinner?”

“Well Emme, shouldn’t we invite his wife?”

Details. “Um, I guess so.”

Daily, she would set up all of her Barbies and recreate “Eyes of Faith, the musical.” The most handsome of all the Ken dolls portrayed Nick/Jesus. Then she wrote Nick a note asking him to come to the “doughnut room” (a favorite locale of hers, to be sure) after church service. I have saved that note for future generations to enjoy. When she spotted Nick/Jesus at the church rummage sale, she hid behind me and giggled like a school girl.

All of this has not escaped my husband’s notice. It strikes fear in his heart to think of his girls as teenagers. It is humorous to note that Nick/Jesus’ mom went to high school with my husband. However, he has yet to see why I think that’s amusing.

I really must applaud my daughter on her taste in men. I mean, Mr. Rogers, I guess really was a dream boat in his day. And such a snappy dresser. You have to love a guy who takes his shoes off at the front door.

And then there’s Jesus. Well, a girl can’t do any better than that!

P.S. I really think I ought to submit this post to the magazine.  That should take them a good 3 years to get back to me about.  In fact, it could shut the entire submission process down intirely.

Today she astounded even me, her seasoned mother.

In an attempt to keep Jensen’s skin hydrated because of his Atopic Dermatitis, he has to take two 20 minute baths a day.  He knows the drill.  When he first arises, he trudges into the bathroom and gathers up his favorite bath toys for the ritual.

Let me pause here to explain that Cailey and Jensen were cut from the same mischievous cloth.  Mutt and Jeff.  While they tolerate love each other dearly, they also achieve extreme delight in pushing each other’s buttons.  In fact, they both have the others buttons on speed dial.

Seizing a prime opportunity to torture her brother, Cailey sauntered into the bathroom during Jensen’s morning soak.  He had only 5 minutes logged in the tub, and another 15 to go.  Cailey announced she intended to have her morning constitutional, and it couldn’t wait.

Those are not the words she used, I’m just attempting to be delicate.  She is, after all, the child that taught her brother how to burp on command.

When Jensen, who is in possession of heightened olfactory senses, realized what was happening just a mere 12 inches from where he was sitting, he began voicing his displeasure.

EEEEEWWWW.  GET ME OUT OF HERE!  THAT STANKS, CAILEY.  EEEEEEWWWW.

Followed of course by much gagging, and he even went so far as to stick his finger down his throat in an effort to hurry her up.

Cailey was unfazed, as she is suffering from a head cold, and is void of her usual keen sense of smell..  She derived a good deal of pleasure in taking her sweet time.

I stayed in the kitchen, rather enjoying Jensen’s predicament.  Because, hello?  You can’t pay for this kind of entertainment.  I would call into the bathroom at 5 minute intervals, “Cailey, are you through?”

To which I would hear a small satisfied, “Nope.”

And then more gagging and complaining from the younger brother.  THAT STANKS.  YOU’RE STANKY CAY-CAY.  EEWWWWWW.  I’M GONNA FWOH UP!

When at last she bored of the game, or her legs fell asleep, she finally left the bathroom.

Jensen continued choking and sputtering in the aftermath, as the paint was peeling off of the wall.  His 20 minute soak had concluded, and I had absolutely no trouble getting him out of the tub.  Which is not always the case.

I’m going to partner up with Cailey.  Imagine all we can accomplish if we join forces.

I know for a fact that I never want to be on the receiving end of her revenge.

A few days go, I was seeing traffic coming in from this site.  Because I’m curious, I checked it out.  And we all know what curiosity did for the cat. I found out that I had been nominated for this award in the category of funniest blog.

And that tickles me.  Especially my inner dweeb.  Well.  There are some pretty awesome bloggers nominated.  The voting continues until July 6th, wherein the five top finalists will go on to final voting.

So far, I have racked up 6 votes.  Which is way better than ZERO.  Again, my inner dweeb who was always the last one picked in sports, is doing a happy dance.

With the curtains drawn this time. 

Spaghetti Sauce is a staple here in the House of Fiddle.  I can toss it over some pasta, make a lasagna, or slather it onto Pita Bread and call it a Pizza Petite.

I have a fool proof recipe for Spaghetti Sauce, that tastes like you’ve been slaving over a hot stove all day.  You absolutely cannot screw it up.

When the children hear we’re having Spaghetti for dinner they all exhale a sigh of relief.  Mom can’t ruin that one.  Can’t get away with calling it “Blackened” Spaghetti.

Anytime I use the word “blackened” in a reference to dinner, it means that something unexpected was ablaze.

It is also the number 1 reason why my children are fearful of fire.  MY MASTER PLAN!  (Insert maniacal laughter.)

Anyhoo.  Here I go with my Stupid Proof Crockpot Spaghetti Sauce.  And I’m doing this from memory because I can.

Stupid Proof Crockpot Spaghetti Sauce

2 lbs. Ground Turkey (can use lean ground beef)
1/2 C. Chopped Onion
29 oz. Can Tomato Sauce
15 oz. Can Diced Tomatoes (with juice)
6 oz. Can Tomato Paste
1 Can Mushrooms (pieces and stems)
1 Package Spaghetti Sauce Mix (I use Wal•Marts GV Thick & Zesty because it has no MSG)
1 large Zucchini, Diced
1/2 Cup Red Wine (plus a few swigs for the chef)
2 Cups Water

Brown your meat and onions.  Give the crockpot a shot of no-stick spray.  Empty all the cans into the crockpot.  Stir in the package of Spaghetti Sauce.  Then add the wine and water.  (If I don’t have Fiddledaddy’s stash of good red wine at hand, then I use cooking red wine….but I don’t swig that stuff.)

Fiddledaddy, if you’re reading this, now you know where your nice red wine really goes when I let you think you drank more than you thought.

Then throw in the chopped up Zucchini and the cooked meat with onions.  And psst, I always add a little garlic powder in with the meat because I am a well known abuser of garlic.

Stir everything up, put the lid on and let it cook on low for 4 to 6 hours.

(My photography skills, and the lack thereof,  do nothing to enhance my culinary prowess.)

You can also do this on the stove top, just give it at least two hours to simmer.

This makes a huge batch.  I use one serving for dinner, and then put the rest into a freezer bag or two for freezing.

Serve over whole wheat pasta.

Have an awesome weekend!

Seriously.

He thinks he’s a dog.

I believe I mentioned a few months ago that while I was recording our outgoing message on the answering machine, he took to barking in the background.

Rather realistic barking.

Prompting those who called to question whether I had abandoned my ‘no more pets clause’ in favor of adopting a canine.

I had hoped this “dog faze” would mercifully come to an end.  It has, instead, intensified.

Jensen’s allergist warned us against getting a dog while he’s dealing with all of his Atopic Dermatitis issues.  I may have kissed the doctor.  I DON’T HAVE TO BE THE BAD GUY ANYMORE.  YOU ARE, DR. ALLERGY!  YOU ARE!

Not long after this Jensen began favoring Scooby Doo Underwear and gummy snacks.  Then came the incessant barking, and walking about on all-fours.  And howling at the moon (a favorite among our neighbors).  He has been requesting that we let him pee outside, but that’s where I have to uncharacteristically side with the Homeowner’s Association and deny his request.

This behavior is not limited to the private confines of our home.  Oh no.  Jensen morphs into dog wherever we go.  Much to the horror of his sisters.

Just today we visited the post office.  I had warned Jensen the Dog to resume boy form when we entered the post office.  So that no elderly patrons would trip over him.  We found the post office strangely void of line, and Jensen saw this as an opportunity to drop to the ground.  To cool off his tummy on the cement floor.  If Emme and Cailey could have turned themselves inside out in an effort to conceal their identity as his older sisters, they would have.  Cailey of course shrieked “JENSEN!” which never fails to draw more attention to her brother’s antics.

When we climbed back into the sweltering van, and Jensen commenced with the panting, Emme mentioned to me how embarrassing it was to have a dog as a little brother.

I rather enjoyed recounting her experiences as the proud owner of an invisible dog named Barko.  Of which she claimed to have no memory.  But one of the joys of blogging is that the Barko phase is chronicled here.

We’ve also had a rather difficult time coercing Jensen the Dog into eating with utensils.  He prefers sticking his snout into his plate and eating without the benefit of civilized silverware.

Tonight at dinner, Fiddledaddy had experienced enough of attempting to get the kid to eat.  He announced to Jensen that he would simply go to bed hungry.

I announced to Fiddledaddy that it was his turn to keep Jensen’s monitor on his side of the bed tonight and if the child should wake up with hunger pains, Fiddledaddy would be the one to tend to him.

Fiddledaddy did what any mature and knowledgeable parent would do.

He placed Jensen’s plate on the floor and told him to go for it.

(please take note of the AWESOME cheap white linoleum that I thought was such

a good idea when we built this house.)

Jensen fell on all-fours and lapped up his dinner as though he hadn’t been fed in days.  And his dinner of Cheeseburger Pie, by happy coincidence, really did resemble Alpo.  With a couple of Cheetos thrown in for fun.

Emme rolled her eyes, shook her head and left the table in disgust.  Her father called after her, “HEY, THIS PARENTING THING?  WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT WE’RE DOING!”

And then we recounted how we were afraid that Emme would starve when she was a toddler, because she refused to eat anything.  Unless it was found on the floor.

So we started strategically tossing her food to the floor and it was no longer an issue, as she would eat every last bite.

And let it be known that with the first child, my floors were considerably cleaner.

That is not the case today, with 3 children. One of whom is a dog.  We no longer have a “5 second rule.”  If it isn’t covered with ants and hair, it’s edible.

Frankly I’m just shocked that we haven’t been approached to do a how-to parenting reality show.

Please throw me a bone people, and tell me that I’m not alone.

Or feel free to suggest a good therapist.  For me.  Not the dog.

As I mentioned a couple of days ago, we will be starting back to school next month.  We began homeschooling year round a couple of years ago, because I discovered that too much down time for my children = a nervous breakdown by September for me.

Plus I found that everything I was teaching them had a way of draining out of their head if too much time lapsed.  Therefore, we will have 4 quarters with 9 weeks per quarter.  We’ll work for 9 weeks and take 2 weeks off.  And we take all of December and June off.

In years past, I’ve pulled together curriculum that matched my children’s learning styles and interests.  Which I think is an awesome way to go.  We homeschooling moms have a lot of wonderful curriculum choices and teaching styles at our fingertips.

But for me, especially knowing that I would be adding an entity known as Jensen into the mix, the planning was killing me.

This year I’m going with a curriculum that is all put together for me.  My girlfriend Diana turned me on to Accelerated Christian Education.  (It has worked wonderfully with her 2 children, as they are both bright and articulate and especially well mannered.  I’m just shooting for “articulate”, but a mom can dream.)

Anyhoo.  Accelerated Christian Education (A.C.E.) provides all the core curriculum needed, plus testing as a way to keep track of what the kids are actually retaining.

And the wonderful thing is, we will proceed at our own pace.  We don’t move on until a concept is mastered.  I could have joined Lighthouse Christian Academy as a way to help with record keeping, testing, and advising.  But since I’m good at organizing and keeping records, grades, and portfolios, I’m going to wait until Emme gets closer to middle or high school.

We’ll have our core subjects: Math, English, Creative Writing & Literature, Word Building, Science, Social Studies plus some extra Bible thrown in for good measure.  I also got the CD-Rom so they can do some of their work on the computer, such as Typing, Math Drills, and Word Building.

Now.  How am I going to upsell them on all of this?

My SIL sent me a link to a website that uses a Workbox System. Go check out the link.  I think this is brilliant.  There are many ways to implement this, and we’re using a set of drawers.  I can include their work in each drawer (one for every subject) plus a fun hands-on project when it applies to what they are studying.

I’m still setting the system up, but I found my drawers at Target.  They are 12 x 12 and have 7 drawers each.  (I got a 3 drawer organizer for Jensen, who will be an official preschooler.  Oh Lord help me.)

(These are the 12 x 12 drawers I found at Target.  One for Emme and one for Cailey.)

(Implementing the Workbox System Workstrip.  I will insert extra activities where the blanks are each day.)

(I’m using crates from Wal•Mart to keep my curriculum organized.  My crate (with answer keys) is the hot pink one.  Because I’m sassy.  Emme’s is black because she’s 9 going on 74.  Guess who has the fairy pink?)

(I print up my own journal pages using free downloads from Donna Young’s site.  LOVE HER.)

(I made up my own Daily Planning Pages using iWorks on my Mac.  Makes me look like I know what I’m doing.)

Also, I found a great website that offers a download file of folder games for Preschool through 4th grade.  I think I got the deluxe set for around $30.00.  That will provide some fun hands on learning and games.

Because my curriculum is already set up, I’ll have time to pull together fun learning activities to help keep their attention.  The premise of the Workbox system is to encourage them to accomplish goals and work more independently.  I really think it will help motivate them.  And keep me organized.

Okay, your turn.  I love hearing about what everyone else is using!  If you’re posting your own curriculum roundup, please feel free to post the link on Mr. Linky and then link back here.  I’ll leave it open for a week or thereabouts so you can join in.

Or of course you can leave your curriculum roundup in the comments section.

Just remember, if you have the heart and desire to homeschool your children, you only have to stay one day smarter than they are. 

Since we had a lengthy ride home, I passed out some Salsa and Chips to keep the hungry animals quiet.

I was enjoying a tortilla chip, or 7, when I suddenly felt one lodge in my throat.  I completely blame the car next to us, because when I happened to look out the passenger side of the van, I noticed a 175 year old driver, WEARING A NECK BRACE.  Causing me to inhale sharply when I should have continued chewing.

Frankly, that was the last straw.  I had learned earlier in the weekend that my father, who has recently been declared legally blind, IS STILL DRIVING.

And then I found out that another 82 year old relative, who shall remain nameless, just bought himself A BICYCLE.  I threatened to get him some bike shorts for Father’s Day.  (I have since learned that it isn’t the right size, and he plans on returning it.  I join with the rest of the family, who love him dearly, in a collective sigh of relief.)

Where was I?  Oh yes, choking on a chip.

My vat of iced tea had long since been drunk, and I rummaged around in the food bag to pilfer through the drink cups of my offspring.  In my desperation, I forced myself to ignore the backwash.

It did no good.  A chip was most assuredly still lodged in my throat.  Sideways.  Just above my windpipe I imagined.

After we arrived home, I tried eating more.  To, you know, push everything southward.  Nothing helped.  Not even the two Churros that came with the children’s dinner.

After listening to me complain and gag for a good two hours, Fiddledaddy suggested that I google “food caught in throat” so that I could remedy the situation in a hurry and put and END TO ALL THE WHINING AND GENERAL MISERY.

What a mistake that was.  I learned that there are people who have the affliction of feeling like something is stuck in their throat FOR MONTHS ON END.  And no doctor has been able to offer any type of help.  Or that it could be an indicator of THROAT CANCER.

Other milder articles suggested that I gargle with vinegar, or drink something warm.  I settled on a nice cup of Good Earth Sweet and Spicy Red Tea.  I burned the roof of my mouth, temporarily shifting my focus.

Still, the chip remained lodged just above my esophagus.

Exhausted, I finally went to bed to await death.  My son had me up several times during the night, so I was able to dwell on my predicament.  At least I was still breathing.

When dawn arrived I poured myself a largish cup of coffee.  By the end of the second cup, I realized that I had been relieved of the offending chip corner that had plagued me throughout the night.

Next time we frequent our favorite Mexican Restaurant, I will be sure to insist that we dine inside.  Because I am starting to think I may be a little high strung, and a frozen adult beverage would do me a world of good.  And besides, the chips slide down so much easier with a Margarita.

And google can quote me on that.