Another one

I know people get tired of reading about John's little conversations, but I also know one person who loves them. And so here is another one for my dad...

"Do you know the worst enemy of bees?"

No.

"Their own stinger because once they use it they die."

One thing's for sure

"Mom, do you ever think about what the future will be like?"

"Yes. What do you think it will be like?"

"I don't know, but one thing's for sure, I'll be angry about something..."

Me too.

It's good to know you can always count on some things.

My Rejection Issues

When we pulled into the cul-de-sac this afternoon our teeny tiny first-grade neighbor was out throwing his football in the air and catching it.

John was jumping out of the car before I was completely stopped.

"Hey, do you want to play catch with me?" John eagerly asked the kid that he rarely wants to interact with.

"No."

"Ok, well come and get me if you change your mind."

No reply.

"Hey, come get me when you want to play, ok? ok? ok?"

"K."

"I'm going to get my football for us to use when you want to play, it's really cool."

The neighbor disappeared into his house a few minutes later. John was totally ok with the whole exchange.

I was totally not.

I couldn't believe the gaul of that kid. I mean, really? Who better to play catch with than John?

Later, after we had gone in, I happend to look out the window to see our itty bitty neighbor playing catch with his sister. Really? It was all I could do not to yell out the window at him.

So what if your dad is a cop and never hesitates to remind me of that fact (sooo annoying)? So what if you are the same size as Kitty but the same age as John? So what if your dad drives me crazy telling me how smart you are (wow... you really memorized your lunch number? Wow, smart.)

Ok, so I'm the one with the rejection issues, not John.

Kitty's Pictures Volume II

Taking a break in the "pile" she and John love to make and hate to put away.

She got a hold of the camera again, I love what it reveals about her life.

Mmmm... Still Life with Oreo

She certainly has an eye for composition.

(I promise I've dusted since this photo was taken).

What's for dinner?

Seeing as it snowed today, I decided to finally defrost the frozen whole chicken in my freezer for chicken soup. Bogda inspired me by telling me how to make homemade chicken soup. I haven't wrestled a whole chicken in my life. The last time I worked with a whole piece of poultry was when I was thoroughly disgusted by a turkey my mom asked me to clean, stuff and put in the oven.


Having seen the lady on America's Test Kitchen demonstrate how to cut up a whole chicken years ago, and with a little knowledge from KFC, I felt confident in the task. Plus, it finally gave me an excuse to use the Cutco kitchen shears I bought only after the sales rep promised they could cut through chicken bone. Not that I really anticipated cutting up a chicken at the time...


Anyway, the task was difficult and taxing. I felt for my grandmothers who were probably the last members of my family to cut up a whole chicken on a regular basis (with a knife no less!). My back began to ache as I struggled cutting through the backbone, breastplate, and limbs.


I literally turned the little hen inside out by ripping off her skin. I was slightly proud of myself for separating the breasts and putting them aside for "cutlets" as Bogda suggested. She promised that I could get at least three meals from this one chicken.




I have been fascinated by the way people used to get by in simpler times, especially during the Depression. Next I will have to actually kill the chicken and defeather it, then cut it up and cook it. Bogda promises that fresh chickens are much better than the store bought kind. For now I will just have to take her word for it.

***PS*** There are no pictures of the final product because I thought you might want to see some raw chicken in a pot. I mean, we've all seen chicken soup a million times. Raw chicken? Not so much.

A little blog envy...

I think sometimes I suffer from blog envy. You know what I'm talking about if you have ever happend upon a blog and thought to yourself, "Are those thriving container gardens in the background?"

I am not ashamed to admit that there are times I wonder how to transform myself into THAT woman. You know the one with the blog that has cool pictures, cool dishes, and a house full of furnishings you swear you could have if you just knew which thrift store to hit? The woman who seems to have fun with her kids by simply being outside in their wild, yet green and manicured yard. The one who makes gourmet meals on a daily basis and then takes time to take a photo with fresh flowers in the background.

As much as I can appreciate the aesthetic and beauty of THOSE people's lives, I do not appreciate some people's attempts at imitation. There is something to be said for being genuine.

Therefore, as much as I long to have a sense of style like some of my blogging counterparts, the truth of the matter is that I don't really. The pictures will remain a little weird, the content somewhat bland, and the background will always reveal any truth I'm trying to hide (ie. laundry).

So in my own way I might appear to be making fun of the beautiful blogs. That's only because I can't be a beautiful blog myself, so I have to mock them. Didn't we all learn that in grade school?

Another one without a picture...

"What's for dessert?" John asked.

"Pumpkin Cobbler," I replied

"Hmmm... It doesn't look like a shoe," He stated.





It took me a minute to get it.

It's a sordid affair...

I have slowly, and sometimes secretly, worked the Dr Pepper back into my life. It doesn't give me the same pleasure, but we can't seem to live without each other.



Sorry to let you down Jack.

A word of advice.

You know I like to dish out unwanted advice. Here's my latest.

If you are going to read The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society (did I get that right?) don't try to flip ahead to the last page.

Especially if the page you assume is the last one before the book club discussion questions is not actually the last page.

It will ruin the whole story for you. So much so that you might consider abandoning the book all together.

But then in a fit of boredom you will pick it up again, get to that "last page" and realize the story continues, just in a different format.

Phew! That was a close one.

A little religion...

Tonight Kitty was teaching me a new song she learned at school:

There was an old lady who swallowed a fly,
I don't know why she swallowed a fly,
Perhaps she'll CRY...

My mind began racing asking myself, "Since when did it become a problem to say DIE?"

"Probably because it's a religious preschool," I told myself.

I was deep in thought as she started again:

There was an old lady who swallowed a shell,
I don't know why she swallowed a shell--

"She'll go to HELL" I finished in my head for her. "Again with the religion," I thought.

Instead she sang:

She wouldn't TELL...

Whatever.