A Sure Sign of Old Age

As some of you know, I grew up in a less than affluent household where the bill of fare every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning was cracked wheat mush. Sometimes the menu would vary, and we were treated to sticky oatmeal (made from regular oats), or, if we were really, really lucky, we got to have some cream of wheat (the generic bulk kind, not the brand name). We blessed our lucky stars that we were able to sprinkle sugar on it before pouring the reconstituted powdered milk on top.

If there were any leftovers, never fear. It would soon be added to a meatloaf (very light on the meat, heavy on leftover mush and oats) or wherever else Mom figured it could work its ‘whole wheat goodness’ magic. I think she even put it in lasagna once? It's hard to know--she was very tricksy!

Then I went on a mission, and one of the rules was that we had to eat cracked wheat EVERY morning. As the Japanese didn’t eat this but their livestock did, the mission office had kindly provided the contact information to an animal feed supplier who sold this wonderful fodder. Being missionaries, we found innovative ways to obey the rules. It could be mixed with flour to make pancakes, and I even found that it didn’t taste too bad mixed with curry stew! And when the sack became infested with cocooning weevils? Never fear! A collander could quickly separate the wheat from the living ‘chaff.’
Since that time--over half a lifetime ago--I have never been able to even be in the vicinity of wheat mush without gagging. Ditto for oatmeal and other sundry hot cereals.

However, for the past 2 weeks--and for no particular reason--I have been eating oatmeal (admittedly Maple and Brown Sugar flavor) most every morning--and LIKING IT!

And some mornings I have even had idle thoughts about eating cream of wheat with a big dab of butter and some brown sugar!

Somebody please save me from myself!

INTERLUDE

Writing the above brought back a flood of cherished[?] childhood memories, and also reminded me of the delightful essay my sister Denna wrote on this subject. Enjoy!


Wheat for Man
by Denna L. Coburn
"And all these things shall give thee experience and be for thy good." Is this what it meant? I wondered miserably as another drop of milk dripped from my hair and splashed into the small pond that had already formed in my ear.
Somehow I could not believe that this is what I had prepared and waited for, for eons of time. Oh certainly I had expected skinned knees, bruises and bumps, even disappointment, but this was humiliation in its cruelest form. My mother, now blurred by my tears, was standing staring at me angrily, the empty mush bowl still in her hand. I could bear her piercing glare no longer. I lowered my head, causing another clump of cold sticky mush to splat on my tray.
Thus I learned early on that it had not been my misfortune to have been born to a mother who believed in sugary, empty calorie "Froot Loops" nor "Frosted Flakes," not even "Lucky Charms" which are magically delicious. Rather, my mother believed firmly in "Wheat for Man." She believed in it on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings in a most delectible form. Not that it was easy for her, certainly it was an involved gourmet dish.
To be so dedicated to one's beloved offsspring required an early start, for it had to simmer several hours in order to form the delicate leathery crust, then allowed to cool so the climate would be conducive for the formation of delightful lumps. This was then complemented with "mixed milk" (powdered milk mixed rather thinly so as not to have too strong of an imitation flavor), and, against her better judgment, sugar.
As I grew, my ability to eat wheat mush ironically diminished. Certainly with maturity my appreciation should have increased, but rather my cleverness began to develop. By age five I had learned that "You have to eat enough that I can see the bottom of the bowl" could be satisfied by employing the natural elements of mush. If not too much milk was added, the mush would fiercely stick to the sides of the bowl, thus allowing the bottom to be visible. This tactic worked for awhile, but soon mother tired of it and insisted that I eat it. However, she was not totally heartless in her demand. She would allow me as much time as I required to eat it. She would say, "I don't care if it takes you all day!!! You're not leaving until you eat it!" If mother was in a particularly sensitive mood, I could leave the table without eating it, and her melodious voice would follow me out the door, "It'll be waiting for you at lunch, and if you don't eat it for lunch, you can have it for dinner! I was determined that there had to be another way.
I experimented next with a more dramatic approach. It involved actually putting some mush in my mouth and attempting to swallow it. Invariably it would cause waves of nausea and gagging. The noise would command my mother's attention, and as she turned to look at me I would meet her gaze with pitiful misty eyes. Without a moment's hesitation she would point her finger at me and growl through clenched teeth, "Don't you throw that up! I'll give you some more if you do!"
Finally, I discovered a way to dispose of mush that mother never did get wise to until I confessed years later. Breakfast was almost always served at the kitchen bar, located conveniently close to our scrap paper collection. As usual, I would wait for everyone else to finish and leave, then while Mother had her back turned or left the kitchen on a timely errand, I would hastily put the mush in a piece of paper, roll it up, and then slide it into my sock. Later, I would guiltlessly dispose of it.
The years have gone by, and contrary to my Mother's predictions, I have grown into a healthy adult. As a parent there are certain things that I have solemnly sworn I would never do: fixing wheat mush tops the list. Only once have I broken that vow, at which time I was pregnant, and therefore not responsible for my act.
© 1988, Denna Lynn Floyd Coburn

Teenage Female Logic?

A conversation between Erin and Cindy this AM:

‘Mom, my body isn’t healthy.’

‘Oh? And why do you think that, Erin?’

‘Because I don’t wake up refreshed in the morning.’

Hmm, I remember telling her to go to bed at 9:15, then again at 10:15--I almost had to pry the DS out of her hands--and then I went to bed. and so who knows at what time she actually fell asleep!

Being so “grown up,” she wants to stay up until at least 10 o’clock “like all of her friends do,” but I have noticed that if she does turn out the lights soon after 9 PM that she is sawing logs soon thereafter, and she doesn’t seem to wake up any earlier the next morning.

So, she wants to stay up later and also wants to feel ‘refreshed’ and ‘healthy’ when she wakes up in time for school the next morning.

It sounds like diametrically opposed goals.

Maybe her mind is the part of her that’s not quite so healthy!?

Mr Thrifty

Normally you would guess this is a post about Louis. Not so today.

Last night Cameron had a friend spending the night. When I was awakened at 1:30 AM I decided to tell the boys it was time for bed. They were in the kitchen and Cameron's friend was asking Cameron why he couldn't have any orange juice. Cameron didn't reply and being a little groggy, I didn't really care. I just wanted to go back to bed. As I waited for the boys to climb in their sleeping bags so I could turn out their light I listened while standing outside the door.

Friend: Cameron, Why wouldn't you let me have any orange juice?"

Cameron: Because it is expensive. Each carton is like $3.00.

Okay my lips curled up at the sides when I realized Cameron was just repeating what he has been told. We always have orange juice at our house but it is only for breakfast. It is expensive and the kids would drink it constantly. I just had to laugh though.

The saying is true...."The apple (or orange) doesn't fall far from the tree!"

Music to A Father’s Ear

We have had the first significant snowfall of the winter today--we may even end up with more that 3 inches!
Woohoo!!
School let out 2 hours early, and according to Cindy, as soon as they came in the house Cameron sang out, ‘How much will you pay me to shovel the snow?’ (He is earning money to buy a DS--though he is now dreaming of getting a Wii. And yes, that is pure unadulterated dreaming!)
She called back later to tell me that he had done a slam-bang job of it too!
Woohoo!
I guess the snow-blower will have to wait for a deeper snowfall!
So instead of shoveling snow when I get home, I get to go down in the basement and measure and cut sheetrock!
Woohoo....?

The same thing happens every night.....

Erin, who is old beyond her tender age of 12 (at least in her own mind) likes to find any excuse to stay up later than 9 PM.

Whether it is the call of nature (such calls include a book, and thus they usually last longer than a major ice age--and modesty forbids mentioning where she learned this), reading in bed, or just fooling around, she is often not in bed until well after 10 PM. Which suits her jest fine!

Last night was no different.

She goofed around with Cameron until we were able to finally extricate him and shoo him to bed, then she read in her room. At 10:07 as I was just getting ready for bed, Erin knocked on the bedroom door.

“Erin!” I gently hissed, “Why aren’t you in bed?”

“I need to ask you a question.” she replied.

After a deep sigh (I seem to be doing this more and more often!), I gave in. “OK, what is it?”

“Okay, Dad. So....when do you get your tonsils out?”

As I was pondering the deep significance of this obviously pressing question, she continued, “I want to have mine out.”

Being the ever-gentle father, I benevolently replied, “Yeah. Right. Uhuh. Well, to answer your question, probably NEVER! I’ve never had mine removed! NOW GET TO BED! NOW! NOW! NOW!”

(Cindy later explained to me that Erin had watched a Brady Bunch episode where Cindy and Mrs. Brady had both had their tonsils removed. And one of her cousins has also had hers removed. I deduced from this info that Erin was really just interested in getting lots of ice cream to eat, and this was as good a way as any to get it!)

Anyway, someone woke me up at 10:45 PM as they noisily bustled into the bedroom on the way to our bathroom, where they fiddled about in front of the mirror for 5 minutes. It was only when I saw the hulking silhouette as they came out that I realized it was Erin.

Her machinations had again achieved spectacular results!

Belated Christmas

Enjoy the slide show of our Christmas.
We had a great time sharing the day with our good friends.
The kids were happy and Santa seemed to spoil them.
I guess that is what he is supposed to do.
We hope your Christmas was just as goood as ours.

It's the snot that counts!

Tonight Erin was playing around with Ally at bedtime, and as it was time to sing Ally her bedtime song* and get her into bed, Erin picked her up and said,'Give Eeno a hug!'
Ally got a huge grin on her face, extended her arms in a hug-like manner, then deftly lowered her head and wiped her nose in an 8-inch swath on Erin's shoulder (fortunately Erin had a sweat jacket on!)
Erin yelped, 'Ally, did you wipe your nose on me?!!'
Ally grinned even more hugely!
'C'mon, give me a real hug!'
Ally reached out, extended her arms in a hug-like manner, and then tried to do it again, giggling with glee. Erin was prepared this time, and--giggling right along with Ally--lifted her up high enough to prevent her snotty behavior.
This was repeated a number of times.

Hugs from Ally, anyone?


*Ally's Bedtime Song
'Go to sleepy little baby,
Go to sleepy little baby,
And when you wake,
I'll spank your butt-cakes,
And ride a shiny little po-o-ny'

It was like 12 Dancing Princesses--on Steroids!

There was a dinner/dance at the church on New Years Eve for the entire family, and I made the mistake of trying to explain this beforehand to Ally.
I should’ve known that after all the Barbie movies she had seen that she would get kinda excited when she heard about a ‘dance.’ So every day that week she kept asking me with great expectations, 'Go to the church today?' and she would get a dejected look (or get mad) when I told her it was still a couple days off.

Of course, even I was looking forward to it. I envisioned Ally and I dancing a couple dances, with me holding her and doing the fancy footwork as we danced cheek-to-cheek. I also envisioned dancing many times with Erin, Kenner, and Cindy.

However, once the music started, Ally urged/pushed/shoved me out onto the dance floor and made it quite clear that she wasn’t going to be held--she was going to keep her feet on the floor and dance, dance dance! She took me by the hand and began doing what might be best described as the 'Tornado Dance.'

This is a dance where one partner (Ally in this case) holds onto one hand of the other partner (me) runs and runs and runs and runs around them in circles. I would keep up for a couple turns before getting dizzy, but after that I would stay in place and just skillfully pass her hand from one hand to the other as she continued revolving around me.

When Kenner tried to cut in, Ally made it very clear that she wasn't at all pleased. As Cindy carried Ally away kicking and screaming, I was then able to dance a couple with Kenner, but after that Ally again charged out and took over.

By 11 PM Ally seemed to be getting tired, so I carried her out into the hallway, hoping she would go to sleep. But the moment I walked back into the gym she perked up, said, ‘Dance, daddy, DANCE!’ and we ended up doing the tornado dance many more times.

At midnight she was still going strong!

So for the night: 10+ dances with Ally, 2~3 dances with Kenner (she showed a lot of potential!), 1 dance with Erin (though I tried to get her out to dance more!), and 1 dance together with Erin and Cindy.

From Makenna's point of view

Yesterday while Makenna and I were out shopping she told me about a time that Erin was asking Cameron to do something and he said, 'Just a sec." To which Erin replied, "There are no secs!" Thinking it was so funny because she had just said, "sex" while really talking about secs the kids all burst out laughing.
Soooo...I thought to myself why not find out what Makenna knows about sex.

Me ---"Makenna....what is sex?", I asked her.
Makenna---"You know. Like you and dad love each other."
Me----"Yes......"
Makenna-----"And you think he is Hot. You know like sexy." Giggle. Giggle. Giggle.

Ahhh...lets just hope her definition is the only one she knows for a long time!!

A girl who knows what she wants!

As I was getting Ally changed for a nap she said, "I want Daddy to put me in!" Realizing Daddy is not always available to do this I quickly obliged her and said, "Okay. Let me get Daddy."
She jumped off the bed and with added enthusiasm exclaimed
"He is my HANDSOME Daddy!!!"

You're Never Too Old for An Object Lesson

I really don't like cell phones much. They are more of a pain than an aid, but there are just enough times when they are handy enough to justify their miserable existence (as long as it doesn't cost me more than $9/month).

As such, even if I am carrying it, I rarely have it turned on. I figure that if I need it I can turn it on then.

For some reason, this drives Cindy bonkers.

I can always tell when she has tried calling me while I have been out.

The tell-tale signs are subtle, yet discernable to the seasoned expert.

One indicator is the wild look in her eyes.

A second is when--in a deceptively calm manner--she queries, 'So dear, sweetie, honey, is your cell phone perchance turned on?'

Being an expert in subliminal messaging, I have learned it is not wise to chuckle heartily and retort, 'Why? It runs down the batteries! And then I couldn't use it at all!'

So this evening I took Erin and Cambone to the Y, and as a wallet, cell phone, and keys tended to turn my sweat pants into low riders, I put them in a locker. I would like to say that I remembered to turn the cell phone off before locking it up, but that would be a lie, because I never turned it on in the first place.

We were there for a good 2 hours, which was a bit longer than I had expected. I shot hoops and exercised with Erin, and Cambone played with some friends we saw and I had forced him to say 'Hi' to.

But I digress....

We got home at 7:03, and as we walked in the door I saw a wild look in Cindy's eyes. But even before I could fully interpret the nuances of this look, a deceptively calm look came over her face, and she made the statement, 'So, you didn't have your cell phone on, did you.'

I tried to explain that the cell phone had been locked up in order to prevent an unsightly and unseemly display, and thus that I hadn't had it on my person anyway.' I produced the phone to show her that I had carried it safely home.

'Hmmm,' she said to herself, taking the phone from my hand. 'This is obviously useless.' 'Oh,' she then said brightly, 'I know what to do with things that are useless!' She then proceeded to walk into the kitchen, then she tossed it into the garbage can, a rather pleased look on her face.

Thus endeth the object lesson.

I sure hope it'll stick! (Otherwise, it may be found sticking out of my back!)

PS: Cameron fished it out.....

A Hulk Hogan of a father!?

Ally, for most of her adorable life has been a Daddy's girl. Even though I try to placate Cindy by reminding her that this also means that I am Ally's first draft whenever she has a poopy diaper, when she is being put to bed, and when she is being lifted out of the crib in the morning, there is still a bit of good-natured resentment.

You know, such as, "I carried her for 9 months and had to have her surgically removed, and yet she screams for Daddy when I try to get her out of bed after her nap time!'
Or 'I suffered from morning sickness for 3 months so I could be kicked at when I try to unbuckle her from her carseat when her daddy is nearby!?'

I was home all last week, and she was my little shadow. If she wanted to snuggle, I was there. If she wanted to get a ham sandwich for breakfast, I was there. If she wanted to play in the backyard, I was there.

Personally, I figure that dear ol' Daddy will be forgotten once she gets old enough to find out what a tight-wad I am.

So anyway, tonight I was laying her down to change her diaper before bedtime, and her head hit kinda hard on the carpeted floor. She started crying and told me to 'Go away Daddy!'

Since Cindy was in the room, I said, 'I'm sorry Ally. Do you want Mommy to change your diaper?'

Through her tears she managed to splurt out, 'No! Daddy do it!'

This led Cindy to comment, 'You could probably body-slam her and she would still prefer you!'

Nope, no Little Orphan Annie Decoder Ring yet.....

Allyson, aged a tender 2 2/3 years old, was lying on the bed as Cindy was getting her dressed, and when Kenner walked into the room, Ally called out to her,

'Whaddya want for Christmas?'
With only a slight pause--not allowing Kenner enough time to rattle off, 'I want an official Red Ryder carbine action two-hundred shot range model air rifle'--she then followed up with a twangy 'You'll shoot yer eye out kid!'

Cindy then asked her, 'Who are you? Santa Claus?'

Ally replied, 'HOhhhhhhh-HOhhhhhhhh-HOhhhhhh!!!!'

Maybe Ally watched 'A Christmas Story' a few too many times in the past couple weeks. (Fortunately we now have a Clearplay DVD player, so we can edit out the less-than-good language when watching it. She watched it unedited, but I'm pleased to say that she didn't pick up any of the salty language! Or am I being naive?)





I guess Cindy should feel lucky--Ally didn't have a boot on, and she didn't try implanting it in Cindy's forehead to push her down a Santa slide.

The youth of today.....

It was Christmas morn.

After the glee of looking at the presents under the tree wore off somewhat, Kenner thought to look over towards the kitchen counter and ask, 'Did Santa eat what I left him?'

Santa had obviously drained the egg nog, milk, and cookies, so I answered, 'Yep, he sure did!'

Erin was by me at the time, and being a Santa cynic, looked towards me with a grin, and made the following wry comment:

'We should do a DNA swab on the cup!'

It's a wonder she got any presents at all!

Faith-promoting experience

The phone rings.

It is one of Erin's friends.

Erin is downstairs.

I stand at the top of the stairs and call out to her.

She comes to the foot of the stairs (directly below me), looks up, raises her hands, and says, 'Drop it to me!'

Something in my countenance causes her to wheedlingly tack on, 'C'mon, Dad! I won't drop it!'

Taking a leap of faith, I drop it the 10 feet or so to her.

She caught it.

[You can't even begin to imagine how much I wanted to add the word, 'Amazingly,' to the head of the previous sentence!]

For the hundreth time....!!!

Erin maide it to the finals at the skool spellling bee, and ended up takeing sekent plaice.

Pa and I are jest tickled pinke! She's always been a grate speller--she aint never had to study words for her spellin tests--but maybe neks year (if she axually studeed) she could take first if she lernt how to spell 'hundredth.'

Mother of the Year Award

Between housecleaning, new member lessons with the missionaries and visiting teachers, and baking all the gingerbread for 5 gingerbread houses, something had to go....

Too bad it was the child!

I can't say how many movies Allyson watched, or what she ate, but it was about 3 PM when I found her in this position in front of the TV.

Erin's B-Day

On Friday Erin finally turned 12 (though she has been acting like a teenager for a good year or so already). Instead of a bunch of toys, she got more teeny-bopper gifts--lotions, balms, basic makeup, and a leg-shaving kit--and she was ecstatic!
After opening a Mary Kay mascara thingy, she even spontaneously broke out into a hymn of praise to express her deep-felt joy--



I would hazard to guess that few blog readers would have imagined that Erin would be so uninhibited....???

WWJD?

Erin, Allyson and I were driving home on Saturday from her first basketball game, and Ally got the great idea of trying to squirm and get her arms out of the buckles.

Erin noticed this and told her to get her arms back in.

Allyson blithely ignored this advice.

Erin then tried a different tack. (Which is a nautical term, right Amy R!?)

'Ally,' she sweetly cooed, 'Do you want to be like Jesus?'

Allyson (thankfully!!) replied, 'Yes!'

"Well,' Erin continued, 'Jesus would put his arms in the buckles.'

Ally finally acquiesced to this flawless--though not theologically sound--logic, put her arms back in for the rest of the trip.

Gingerbread city

I thought it would be fun to get together with our friends from the neighborhood to decorate Gingerbread houses. I baked the houses and everybody contributed to the decorations. It was so much fun. Enjoy the pics.

All of the neighbors ended up with beautiful houses, such as this one....



but due to us having left the decorating of our house to Erin and Makenna, the results were less than stellar....



As Louis delicately put it, 'It looks like Santa BARFED on OUR house!'