There are leaves on my floor…

I’ve noticed an odd sound as I stride to and fro in my house. It is the sound of rustling….no, maybe crunching. And upon closer inspection, I’ve discovered that there are leaves on my floor. Obviously not content to merely drift down from the trees and rest on a cushy green bed of grass, they have somehow crept, blown and snuck their way into my house.

Although trying to keep a “low profile”, I’ve noticed them lingering in the corners of my hardwood floor. Perhaps they were cold; maybe even lonely. For once inside, they have the company of tiny bits of paper, soft balls of cat hair, twisty ties (from bread wrappers), rubber bands, bits of apple peels (that the dogs missed) and of course a stray lego or two. Whatever the reason, I’ve decided they must not stay.

I will soon find my royal blue, nylon-bristled brush, and shoo them into my wastebasket….right after I put away the washed dishes, both from the counter and dishwasher, fold the clothes and put them away, clean the kitchen counter for the 63rd time, make my son’s Halloween costume, fix myself some lunch, make a grocery list, feed the cat, and the dogs, change the sheets on all the beds, scrub the toilets, fix the kids a snack (yes, I’ll wash my hands after the toilets…), file my coupons and fix dinner.

Screw it. A few leaves never hurt anybody.

Three pumpkins and a bandaid

For reasons I can't quite put my finger on, Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. I don't particularily like to dress up in a costume. And I definitely don't like to be scared. Maybe it's the time of year (I love fall), pumpkins, and the chocolate bars that I "borrow" from my kids' bags.

Anyhow, one of my least favorite parts of Halloween is the actual carving of pumpkins. The idea of it is fun and creative...but the reality is sore arms and gooky pumpkin guts. This opinion, however, is not shared by the kids who have been bugging me to carve their pumpkins for weeks now. This year I volunteered Fred to head this project. As he handed out the knives, I snapped the pictures. The result: three festively carved pumpkins, roasted pumpkin seeds and a bandaid on Grace's pinky finger. Not bad considering the odds.

Little things can be killers

Yesterday while watching Oprah, she said something that she has said before "people want to feel validated...people want to be listened to and heard...." That isn't an exact quote, but the general idea of what she said. I understood her, that people want to be recognized for who they are, and what they need. When we are struggling and stressed and we yell at our kids, our spouse, our co-workers....hopefully they are hearing "I'm overwhelmed and tired. Cut me some slack. Understand my frustration. Reach out and help me through this." I got this.

This morning it occured to me as I looked at the capless toothpaste tube in my childrens' bathroom, that it's not always the big things that break us down in our daily lives, it's the little things.

A sick relative, being fired from a job, a child that's not behaving....our friends and family will rally around to offer advice, support and empathy. Don't get me wrong, it's wonderful to receive this. And I thankfully rely on it. But where are they when you find the sock shoved in between the couch cushions after you've endured your kids' cries of "I can't find socks" as you try to get the to school on time?

Like Chinese water torture, each unheeded request drips unto our sanity, boring a hole millimeter by millimeter, eventually getting big enough to let the crazies in. The dirty clothes on the floor merely inches from the laundry basket. Dishes caked with hardened rice krispies on the counter, while the open dishwasher door beckons, no pleads with them to put them inside. And yes, despite hundred of requests, the cap never seems to make it back onto the tube of toothpaste. Am I alone in this? Time to vent people! What little things drive you to doors of the "nut-house"?

How do you like them apples?...A LOT!

Saturday afternoon a neighbor boy stopped by to chat and happened to mention that he and his sister was taking a walk down the road to pick up "drops" of Northern Spy apples for his mother. Now those of us who are die hard pie makers know that Spies make the best apple pies! And the thought of getting a bunch for free is akin to winning the lottery...well, almost. So, of course, I invited myself and daughter, Paige, along.

I ended up getting, oh probably a half a bushel. Enough to make some fresh apple pies, apple pie kits and perhaps some applesauce if I'm not "appled out" by that time. Now upon viewing these luscious beauties you may think they're not so pretty...but I do. You see the spots are evidence of what I already knew...the apples were grown organically. Living in the heart of orchard country, it is still hard to find organically grown fruit. I'm lucky enough to have a neighbor who not only grows Spies, but grows them organically! Yippee!

Now that you know what apples make the best pies...want to know the best recipe? It's fairly simple and one that has been used by atleast three generations in my family.

First the crust (taken from Woman's Home Companion Cook Book circa 1942--the one my grandma used)

** Preheat oven to 425 degrees.

2 cups flour
1 tsp salt
2/3 c. shortening (I prefer the butter flavor...and usually use a bit more than 2/3 c.)
Approx. 6 Tbs. Ice water
• Sift flour with salt into a medium to large bowl. Add shortening and "cut" into flour until mixture looks crumbly. Add ice water a couple tablespoons at a time until the dough starts to hold it's shape.
• Now at this point most crust recipes would tell you to refrigerate the dough. I've found that it becomes harder to work with and you don't want to overwork the dough. So I leave it out while I peel my apples and prepare the filling.

The filling:
•Peel and core 4-6 apples, depending on how big the apples are and how packed you want your pie. I slice the apples fairly thin because I like how the tender apples almost melt in my mouth, but if you like a bit more substance or chew to your pie, slice them thicker.

1 tsp cinnamon
3/4 - 1 c. sugar
1/4 tsp. salt
2-3 Tbs. flour

•Mix above ingredients.
• Roll out your pie crusts. Keep in mind that you will be making a bottom and top crust, so cut the dough ball in half.
• Once the bottom crust is in the pie plate. Pour half of sugar mixture on the bottom. Place the apples on top of that. Sprinkle remaining sugar mix over apples. To add a little richness, you can slice butter and dot butter across the top of the apples and sugar.
• Put top crust in place, secure the edges.
• Cut a few slit on the top crust.
Optional egg wash:
Beat one egg and with a pastry brush, paint on the egg across entire top crust. Then using approx. a tablespoon of sugar, very finely sprinkle sugar across the middle of the pie, staying away from the edges (they'll burn).

Bake for approximately 30 minutes or until you start to smell the pie and can see the filling bubbling through the crust.

Enjoy!

The birds..almost like Hitchcock

As is school policy, the bus driver will not let Gunnar off the school bus unless there is an adult home to greet him. So every day, at the usual time, I peer out the large picture window in our dining room, watching for glimpses of the big yellow bus, so I can be ready to pop out of the house and greet my gregarious boy as he descends the stairs of the "big banana" (Freds description of the bus, not mine).

However, today, I reminded myself to slow my pace, relax and enjoy every moment. No toe tapping impatiently waiting.... So with that, I sat myself down on the deck stairs outside of the door. I brought with me my latest Country Living magazine and thought I'd take the moment to peruse through pages of perfectly decorated mudrooms and stylishly casual kitchens. As I turned the pages, I became aware of the sounds of birds chirping....maybe 20, then 50, then 100! Birds swarmed to the Silver Maple tree that I was currently sitting under and I reflected on how lucky I was to witness such natural beauty. I returned to my magazine. Plop. Drop....silence.....plop, drop, drop.....I looked up connecting the sounds to the subtle movements of leaves on the ground with each plop. After listening to what sounded like gentle droplets of rain falling from branches after a morning mist...it dawned on me that the sun was shining and the plops were definitely NOT rain. Yes, it was the birds pooping, by the hundreds! Then as I peer upward into the canopy of the tree, I also realized that I was well within the danger zone and began beating my hands onto my Country Living Magazine as if it suddenly transformed into bongo drums. Thankfully, the birds took the cue and en masse flew to another tree. So much for relaxing....but it did give me a chuckle I would have otherwise missed.

Silly surprises are not always happy.

Friday was Paige's 7th birthday. Like most young children, she had been literally counting the days since January, marking off the days on the calender, anticipating a fun-filled day of special attention, cake and, of course, presents. So as the day creeped forward, and I shopped for the presents on her ever-changing list, I came across some cans of "Silly String."

Now I've often heard of this product, seen demonstrations on tv and most recently even heard of it's use by US soldiers to somehow detect the presence of mines abroad. It's been on store shelves for years, but until now I've never considered buying it. Why? Well, the $1.99 price tag, per can, seemed to be a dollar and ninety-nine cents waste of money. And, quite frankly, the whole concept of spraying string into the air, seemed, well.... "silly." But today, you see, the $1.99 can of Silly String was only 90 cents. The perfect price for a silly surprise for my daughter on her birthday and for her mom to step frivolously outside of her practical box. I bought three.

I allowed Paige one present before school, but made her wait until after school, after Dad got home and after dinner before she could open the remainder of her presents. It was excruciating for her and I endured lots of "you're not fair!" statements. But ultimately, I enjoyed adding to her anticipation of the event.

I delightfully plotted the moment when brightly colored foamy strings would fly in the air above her head like fireworks, invoking surprise and delight! All the while, I'd also allow my other children to enjoy the moment. You see, it was to be their fingers on those silly little cans of fun!

I gave special instructions to wait for the moment after the candles were blown out. I've heard of silly string igniting and I did, like all good mothers do...I scared the bahjeebers out of those two little trigger fingers to avoid this from happening in my house! I also instructed them to spray away from Paige and the birthday cake. Afterall, who wants to eat cake with silly string all over it?

So when the time came, after dinner, to present Paige with her vanilla-frosted strawberry supreme cake, I instructed her to cover her eyes until we stopped singing to her. She covered her eyes, we began to sing and I handed the cans to the kids and husband. They concealed the cans below the table, and as instructed, waited until Paige blew every last candle out.

The string flew!!!! Ignoring my second instruction, it flew directly at Paige, covering her and the strawberry supreme cake in a cocoon of foam. She did not think this surprise delightful. She did not think this suprise fun. And, I think, all "silliness" was completely lost on her. Unfortunately, she did think it startling and scary. And cried. And cried.

It is in these moments of parenting that the entire world falls down beneath you, leaving you a single square foot of earth to stand on. You are alone and exposed as the awful parent that you are! You just caused your beloved child hurt and distress. And, although you never intended this horrible outcome, it was done on purpose. You know it. She knows it. And, at this point, there's little you can do to make it better.

It's very humbling to know that "mother does NOT always know best."


...Now, I can't simply leave the story here. I will put you out of your sympathetic misery and let you know that eventually the tears did stop and Paige enjoyed the rest of her birthday. In fact, I later handed her a can and instructed her to spray the kitchen window. She did, giggling the entire time!

And away we go.

I've often wanted to be able to jot down the touching, funny or enlightening moments that present themselves between the usuals mundane activities of my life. So here we are in the "age of the blog." And here I am. Hopefully, this can be an archive for my children and increasingly forgetful brain. A way to take a peek into the past and prompt a fond memory or chuckle. And away we go...