Kitchen Wars

     The Holidays are upon us. First up: Thanksgiving. A time of warmth and thankfulness. Gratitude and family.

     For those of us that host Thanksgiving, it means: Cooking, baking, cleaning and shopping.


     For those of us that host Thanksgiving in a home that also houses a hunter, it means copious amounts of alcohol.


     It used to be cute. Before kids, Bearded Man would get up at 0430, don 67 layers of camo topped with blaze orange, spritz on doe urine and shotgun in hand, would trek through the woods all day. It was nice and peaceful and quiet, and, he never shot anything.


     Now that there are children, we are ALL up when Bearded Man gets up at whatever hour of the morning he choses whichever particular day, as loudly as possible. The dogs are up. The kids are up. I am up. The cat is up. Not sure about the fish. They always seem to be up. And adding more fish to their fish family.


     Also, the last few years, he has actually shot deer. Which poses problems with Thanksgiving dinner. Because, the deer must be processed etc.


     Which, I suppose, brings us to this week.


     Saturday: Bearded Man shoots a deer first thing in the morning. Brings it home, and hangs it in his shed. Bearded Man is alerted that Mama needs to work every day but Thursday this week, therefore, the kitchen is OFF LIMITS Mon, Tues, Wed after 5pm. Bearded Man is heartily advised to deal with his deer Sunday.


     Sunday: Bearded Man goes hunting again. Does not get a deer. The kids and I, meanwhile, haul the Christmas stuff out of the attic and put it all up. Bearded Man returns home and is advised to get working on the deer. The kitchen is OFF LIMITS Mon, Tues, Wed after 5 PM. I then leave for 2 hours for a previously accepted commitment, and Bearded Man has full kitchen access for the rest of the day. I return home, and Bearded Man is watching TV, while sipping beer. Slight hysteria begins. The deer is then hauled into the house.


     Monday: Return home from work, get dinner on the table, and decide to start baking. Bearded Man commands use of half the kitchen, to continue processing the deer. He has also given Lexi allotted time to wash the dishes. When the time is up, complete or not, she must exit the kitchen and leave the sink open. Breads get made, Mama forgets to take Joe to Scouts - AGAIN - and runs him to the meeting 15 minutes late. Decide to clean the refrigerator out Tuesday, because use of the kitchen sink is prohibited. Bearded Man then announces he cannot possibly do more tonight, and will continue Tuesday. Full blown hysteria presents, and this writer announces that she HATES hunting season, she HATES not EVER getting to sleep in, she HATES dealing with sleep deprived kids every weekend, she HATES dead deer on the kitchen table, and further more that NEXT YEAR, she is NOT cooking dinner, and Bearded Man may as well save his money, because he will be driving the entire family to the nearest Thanksgiving Buffet, and that she will plan on sitting around watching Hallmark Channel Christmas movies and drinking lots of wine!!!!!! Teenage daughter has the unfortunate timing of making a sarcastic remark, and gets yelled at as well. After which, I remembered I had to pick Joe up from his Scout meeting, and left to go get my kid.
     During which time, I run into another mother, who had heard that George had just managed to break the same living room window twice in less than 3 days.


    "Why is he so violent, I wonder? You really need to spank him more! He is clearly out of control. Maybe he needs help? With this violence?"


     *breathe. Just. Breathe.* Seriously, if one more person tells me to beat my child, I may beat them and see how THEY like it. It is NOT nice to tell people to beat people, even if you procreated the subjects one is being advised to beat.


     The story goes as such: Saturday, with company on their way over, George, dressed as Iron Man,  had gone outside to search for one of his special painted rocks. He found one, and, in full Superhero Mode, somehow, the rock went flying. Right through the window. Thankfully, it was the INSIDE window, and not the outside storm window. When I marched into the living room, he was casually pulling the curtain across it. Upon inspection, there was a hole about 3 inches around, right through the glass.
     Company was coming, and honestly, he felt so terrible, I didn't have the heart to do much more than yell.


     Monday evening, George was doing his all time favorite thing ever. He was flipping upside down on the couches. This is where he gets a running start and flips up the couch, with his head down, and his feet on the top of it. Apparently he has grown, though, because, his foot went right through the same window. Breaking the rest of it.
     He announced in tears that this was the WORST DAY EVER, and, sobbing, took himself (and his unscathed foot) to his room.


     Back to the judgy mom and her judgy husband, who were both looking at me disdainfully, and instructing me, like several other parents, to spank my violent out of control kid.


     NO! I am not spanking him. For goodness sake, he's five years old, and certainly wasn't breaking the windows deliberately. He is NOT out of control, and I am NOT spanking him for accidents.


     There. Go ahead and judge. I don't beat my out of control kids. They will probably be blights of society now. Hashtagsorrynotsorry


     For those who have advised me to get better control of my child, as well as those who have informed me that their kid certainly has never had these issues: Good for you. Once again, the title of this Blog indicates that I am aware that I am absolutely not the perfect mother. Ah well. I got that off my chest. We're all good now.


     For those of you who are hunters, or, spouses of hunters; I have no issue with hunting. As long as the carcass is  not on my kitchen table, I am pretty okay with it all.
     If the carcass is on my kitchen table during Thanksgiving prep time; we may have strong words.


   Anyhow, at the end of the day, I am sure Thanksgiving will be fine. The dead deer will all be shoved into pig intestines eventually, dinner will get made and eaten, and hunting season, please Lord, will be over soon.


     Next up: Christmas!

Passive Agressive Magazines: Making Mama's Feel Inadequate for Generations Now.

     Sometime over the last few years, during some fund raiser or another, I ordered a few magazines. Mostly they sit in their clear plastic bags for a few weeks, until I have the time and inclination to flip through them and feel inadequate.


     The Christmas magazines hit my mailbox over the last week or so. Yesterday, I decided to take a break from the housework and page through the latest tome touting recipes full of fattening goodness and impossible to find ingredients that most people will never ever attempt to cook. It was packed full of clothing no one I personally know can afford, nor will look at all flattering should they purchase and wear them, as well as uplifting chatty reads encouraging feeling good about oneself no matter what, followed quickly by glossy pages full of photo shopped young ladies looking impossibly perfect, while telling us how to fix every flaw from hair follicles to toenails.
     Packed into the latest magazine, was "Simple Christmas" articles, clearly photographed sometime over the summer, with happy glossy photos of people with fake smiles, wrapping fake gifts, as they undoubtedly think about the work it will take to UN decorate the house again, in time for their simple and perfect fourth of July parties.


     Anyhow, There were pages of advice from decorators, for simple holiday tips and decorating ideas. Some of my personal favorites were:

•     Hang paper snowflakes in the coat closet
•     Hot glue magnets to the back of shiny ornaments to dress up your fridge or a metal door
•     Create an instagram tree with phone snapshots instead of ornaments.
•      wrap red and white washi tape around plain hangers to get your closet cheery for holiday company.
•      Instead of name tags, print out pictures of the recipient, and use those, instead.

Wait. What? Did this magazine really just tell me to wrap hangers with red and white tape? Who does this? Who has the time for this? Who thinks of these things??


Impatiently, I set the magazine aside and resumed my laundry folding. While internally I wavered between laughing at the absurdity of it all, and fuming at the ridiculousness of it. Snapping towels out in irritation, I wondered if any woman picked up that magazine, with any intention of making the picture perfect intricately decorated cookies on the front. How many Mothers have a "Room that they prefer to wrap packages in" as they print off phone pictures of their children, to "tie to the beautifully wrapped gift with twine" How many parents out there get dressed up and wear fresh lipstick, to wrap gifts and decorate their clothing hangers with tape in their favorite gift wrapping rooms? Where does one go to find washi tape???


If my kids had a spare wall in their bedroom, would I march up there with green painters tape, and make them a tree with it, and then sit with them and make handmade decorations for it? Probably not. Well, why not? Why can't you be that nice parent? Don't you even CARE? Ugh.
     Also, why hasn't it ever occurred to me to set up a beautiful bountiful table outside and have a semi formal dinner outdoors? In a field someplace? All those laughing smiling perfect people drinking wine and passing around perfectly prepared dinners served on expensive dishes and full of hard to find ingredients make my poor holiday dinning room seem flat in comparison. Also, how is anyone still smiling after hauling it all out to the fields, anyhow? Maybe because they didn't need to clean their house in advance?


     Here's the thing. I am probably never going to deviate from my traditional turkey. Prepared the traditional way. I will probably always make the same dishes. We will always get together and make the family recipe for Sugar Cookies, that I sincerely hope will always be decorated by the unprofessional hands of my children, nieces, nephews, and someday, grandkids. I will never, EVER decorate my clothes hangers, for heaven's sake. I will also probably never decorate my appliances with ornaments, nor hang snowflakes in the closets. We have hit an entirely new level of making the everyday housewife feel inadequate, when we never thought nor intended to, decorate our closets for Christmas.  I would love to see a magazine geared toward us not so perfect mamas. It would probably include honest to goodness real life households. Affordable realistic clothes,  ideas for  budgeting - and please spare me the pretentious gift lists found within the pages of these silly glossy magazines of today. It would include humor, real life stories, pictures of actual un photo shopped parents in less than perfect homes. I would love to see  real life and realistic usable recipes, tips, tricks, help, and reality.




     Ah well. In preparation for decking the halls and all that, I have begun my annual "Nag Bearded Man" campaign. He is in charge of the out door Christmas decorations, which must be in place and ready for the annual "Thanksgiving stand outside and turn the lights on A La National Lampoons", after dinner.
     It's the same every year. I beg. He declines. He states he will put them up eventually. He promises to get to it. I remind him it's much nicer to do it in nice weather, than to hang from the porch railing and posts in whipping wind and snow and/or sleet/rain/hail. He tersely tells me he will get to it. It never ends well. He always ends up outside hanging off the porch and sounding exactly like a combination of the Dad in "The Christmas Story" during the part where he fights with the furnace, and, the guy in "The 12 Pains of Christmas" screaming about hanging Christmas Lights, while the wind and snow whip around him.


     Today's texts have gone as such:




Me: Bearded Man, I have good news/bad news. The good news is: I have thought about you, hunting season and the weather. The bad news is: This weekend the Christmas stuff needs to go up. Sunday is supposed to have the best weather. See? Thinking of you!




Bearded Man: If I get a deer opening day I can do the lights.




Me: If you don't, then, the lights won't get done. Happy Wife, Happy life, honey!




We'll see how it goes. (Here's a fun article for the Not So Perfect Mama Magazine: "Christmas Lights. Getting Him to Put Them Up The First Time You Beg."


     Also, I need to admit here: I have yet to purchase anything for Christmas. There is nothing Christmas related here, except the usual panic, helped along by the cheerful "X DAYS TILL CHRISTMAS!" messages I see plastered from here to kingdom come. The "When will I have time to shop??!!!!" followed by "When will I have time to wrap??!!!!" anxiety has begun. Yayness!


     Happy Holidays, to any other inadequate people out there. If any of you had planned to wrap your clothes hangers for Christmas, You need to know, I will probably laugh at you.

Mama Goes to Court

     Nearly two months ago, if you recall, two friends and myself went on a road trip to New Jersey to meet my cousin in person, and, lay on the beach for two glorious days.
     On the way back from New Jersey, approximately 40 minutes from home, I ended up with a speeding ticket. It is what it is. The nice officer advised me to write a nice letter to the DA and see what I could do about getting it reduced, at the very least. So, I did.
     With only a few days remaining before my traffic court date, I received a packet that included my letter to the DA, and several papers that advised me to send the enclosed application for a Defensive Driving class and a money order for the required amount, and, the ticket would essentially go away. I was absolutely good with that.
     The packet never indicated, however, if I still needed to go to court for the ticket. No one seemed to know, either.
     The day before my court date, I finally called the town clerk for the town the ticket was in. A very nice, although hard of hearing lady brightly told me to just come on in, as, the court clerk, the judge, and probably the Assistant DA herself, would be at the Court House at 5:30 that very evening, and I could ask them directly with no problem.
     Out into the pouring rain I went, with Bearded Man tagging along, and the 40 minute trip to the Court House in question commenced.
     I had never actually gone thru the town we were in, but, I had heard about it. The rumors indicated that it was a beautiful little place that looked like it was right out of a Dicken's picture at Christmas. It did not disappoint, either.


     We drove around a large traffic circle, and pulled up near a large white building that indicated it housed the Town Hall, Court House, Town Clerk, Court Clerk, Judge and the Police Station. The large front door was opened via a lift latch,  into a long, dark, cluttered hallway, painted in gray. There was a handful of unhappy looking people in the hallway, sitting nervously, pacing, and occasionally whispering to people they were with.


     "Ummmm." I whispered loudly, "I need to ask a question about a traffic ticket. Does anybody know where to go for that?"


     "I think you can ask the judge, but, he's in there with people." said one helpful young man. "You can probably just go in and wait till he's done."


     "No. No, that's okay. I will just wait here." I whispered again, taking a seat on a folding chair.


There was a few minutes of silence, as we listened to the pouring rain, while we all sat quietly in this long, dark, dismal gray hallway, with the large door to the court room looming in front of us.


     'Jasin!"


     "What?"


     "This totally reminds me of that scene in the Disney Robin Hood movie with the fox and the bear. You know, that part where the entire town is in the prison, and it's raining out?"


     "Shhhh!"


     "Well. It's not very hospitable." I announced. At which everyone looked up and just stared at me incredulously. "Well, it ISN'T."


     After about 30 minutes, someone mentioned that the Town Clerk was right down the hallway, so, I tiptoed down the hallway to find her. She was buried in an office toward the end. An elderly lady, hard of hearing who took a few moments to process what I was saying. "Oh! yes! I did speak to you. I forgot when I talked to  you that tonight is attorney night for bigger things. You aren't going to be able to talk to the judge tonight. And I forgot that the court clerk is off today, and a temp is here. And I forgot that the DA won't be here tonight, either. That was LAST week!"


     So, with well wishes to the miserable people in the hallway, we left.


     The next day produced more rain, a hectic morning, and forgetting to grab Court Appropriate clothing for after work. I decided I would just have to wing it in scrubs, and, headed that way as soon as I left work. I arrived approximately 47 seconds before the judge did. And noted that, we were the only two people at the  Court House/ Police station/ Town Hall etc.
I was awkwardly uncomfortable, as I decided what to do. Do I give him a few minutes to settle in? Do I follow him in? Is it appropriate to try to talk to him before traffic court begins? Would I get in MORE trouble? What to do, what to do?


     Even though I looked like a wrung out mess, I gamely applied lip gloss, because clearly, that would make my scrubs and under eye puffy dark circles and frazzled hair go away, and went in after thinking about if for five minutes.


     I pulled the metal latch up on the massive door, and it creaked open ominously. Tiptoeing in, it closed behind me with a bang echoing off the long, dark hallway walls. The rain continued outside, and the only light in the building poured out from the partially open door to the Court Room. With a deep breath, I tapped on the door, and pushed it open a little more. It swung in with an eerie creak in the otherwise silent building. With a gulp, I pasted a smile on, and called "Hello?"

     The judge looked up, and said "Yes? Come in."


     The floor boards squeaked with every single step, as I walked across the room, to stand in front of the judge's bench. Looking up at him, I introduced myself, and said I had a question.


     "I would like to help you, but, my computer's acting up and it just says 'not responding'. I can't do a thing with it."


     'Ummm. Well, Your Honor, try hitting 'control alt delete' at the same time, and bring up the task manager. Then, end it, and try to access it again after you close out of the task manager. Sir."


     With a doubtful look, he attempted it. And it worked. So, I began my story again.


     "WAIT! WHAT did you say? You said you WROTE to the DA already? Where did you learn to do that? Did you look it up on that Internet? I hate that Internet! Everybody thinks what they see is what they are supposed to do! You looked it up on the Internet, didn't you?"


     "No Sir! The officer that pulled me over told me to!"


     "He did? How did HE know to do that?"


     "I don't know, but he seemed very nice. He really was a nice guy....."
     "Well. Normally, you come to court, plead not guilty, and THEN talk to the DA to try to get it reduced to traffic school. Since you have bypassed the court all together, and already hashed a deal with the DA, I will print  you a letter telling you that you have 30 days to get a date for traffic school and write me a nice letter telling me you will go."
     "Okay, thank  you so much for seeing me early! I really appreciate it."
     "No problem. *SIGH* I just am not feeling it tonight. I just can't seem to get any energy up to be here. I am tired and just don't want to be here. Ever have those days? Ah well. I suppose I'll get thru it." remarked the judge.
     "I understand completely, sir."


And just like that, court was over.


     Also of note lately, I have decided that vanity will be the grease on my slide to hell. That, and, my abysmal attempts at Sunday School teaching.


     My hair. The bane of my existence. It just does not want to behave. It looks ridiculous most of the time. So, most of the time, it is pulled back into a clip and I try to ignore mirrors and my picture on the constant video monitors I am on at work. I just can't look at it.
     Also, headaches. Currently, my head has hurt for more than a month. We're used to it; it happens. We deal with it, and, eventually, after awhile, they become somewhat bearable again. Meanwhile though, they tend to make life miserable while situated indefinitely in my head.
     I went to the eye doctor, to make sure it wasn't my eyes. 8.5 hours daily in front of a computer might be a trigger, right? The eye doctor sympathetically told me my eyes haven't changed, but, computer fatigue is a definite problem. There is really nothing to be done about it.
     I tried teas and migraine medication and heat and cold and wondered if my insurance covered neck massages. Nothing. I thought, maybe the clip that is constantly in my hair, pulling it back might be a trigger. Also, my hair is dreadful most of the time. Spur of the moment, I headed to my sister's hair salon, and begged her to fix it.
     2.5 hours and lots of laughs later, my hair was done. Shorter, colored, styled and my eyebrows done for good measure. I loved it. It was the best my hair had looked in literally years.


      Bearded Man HATED it. He actually told me my headache the next morning was my hair, mourning it's loss. It was not a good subject in my household. We just do not talk about it now. Also, it did not fix my headaches.


     One last note here... This past weekend I once again set up shop on the front porch, to hand out Halloween candy. I LOVE sitting on the porch steps and handing out candy. And, Bearded Man loves to take the kids all over town. He has an entire route mapped out that includes people that will give him beer, and where all the full sized candy bars are located.
     I filled a huge bucket full of candy, and hoped I would have enough. I love seeing all the kids in their costumes and chatting with people I know. Turbo was stationed in the window the entire time, and he was a big hit with the crowds.
     I am noticing a trend, though, of adults trick or treating. I think, if you are old enough to drink legally or, even vote, you are probably too old.
     If you are old enough to wear costumes better suited to a Gentleman's Club, once again, you are too old.
     If you have a new born baby, or, one that is under 6 months old, you do not need to be out collecting candy.
     If you are with your children, and you are trick or treating too, because "Moms need candy too!" you should know better.
     If you are a married couple with no children, you really should not be collecting candy, OR making major life decisions like marriage, because clearly you are not mature enough.
     If you are an adult, and you are rude to myself or the little kids who are out, you need to know, that the candy in my bucket that I hate, will be what you get. That includes chocolate tootsie pops and Dots.
     And that is all I have to say about that. I used to think I would grow up to be one of those nice old ladies that baked cookies for the grandkids and neighbor children. I think I will unfortunately end up an old lady that is all judgmental and yells at people that aggravate me. I kinda can't wait.