Writer's Block :: Cheating with a Side of Bacon

Question: Have you ever changed your eating habits for a new relationship (eg. switched to vegetarianism, eaten more meat, vegan)? Which lasted longer, the food regimen or the relationship?

The answer to this in my case is no. Sadly my eating habits are pretty much ingrained in my soul. Jr. bacon cheeseburgers, red velvet cake, snickerdoodles, movie popcorn; these things I simply cannot live without. No one is going to change that about me. I never tried to impress a date by eating salad, or selecting the same steak they did. I simply ordered what I wanted. Yes, sometimes I ordered less pricey items out of respect for my date, but that was it. My best friend growing up was mostly vegetarian and it never effected our relationship. I like what I like, and in the company I keep, they accept me and my grossly horrible eating habits.

I did though, try new things for the sake of a relationship. When Superman first took me to sushi I was freaked out. I had only had it once before and it was basically the surf and turf (chicken and steak). My family wasn't big into trying real authentic, ethnic or foreign foods. We ate some Mexican Food and that was about the limits of our adventurous spirit. Everything else was Americanized Chinese and Italian. My dad liked Indian food, but that was mostly reserved for dates with my mom. Thus, when asked out to sushi, I was nervous. Raw fish, yuck! Luckily my date was a bit of a sushi expert and he knew what to order for my sushi-inexperienced self. I tried it and thought it was ok.

That was not enough for Superman. If he was going to invest in a relationship it had to be with someone who LOVED sushi. Back then he went to sushi several times a month. It was a big part of his lifestyle. So, reluctantly at first, I kept going back. I found a few rolls at certain places that I really liked. so we were good. However, the more often I went and the more variety I tried, the more I really came to like sushi. Then I really came to love it. Now I am basically addicted. So sushi might just be the only change in my eating habit brought on by a relationship. We have been happily married for almost seven years now and sushi is still a big part of our happily ever after.

When it comes to other eating habits I don't really live by the mantra that you are what you eat. Instead, and this stolen from my high-metabolism high school days, I say: I work out so I can eat what I want and not worry about it. This was all well and good when I was at swim practice all day, everyday. Even in college I could squeak by and didn't gain much weight despite my deplorable eating habits. I have tried several times to eliminate sugar, bacon, carbohydrates, but it never sticks. I simply love food too much. I want to enjoy it, savor it.

A good thing did come of High School though. Around about the ninth grade I decided to kick soda drinking to the curb. I wasn't a big fan of pop, but I had it often enough when we ate out or visited Grandma's house. So I went completely off of it when I joined the swimming club. Turns out that is the one habit that seems to really stick. I still, to this day, prefer water or lemonade to soda. The only time I crack is for a dripping cold glass of Italian soda once in a rare while or have the flu and need ginger ale. Otherwise it never happens. No Diet Coke or Dr. Pepper weakness for this girl. Despite all the surrounding temptation I simply will not change this eating habit. I would give up meat if I had to. I would switch to gluten free if necessary. But I don't think I can ever, ever go back to drinking soda, even if all the cool kids are doing it.

A health nut I am not, but I do pay attention to my body and try to be careful of what I eat. For the most part I live a well balanced life on weekdays and tend to indulge just enough on the weekends to reign in my cravings for fats and carbs. My eating habits aren't great, but they are mine. They are basically a part of who I am and who I have always been. So here is to delicious food. Cheers!

Writer's Block :: A Lonely Number

Describe a time you felt alone. 

Loneliness is something I am quite well acquainted with, at least in a way. I have never been one for massive amounts of friend making. In elementary school I made the rounds to different friends and different groups, but always had only one or two people in my class/grade I ever felt any real kinship with. They were the ones I played with on the playground with and the ones I ate lunch with. But they were just school friends and that was where they mostly stayed, at school. That didn't change much through junior high and high school. And guess what? I didn't mind. 

Being a bit of a recluse was the perfect fitting cloak for me. I never really felt lonely, but I never really felt befriended either. I guess the thinking was: hey, if I don't have any really close friends then I can't get hurt when they betray me, leave me, or disown me. It worked for me for quite a while. In fact, it still does sometimes. On many occasions I find myself withdrawing instead of really putting my whole self out there. There is of course, a single exception to this social recluse syndrome: my best friend. 

We have known each other for ages, as I have probably mentioned before, and have been sisters at heart for probably much longer. We spent countless weekends and endless film footage together. Our relationship was based on both quantity and quality time together. We didn't really have use or need for lengthy phone calls and endless text messaging sessions, because we would rather just get together. It was a simple, innocent, and yet strangely wealthy life we led back then. Alas, that simple life could not last. 

A few (like seven? wow) summers ago we each pursued jobs, callings, higher education, and boys. As most friendships do, we ended up going separate ways, the chasm growing wider when she moved across the country. Because we didn't call or text a lot in our youth, the pattern is much the same now that we are apart. It is out of character for us to call or message. When we do it is always a long conversation, but sadly those occasions are rare. 

Yes, it gets lonely without her, especially knowing I can never replace her. I spend some days thinking of the things we could be doing together if we were closer: we would visit the parks with our boys, go shopping, attempt hiking, and of course have endless dinners at O.G. and Cafe Rio together. Those days, the time I spend missing her and wishing we could go out and do something together, they are the loneliest days. 

I try my very best to make local friends and join in local fun. I hang with my neighbors every so often. I do playgroup with two other moms. I even go to parties, events, and bloggery gatherings once in a while, trying to put myself out there. It is sad, but mostly I am looking for her at those things. I am looking for that kind of friend who matches my crazy, inspires my adventurous side, compliments my misgivings, and amplifies my good qualities. I am looking for my missing best friend; looking and searching in vain. Which is why I usually end up spending most of my free time with immediate family or just spending time at home with my Littleman. We are two, yes my baby and I, and from now on I will always be at least two, but it can still feel completely lonely and empty sometimes. 

However, that loneliness is not necessarily a bad thing. I mean, I have never felt complete loneliness in a deep and hurting way. I never feel cut off from the world. Instead, the loneliness I feel is familiar, which in turn is a bit of a comfort. To me being lonely is therapeutic; a bit like a gloomy, thunderstorm day. It is a reminder to curl up in a blanket and remember the good things. It is an excuse to hole up in the hot shower for a fifteen extra minutes and feel sad. It is a chance to better appreciate the glimmer of blessings I have in my life and to do better at making them count.

Despite the distance, that girl living out in Carolina is still my closest friend. We see her and her cute family when they come visit maybe twice a year. We spend as much time as possible with them when they are around. I mean, even our hubbys get along famously, which makes their living far, far away even more of a bummer. I know I could, and probably should, do more to reach out to her; to call, Skype  text, email, send carrier pigeons more often. I know that. However, in some ways I feel those efforts wouldn't be able to do justice to our friendship. We have always been a better-in-person set of friends. We don't talk, we do. We don't text, we go. We don't chat, we see. It has always been that way, I think it will always be that way, and that is probably why, even after all this time, it still feels so new, so close, and so good to be eachother's bffs. 

I know if I needed to call and tell her something, she would be there. I know if I needed to see her, she would show up. I know if I had a few questions and sent her an email, she would respond. I know she knows those same things go for me. As far as I am concerned, though we may be "grown up" with kids of our own now, we are still just those two little giggling girls, sleeping on foam pads, trying hard not to laugh too loud and wake the parents. When we get together, it is like no time has passed and no distance or space has ever been between us. 

So I ask, how can I really be lonely? Truth is, I don't think I can. 

Writer's Block :: Case of the Monday's

Why do you suppose Mondays are so undesirable to most?

Today I am stealing a writer's block prompt from this blog post. Something about it resonated with my jumbled and completely unmotivated feelings this morning. See, it snowed in town, yet again. Not a lot, but enough to bring me down a notch or two in the cheeriness department. The bright and shiny Spring days we had over the weekend are pretty much drizzled out. Also, it is Monday, the hardest day of the week. But why, why do most people dislike Monday? Personally, I can think of a few reasons. 

Monday is the day most people go back to work after a weekend. That was always difficult while I was working. Having the time away was always nice, but that first day back seemed to take twice as long as any other normal day. The Monday minutes were always lengthy and drawn out. The same went for when I was in school. Monday's were always the days I had to get back on schedule, but couldn't stop thinking about all the fun and free time I was having just the day before. Now Monday just means getting back to the daily grind. 

Monday is the day for chores. I confess, growing up we usually took Saturday to get some of the more laborious chores done. We would do yard work, clean the garage, organize closets, and sometimes deep clean the carpets. Now though, I don't really get anything like chores accomplished over the weekend. I take a break. Thus to me, Monday means chores. I have to catch up on dishes, laundry, vacuuming  Not something to really enjoy, celebrate, or look forward to. 

Monday is garbage day. In my neighborhood the garbage man usually comes in the morning and disturbs my Littleman. This is something, as a mother, I have the right to be a little disgruntled about. Naps and bedtime over the weekend never tend to work just right. This means, when Monday rolls around, Littleman will likely try sleeping in for an extra hour. Yes! Finally, something to thoroughly enjoy about Monday. Alas, it is not meant to be. Enter the unfriendly garbage truck at 7:30 and all hopes of staying in bed are promptly squashed. Curse you!

Monday means five more days before another weekend. This is still something that dampens my spirits, not because I am working, but because of my Superman's schedule means that his extended days off usually happen Friday thru Monday. Sometimes he has Monday off, and we enjoy the time together, but if he is working on Monday, it means I have two whole weekends in a row that he will be working. Blech! This just happens to be one of those Mondays and I can't bear it.

So, lets simplify it. Most people dislike Monday because it acts as a reminder of just how boring we are. It is a reminder of how we are not reaching our potential, and how far out of reach our dreams may be. That doesn't have to be the case. We can turn this Monday around. We can defeat this case of the Monday's. This is my quick list and truth be told, they often help me feel better about starting the week, but also better about life in general. 

1. Exercise in the morning. I like this workout with my Littleman. Pretty fun for both of us.

2. Eat a healthy breakfast. I find this breakdown helpful. 

3. Plan to spend time with family later. We try to plan FHE for Monday night. 

4. Pump up the tunes while you work/do chores. This song is the best!

5. Do something new and imaginative. The above quote really helps me get through Mondays. 

Boom! Hope this helps you have a happier Monday. I am off to listen to my tunes and start dishes. Just livin' the dream life. Ick!

Writer's Block :: Safe Haven

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Despite the fact that I love vacationing in hot, dry southern Utah climates, it is not necessarily a place I would like to live. I can find solace there for a few days, it is true, but St. George and I have no long term plans. No, when it comes to finding a safe haven, a place to grow roots and embody serenity I envision something quite different from red rock.

Many, many years ago we celebrated Christmas with my aunt and uncle in their Washington state cabin. It was a long drive full of pestering siblings, raucous carols, and heightened tension. When we finally arrived, I stepped out of our cramped jeep and onto the mossy dirt. The air was so thick and the wood so quiet I immediately felt heavy, grounded, rooted to the very spot. I took in that fairly isolated cabin in the woods. Everything around it was green and practically dripping. It was winter, but it was also Washington, so it was a little chill with only a light dusting of white frost powdering the upper pine branches. The cabin itself was woodsy and rustic; larger on the inside than it looked from the front. The forest around it was still. At that moment I had discovered something: a lovely, soul touching refuge. 

Throughout the week we spent time together as family sledding, exchanging presents, eating. We were boisterous at times, and all of it was enjoyable. I love being close knit with my family. I love spending time, all of us together. We drive each other nuts sometimes, but that is fine. All of us holed up in that place was warm, cozy, and oh so much fun. I loved it, certainly.

What I loved the very most however, were the quiet moments I spent sitting on a window ledge with my book looking out at the misty clouds and sky-scraping evergreens. The moments I wandered the dripping woods. The moments I touched the spongy moss, walked silently among the trees, and took the heavy air into my lungs. To this day I still remember the dense heaviness I felt during those quiet times. It was reassuring and calming. I connected to it so deeply and it was completely unexpected to feel so strongly about such a drizzly, gloomy place. 

Thus, when I think of a safe haven, a refuge, I think of that woodsy green cabin in a heavy forest of pine. I could live there forever in the wet and rain. I could let my skin turn pale and my hair frizz. I could grow roots among those trees and feel protected, safe, anchored. I could live and thrive in such a place. It would be safe, it would be haven.

Do you have such a place, a safe haven, where you would go for a refuge? Tell me more.

P.S. Saw the movie Safe Haven, which is kind of the inspiration for this post, like forever ago and really liked it. Now I need to read the book because friends all say it is so, so different. Anyways, her safe haven looks much like mine would, I think. 

Writer's Block :: Imaginary Report Card

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This writing prompt really goes along with my effort to give myself props this month. I will not ever be good at everything and that is something I am just fine with. I do not ever want/feel the desire to be good at running a marathon. I do not need to be an excellent heart surgeon. I do not have to be perfect, thank goodness. There are plenty of things I am good at that I love doing, and those little things add up to one pretty great, big thing--me! If I were to be graded on these subjects, I'd get a 4.0, something I never quite reached in school once I passed kindergarten.

• Reading Mostly Useless Books : A
• Making the Mundane Sound Cool for a Living : A
• Loving my Family : A
• Napping with K.B. : A
• Taking Good, Memorable Photographs : A
• Kicking Spin Class Butt : A
• Putting the Vaccuum back Together : A
• Shopping at TJMaxx : A
• Swimming, Swimming, Swimming : A
• Ignoring the Dishes : A+

So, what would be on your Imaginary 4.0 Report Card? 

Writers Block :: The Day in the Life of a Shoe

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Today started off without socks. I really hate when a sweaty foot with five squeaky toes, without apology, enters through my mouth and rests on my soul. Talk about disgusting. Even worse? The fact that I was worn to quickly run out the door, down the stairs, across the driveway packed with snow all for the delivery of a soiled diaper into the garbage receptacle. How glamorous it is to be the left shoe of a stay at home mom. I mean, what a way to start off the weekend! She didn't even do up my laces or anything. The Woman simply slammed in her naked foot, tugged on my tongue, and stomped out into the frigid wasteland without warming. To boot, she never even said thank you after I protected her from the ice cold, white coated asphalt. How's that for rude?! We returned inside and sadly, things didn't get much better. 

Next up, cheerio after soggy cheerio was dropped inside of me by one absolutely exhausting toddler. Cheerio exits treat box. Cheerio enters mouth. Cheerio, now squishy with slobber, exits mouth. Cheerio promptly drops inside of me. Toddler claps. This scenario played over and over and will likely now make up the the skipping track stuck inside my nightmares. Want to know how many slobbery Cheerios I ate today? Nineteen! Nineteen slippery, slimy, doughnut-shaped ground oats; the breakfast of champions. Kid! I am not a tennis shoe, basketball shoe, or skater shoe. I do not need this extra boost of carbs, thank you very much. Fortunately The Woman saw what was happening and quickly scraped out the cereal and put it in the trash, then I was relocated to the bedroom to be kept safe and sound. At least, so she thought. 

The bedroom also happens to be the place where I found the dog. More properly, I suppose the dog found me. I mean, how could it not? I smelled of naked foot and soggy Cheerios. There was not a dog in a ten miles radius who would pass up a whiff of this splendorous odor. The wet nose of the family pet got closer and closer. She is a hairy thing, this dog, and her black nose is always shiny with doggy snot. She started at my toe and worked her way up the laces. Then, unpleasantly, she nosed her way around and licked my insides. Gave me the willies. Fortunately this dog knows shoe chewing is off limits, so that was the extent of my uncomfortable encounter with the dog. After the lick she withdrew to chomp on her soggy tennis ball and I was finally left alone. 

While sitting amidst the rack of pretty shoes I couldn't help but feel a little bit bland. The Woman has spike heels, flowery printed flats, booties, beaded moccasins, bright yellow runners, furry Sperry's, and me, a simple leather desert boot with mundane rubber sole. My laces are brown. My leather is brown. My sole is tan. There is seriously nothing fancy about this old sole. My mate and I have nothing to brag about. However, despite our lack of fleurs and frills, we still get worn an awful lot. My once stiff leather is now supple and creased. My toes are scuffed and going slightly bald from use. My heel is worn and pliant. I may not be the Sunday Best shoe of choice, but do help The Woman make it through five of the seven weekdays. 

Here I take a moment and reminisce about our first meeting. The Woman was pushing an empty shopping cart around the Nordstrom Rack I once called home. She looked glum, put out, and a bit bleary eyed from scanning all of the women's shoe racks. I watched her for a while, moving back and forth through the aisles. She tried on pretty platforms that buckled around the ankle. She put them back. Next up was a pair of cobalt heels that I could see were much to slutty, even from my shelf across the way. She put them back too.  Over and over she tried on and then put back. Finally she seemed resigned to leave, but stopped. I could see her squinting in my direction, the direction of the smaller men's sizes. 

She wheeled her cart right over, reached her hand right up, and snatched up a pair of blue and brown suede oxfords just to my left. I'll admit, my heart broke for a moment, knowing I was not the shoe to catch her eye. The emotion was short lived though, because as soon as she flipped them over to check their price tag they were right back on the shelf, the expensive snobs. Then her hands were on me. She tugged me out, checked my price, and moved to find somewhere to sit and try us on, my mate and I. She had socks on then; lovely, clean, cotton socks that were black with blue stripes. She slipped her toes in gently, tugged on the laces softly, tied a perfectly symmetrical bow with my laces, and stood up. The whole left foot fit in all of the right places. We were quite a pair, The Woman and I. She must have felt the same about my mate, because before we knew it we were being whisked back inside our box, the lid securely covering us, and placed into her cart. 

I thought just then, that it wasn't so bad to belong to The Woman. She really loved me. I was her most favored shoe. I brought comfort to her day. I matched all of her casual attire. I was practical and useful. I was her favorite shoe. She always put me on first, after all. Really I could put up with the naked foot once in a while, even a few soggy Cheerios here and there, because I had a place to call home. 

After a while The Woman returned for me. She was ready to set off for her routine Saturday lunch and errands, and she had on the socks. The clean, soft, black and blue socks she wore the first time we met. I loved those socks. She slid her toes in, tied the laces, and we were off. I ran with her out the door, and down the steps. I stood patiently while The Toddler was bucked into the car seat. I scrambled around the car and she kicked off the snow before settling in the back seat. 

We chucked through Chuck-a-Rama for lunch and I avoided trudging on anything sticky or slimy. We ran into the grocery store for Q-tips and ran right back out while avoiding the slushier puddles. We climbed the steps to The Parent's house and were removed in the entryway because Grandma is classy like that. Later my mate and I were retrieved and put back on for the safe return home. All the while, I was happy to be there every step of the way. 

It may seem a bit mundane, my life as a human sole, but honestly anything beats living in a cramped cardboard box. I like keeping The Woman's feet firmly planted and sufficiently protected. I like running and walking. I like scrambling and shopping. I like being the well used, well loved left shoe. Well, most of the time I do. I don't think I will ever like slimy Cheerios, but who can blame me there? 

Writer's Block : Alphabetical Advice

I found this website via Pinterest and man oh man it has all the creative vibes cranked to a higher decibel. This in particular is something I want to do! So here were go, 26 pieces of advice correlating to letters of the alphabet. 

Avoid being busy just for the sake of the word. 

Better yourself little by little. 

Connect with those around you. 

Don't stress. 

Entertain the impossible. 

Find joy in the journey you are on.

Gather your wits about you. 

Have a nice day, everyday.

Inject adventure into your daily routine. 

Just drive. 

Keep comfort food on hand for those bad days.

Let yourself be happy.

Make lemonade, literally. 

Never stop wandering.

Open your mind then open your eyes. 

Pray.

Quench your thirst with water. 

Respect others, always, no matter what.

Snuggle with those you love. 

Take credit for your successes. 

Use what you have. 

Validate the people in your life. 

Wear your invisible crown. 

Xerox your face, because it's fun. 

You are more than your mistakes. 

Zealous is a good way to live. 

Ha! That was interesting. 

Writer's Block :: Family Matters

Question: What things do you know you can count on your family for?

I am one very lucky lady when it comes to family. I am not only talking immediate family, but extended as well as in laws. I seriously love my family members, each and every one. They are all very supportive, charitable, funny, and entertaining. Also many of them live close by making it easy to count on them for any number of things. Here are just a few of the many ways my family has proven to be dependable and more than a mere asset in my life.

I can count on my family:
1. for a load of laughs.
2. to help and serve in times of need.
3. during moments of trial or sadness.
4. when no one else can help me make it through tough times.
5. to love me no matter what and especially after I have done something stupid.
6. to be honest, especially when the truth hurts.
7. for a good movie recommendation when i need something new.
8. to have grand adventures with.
9. to come together often in love and unity.
10. to help keep me on the straight and narrow path.
11. when my faith is shaking and my resolve weakening.
12. for even the little things like toilet paper.
13. to supply the take out.
14. for making light work with many, many hands.
15. when I need a break from daily life and strife.

See? What did I tell you. I can always count on my family to come in and save the day; whether I need a shoulder to cry on, arms to lift me up, or even to sedate a simple popcorn craving. They are the best! The are awesome! They are the whole reason this life is worth living.

Writer’s Block: Failed Chemistry

Question: What was the worst date you ever had, and what made it so bad?

The absolute worst date I have ever been on was one set up between me and someone I worked with. I knew from several brief conversations we would have very little in common, yet I still agreed because I was being bullied by other coworkers to give this kid a chance. So I did it. He invited me along with some of his friends to dinner, dessert, and card games. It didn't help that at the time I was interested and sort of dating someone else. So even gearing up for this date proved to be a problem. 

The night started off with my date picking me up. He was dressed nice, I was dressed nice, but that was about the extent of nice. The minute I clambered into his station wagon with middle seats that could spin and face the rear I knew things were about to get very awkward. In the car were the others joining us on this date. Turned out they all grew up in the same neighborhood and had been friends forever. Immediately I was disengaged; being left out of every inside joke and childhood memories. 

Next we ate dinner at a hole in the wall Peruvian restaurant. Again, he and his gang had eaten there several times and I was the Peruvian cuisine virgin. I had no idea what to order or how to order it, and my date was no help at all. They all gushed and raved about the food while I picked delicately at my some kind of meat on a stick feeling completely unimpressed. I was asked a couple of questions about what I was studying at BYU and such, but it was fleeting and I was shy. 

Then we made the rounds to one of the gang's parents' house. I cannot for the life of me remember why we stopped, but I remember it feeling completely forced and foreign for me to trudge along their all too familiar stomping grounds. I was introduced to the parents while everyone else shuffled around the house. I think we were trying to find a board game to take along with us, or something to that extent. After about 20 minutes of their laughing, reminiscing, and searching we came up with a couple of games and moved on to our next destination. 

This next stop happened to be the home of one of the gang's older married sibling. Their house was about five blocks from my parents' and I just kept thinking how much I wanted to just run away. I cannot even begin to explain the weirdness and awkwardness that followed. I was bombarded on all sides with more inside jokes I didn't get, but still tried to laugh at. I completely sucked at board/card games and was making an utter fool of myself that way. I drank so much water at dinner and was starting to really feel the pressure on my bladder, but didn't have the guts to ask for the restroom. I was uncomfortable and felt completely unwelcome.

When I was out the first round of four games in a row I finally did the only survival tactic I knew, and it was a bad, inconsiderate thing too. I started texting the other guy I was regularly dating, telling him what an awful date I was on. I wanted it to end, and on they played. I wanted it to stop, and on they laughed. I wanted to just go home, but dreaded getting back inside the refrigerator on wheels. 

Finally the gaming died down and my date took me home. I gave him a quick and almost stern hug, thanked him for the date, and shot into my house. The next few days at work were a misery while all of my coworkers goaded me and tried to pry information from me about the date. Luckily I think my texting gave the kid a hint I wasn't all that interested and he left me alone.

That day I learned the hard way that peer pressure sucks, that bringing along an outsider date to a night of insider jokes is not a good combo, and I should never, ever play card games to try and impress someone. 

Writers Block :: What's in Your Kitchen

Question: If you could choose to be any kitchen appliance what would you be and why?

Honestly I have no idea why I chose this question other than the fact that it intrigues me. It reminds me of a game I played during a youth activity where we all sat in a circle and passed around a bag of random questions. As the answers, stories, and laughter spiraled around the circle and upwards towards heaven we each got to know each other a little better and feel the companionship that unified us as a group. Some of the questions were thought provoking, deep, and soulful. Others, much like this question, seemed downright silly; and yet very interesting as well.

"What is the best birthday present you ever received?" "Who from history would you like to meet?" "When is a time in your life you remember being the happiest?" "If you were stranded on a desert island what three luxury items would you take with you if you already had food, water, and shelter?" "If you were stranded on a dessert island what would it be made of?"

So when I see this question I see one of the funny, yet also profound questions from that evening. Why? Because kitchen appliances are so varied in their structure and use.

Take the fridge. It keeps things cold, it is accommodating to all varieties of food, and it can also be the most likely place you will find a fuzzy pickle hidden in a back corner. I am not a fridge.

There is also the stove. Here things are heated up and ladled out of saucepans. The stove is where steam happens and maybe even fire. The stove burns, scalds, and is constantly surrounded by this aura of danger. I am not a stove.

So what the heck am I?

If I were to take a look around my kitchen at all of the useful appliances and pick one that most resembles myself I would have to say I am the toaster oven. Our little toaster oven is cute. It is red. This thing gets so much use around here. I love to make toast in it, yes, but I also make chicken cordon blue, melted cheese sandwiches, and roasted carrots. It is perfect for reheating french fries and cold pizza. It is perfect for those nights when Spencer is working late and I want a single serving, warm dinner. My toaster oven is useful, reliable, and practically fool proof. You turn a dial here, throw a switch there and in a matter of minutes you have a warm meal. The toaster oven is also a novelty item for me because I did not have one in my house while growing up. It makes me feel resourceful. I like that in a toaster oven.

So if you had to choose one kitchen appliance, what would you be?

Writer's Block: Secret Agent Man

Question: Which alias or code name would you be known by if you were a secret agent? Why?

Agent Mackenzie Widow

Why? If I told you I would have to kill you. Ok, just kidding. I like the name Mackenzie because you can break it down a number of ways: Mac, Ken, Kenzie, Z. See what I mean? As a secret agent I would be able to have a number of names, not just one. That is stealth right there. Also, I like the last name Widow because it is intimidating, creepy, arachnoid, and because I liked Scarlett Johannson in "The Avengers" and she played Black Widow. It also has the ring of Batman, because I am terrified of spiders in real life. Hence, Mackenzie Widow. Also, "Widow, Mackenzie Widow" does have a nice ring to it. 

As a kid I always pretended to be a spy. I would carry around a flip top calculator as my mini laptop and find ingenious places to hide a bunch of other spy apparatuses. I would hide in the dark pantry and spy on my sister who would be singing karaoke to her bedroom mirror. Sneaking through clothes racks at the mall was also one of my specialties. Needless to say, spy blood runs in my veins. Secretly I still wish I could kick butt, wield a gun expertly, and catch all the bad guys. Alas, there is no room for knock out gas or surveillance cameras in my diaper bag. It is already full of toys, binkies, wipes, and baby spoons. Granted, I am sure I could come up with some spy contraption with those spoons if necessary. 

If you are in need of an alias you might try here or here. Or just be like me and make up your own. So? What would your code name be spy captain?

Writer’s Block: I’m Off to See the Wizard

Question: Are there any movies that you absolutely loved when you were younger that you've watched again and found awful or ridiculous?

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Why yes, yes I have. Behold, "The Last Unicorn." I swear this movie came on every Thanksgiving when I was a wee little girl and I loved it. I thought the unicorn was so beautiful and wanted to be that unicorn girl so badly. Then, not long ago, I found this movie on DVD and just had to, had to, had to buy it. I was thrilled and tracked my package via Amazon until its arrival. The very night it was delivered I made my husband order pizza and plugged in the disk. I was super duper excited to revisit one of my favorite childhood films, the best movie ever! Alas, much to my horror and dismay, it was a flop, a dud, a zero. I had forgotten almost all of the plot. Watching it from this adult perspective I saw it as dull, poorly written, and badly executed.  Also, I decided the unicorn girl was not as beautiful and mystical as I had remembered. It was a sad, sad day. The movie was banished to a large box of ex-excellent DVDs and sent along to the pawn shop with a handful of others including:

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That last one is actually one of my hubby's favorites from his childhood and when we watched it I seriously wanted to gouge out my eyes. It was so bizarre and strange and didn't make any sense. It is a sad thing, growing up and losing touch with the part of us that was enamored by these movies. The innocence and excitement have been overrun. Now I would much rather opt for special effects, anything made by Pixar or Disney or both, and TV series on DVD. 

So what about you? Any childhood movies you have recently revisited and wondered why and how you could ever have liked them? 

Writer’s Block: When I Grow Up…

What did you want to be when you were a child? How have your plans changed for yourself? Why?

Lately I have been spending an inordinate amount of time pondering on my childhood, (don't know why at all). Childhood. Ah, the good, younger days when I had lofty aspirations and limitless imagination. When days took ages to pass and seasons evern longer. I miss those summery days in the back yard, playing on the jungle gym, and all the neighborhood night games. I also start to miss who I used to be. When I was a kid I wanted to be everything. Depending on the movies, Barbies, school mates of the day I had a world of adventure opened up before me. Nothing held me back or discouranged my hearts desire, and I had many a hearts desire. Then, as often happens when you get older, things start getting in the way. We let them get in the way most of the time. I really hate how we do that to ourselves.

Kindie Garten: I wanted to be The Dog. Ever play house in kindergarten? We did, daily. Most girls fought over who would be Mom or Sister or Aunt or Baby. I wanted to be The Dog, and could even scratch my ear with my back foot. Practice makes perfect they say, and I slobbered with the best of them.

Fourth Grade: I wanted to be Malibu Barbie. Honest, I did. My grandmother got me the pink and orange haired doll for my birthday and I was smitten. Not only did she have a swim suit and personal beach towel, but she also had a polka dot work suit with fuchsia pink fur collar my Gran purchased. That girl knew how to dress, I tell you. I wanted her rainbow hair, her Barbie jeep, and her heel ready feet. I wanted to live an endless summer. So I did, until the start of fifth grade.

Sixth Grade: I wanted to be a Golden Lion Tamarin. We, yes my friends and I even in the sixth grade, played monkeys on the Jungle Gyms. I was blond, I was lanky. It just seemed to fit at the time, a Golden Lion Tamarin. We would leap and clamber and swing. We built huts under the slide. We oo ooooed and ee eeeed to our hearts content. We were supposed to be growing up, getting ready for Junior High, but we just weren't ready yet.

Seventh Grade: I wanted to be a veterinarian. My naive impression was vets got to play, cuddle, and love the animals all day. All those kitty claws and puppy paws to bandange and kiss better. Yep, the perfect job for me. As soon as I found out you had to cut them up, stitch them up, and stick your fingers up you know where, that dream went right out the window, fast! So I switched to being a pirate instead. Easier occupation and no animal bummies involved, thank goodness.

High School: I wanted to be a popular girl. I don't really know how you can go through H.S. without feeling a little bit of this. Fortunately it faded fast. Then I wanted to be the proud owner of an amassed library, like the one Beast used to lure his Beauty. So I started my hardback collection. Still am working on becoming this library owner, but back then I soon realized it wouldn't get me anywhere aside from flat out broke with too much to haul when I moved out. Next up, I got my first job as part of a landscaping company and loved every moment. I wanted to mow lawns, set sprinklers, and play in the dirt for the rest of my life.

Sophomore Year College: I wanted to be a student. I honestly had no idea which classes to choose, what subjects to study, or where to go half the time. All I knew was I loved school! Not high school school, but this new school. This, grown up, full time, way more adult, kind of school. I took a wide assortment of classes: archaeology, biology, acting, philosophy, swimming, religion and so much more. I was all over the map, and was having a great time.

Junior Year College: I wanted to be a Communications Major. I chose this was because I had to get serious. My aspirations to be a full time student quickly dwindled when I realized it also meant being a poor cat lady who lived in a shack, never went on dates, and used moth balls on her ugly Christmas sweaters. So I analyzed the classes I had already taken and chose something I could finish fast. Alas, it was not meant to be. I was not accepted into the PR program. It crushed me at first. I thought I had found it, the thing that gave me spark. The thing I could really do and be happy. This epic failure also gave me the time I needed to really consider what it was I loved, what I could love doing, and what loved me back. Luckily I found the answer before it was too late.

Senior Year College: I found it, the calling, the defining moment, the fiery passion burning in my gut. I was born to be an English Major with a Minor in Communications. I know, incredibly anticlimactic after all the wondrous adventures of the past. I mean really, what could possibly win out over Golden Lion Tamarin? I'll tell you what, a writer! Deep down I have probably wanted to be a writer since my The Dog days back in kindergarten. When my teacher would read my writing to the class a warm glow settled in my heart and radiated all the way to the tips of my toes. My words. They were good, they were important, and they were being read aloud. To this day I love that feeling best of all. Which is why I worked in Accounting just before graduation. No joke! After all the effort of self discovery, I found myself crowding into a desk and looking at numbers all the live long day. Not ideal, but it pays the bills for now. Yes, I am still here, but this is defiantly not something I want to be when I grow up. Writing is what I do, who I am, and that which I love. I do some freelance, but that is not what I want to be either. I want to be an authoress, a winder of words and teller of tales. I want to be a storyteller, a bard, a person made of and by letters.

Today: I want, more than anything, to be a good mom. Yes, I want to tell my little boy stories, write his stories, and be a historian of our adventures together. More than that though, I want to be his parent and his friend. I want to provide for him and nourish him. I want to raise him up to be a good man, just like my Superman is. I want him to trust me. I want him to love me. I even want to change dirty diapers, be yelled at, and spit up on.

In conclusion, that really is what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be someone who can help another someone grow up too.

Writer’s Block: Donut You Think?

If you could be any type of pastry, muffin, or cupcake in the world, what kind would you be and why? Or would you prefer to be a doughnut?

 

This is definitely one of those questions that gets my saliva glands going. Any talk of muffins, cupcakes, pastries, and doughnuts is a subject to warm my very heart. But this question, I will confess, has me a little flummoxed. Granted, it is slightly easier than the "What is your favorite dessert" question, which I can never answer. That list, I assure you, is long, and choosing just one thing to whip out as my most favorite in the whole wide world seems too daunting a task. But this question, what would I BE as a dessert? Well, that is a sprinkle of an entirely different color, isn't it?

Now, if asked to choose what cookie I would like to be, that is easy. Snickerdoodle. Just saying it brings a smile to my face. "Snickerdoodle, snickerdoodle, snickerdoodle!" I really do love everything about the snickerdoodle. The combinations of flavor is the perfect blend of sweet and tart. I die for the creamy taste of the extra buttery dough that clings to the mixing bowl. The smell of these cookies, freshly baked, reminds me of Summer, and sun, and picnics, and green grass. Yep, no question, I would be a snickerdoodle cookie. Cinnamon, sugar, tartar, need I say more?

However, as far as pastry, muffin, cupcake,or donut goes, what am I? I can tell you, I love a good custard filled doughnut. But I also love the lush, velvet feel of a good Red Velvet cupcake. Then again, I can never deny a double chocolate, chocolate chip muffin for breakfast. Cream puff, and Danish, and eclair, oh my! And don't even get me started on the Mille-feuille or the tarts. Which one, which one?

I guess, if I were to pick a a dessert most like me it would have to be the Strawberry Napoleon. This is a fairly versatile dessert; you can add orange zest, drizzle it with chocolate, fill it with mousse or lemon pie filling, and it is still just as delicious. Usually this is a fairly good looking dessert, just like me; the best stuff is usually on the inside, just like me; and it can get pretty flaky, just like me. It goes great with casual summertime gatherings, but also works just as well for formal soirees. This dessert is always light and airy, and reminds me of something fairies would eat, but don't ask why. Yes, I am a Strawberry Napoleon. Now I just have to figure out how to hurry and make one. Yum!

Writer's Block : Read My Mind

In three words, describe what's currently running through your mind.
If I were to pick the top three words right now on my mind they would be: Madagascar. Brownies. Names.

We will start with the first. Madagascar is the name of the movie that happens to be the only thing on television right now. "I like to move it, move it." You know, the show about zoo animals finding themselves in the wild? Not exactly world's classiest entertainment, and I will probably put in a DVD soon, but it will do for now. Yes, sigh. This is how I spend most nights when Spen is not home. I mope and debate about house cleaning, I watch some tv or read a book. I usually end up crawling into bed early and waiting for his phone call around ten. I can't say I am in love with the situation, but I am so grateful he has such a great job with exceptional benefits.

Next up the word brownies comes to mind because I have some cream cheese brownies sitting on the coffee table in front of me. I am surprised by my exceptional will power, really, because there are still some left. They are soft, chocolaty, and all mine. Spence is doing so well on his diet and I am so proud of him. Unfortunately it also means that birthday junk food is mine and mine alone. Luckily we don't keep many sweets in the house and Spen and I have both been eating more and more fruits and veggies. But I have to say, these brownies have been a great treat.

Finally, names seem to be in the forefront of my mind. Baby names, of course. Wow it is hard narrowing down the list, and it seems like I just keep adding more and more names. I have to admit though, it is really fun to know that I will finally be able to put my baby name list to good use. As a writer one of my favorite things about each story is picking the perfect name for the main character. Names are full of meaning, history, and character. I could spend hours sifting through name lists, looking for just the right one. I am beyond thrilled and baby is growing, my belly sticking out a little more. What a blessing.