No Laughing Matter

Bob is out of town and he has the baby with him. I can't talk about how much I miss George. He won't know me when he comes home, I'm sure. He doesn't miss me very much, and that's as it should be. They have been gone two days shy of a month and when the kids started school, I found myself with a week of days to fill. A whole week of no daytime children. No noses to wipe or wounds to minister. No naps around which to schedule my days and no older kids looking for a referee. I painted Stella's room, reorganized the closets, changed the sheets on all the beds, and completed menus and shopping trips (Hello! a glimpse into my future of grocery shopping with no children. Truthfully, I kind of missed them she sheepishly admitted.)

Finally, I was able to sit down and get to work on the solution to world hunger.

But first my pesky brain wandered over to dear old Robert. My brain does that in the middle of the day even when he's not light years away. What can I say? I like my husband and I like to think about him. He makes me laugh and world hunger does not.

The following video is for him, but I'm not even sure he looks at the blog very often. Maybe more often this past month, though.

World hunger will just have to wait for another day, I guess.

In Which I Cram an Entire Summer into One Post

How to Have the

Best Summer Ever

I recommend that you begin your summer with a ballet recital. Be sure that the ballerinas are devastatingly cute. Stella was a fairy in the ballet "Don Quixote," although if you ask her, she was in "Donkey Otee."

Find a local body of water and splash around with your brother.

Swing on a tire swing with your Bruncle.

Have a big July Fourth Bar-b-que and invite a lot of people. It's best if someone provides plenty of illegal fireworks (I do not, however, recommend that you launch said fireworks toward your neighbors' homes.) For added fun, bring a water balloon launcher (or two) and launch various things at each other. Don't forget the Roman Candle fights!

I think you should take your children swimming. Every day. My baby took his first steps at the pool.

Celebrate a decade of parenthood when your oldest turns ten.

Have a birthday party for the oldest. (Did I mention he turned ten this summer? TEN!) He had the easiest birthday party ever, and I heard several kids exclaim "This is the best birthday party I've ever been to!" We ordered pizza and watched "PeeWee's Big Adventure." Try it for your next birthday celebration and thank me later.

Invite your husband's friends over for his birthday party and giggle at the gifts they give him. I also giggled at the home-made party hats they wore.

Find a river and throw some rocks into it.

Discover the joy of green markers.

Our summer also included lots of popsicle eating and lots of book reading.

We saw one or two movies and we had butter on our popcorn.

Every now and then, we stayed in and had a movie night in the front room.

We ate home-made ice cream, homegrown tomatoes, and home-made jam.

We rode our bikes and we walked a few trails.

We laughed at ourselves and we laughed at each other.

We unplugged and we unwound.

All of these summer activities come highly recommended by Yours Truly. I do NOT, however, recommend that you end the perfect summer by sending your husband away for the entire month of August. If you are anything like me, you will get ridiculously lonely. Especially if you have a moment of insanity and allow him to take your baby with him.

I swear we don't eat this every night of the week

I'm almost too embarrassed to post this because it barely qualifies as cooking.  However, Ms. Amy asked for it, and what Ms. Amy wants, Ms. Amy gets.

How to Make Bar-B-Qued Meatballs with Mashed Potatoes

Step 1.  Put a bunch of frozen meatballs (the kind you get in the freezer section at Costco) into a saucepan.

Step 2.  Dump a bunch of you favorite bar-b-que sauce on them.

Step 3.  Cover and heat on low to medium heat until heated through.

In the meantime . . . 

Make mashed potatoes.  And here, if my mother was in a grave, she would be rolling over in it. My mother is not in a grave, but she does read this dribble and she is about to choke on her Diet Coke.  I used those potato flakey thingys.  Oh, yes I did.  And my kids loved them.

Serve the meatballs with the mashed potatoes and a green salad on the side.  Just let your kids put ranch on the salad, and they'll eat it.  At least mine do.  

Then again, my kids also eat those nasty bbq meatballs, too.

The Case of the Missing Milk

Last week I lost the milk.  

I came home from the Workout From Hell and opened the refrigerator to pound a glass of CowJuice (the best sports recovery drink ever) and it wasn't there.

It just . . . wasn't there.

I was sure that just the day before I had more than half a gallon left.

I was sure that the kids had not drunk the whole thing because we were out of Nestle Quik.  Also, there was not an empty plastic container to be found in the house.

It truly was a mystery.  

I shrugged my shoulders, hopped in the car, and went to the store to buy a new gallon.

Thirty three dollars and eighteen cents later, I returned with milk, lemons, six cans of tomatoes, four cans of black beans, bananas, graham crackers, butter, bread, and I don't remember what else.

The missing milk was like an itch I couldn't reach that day.  I thought about it as I splashed around at the pool with my children.

I thought about it as I filled my wretched/glorious mini-van with fuel.

I thought about it as I prepared bar-b-que meatballs and mashed potatoes (better tasting than they sound) with a garden salad for supper.

I thought about it as I sat in the Varsity Theater and watched Departures and I tried not to audibly cry through the whole thing.

The next day the missing milk was more like an aunt I should call more often.  I remembered it in fleeting moments, but wasn't obsessed with it like I was the day before.

After a few more days, I had all but forgotten about the mysterious disappearing milk.

Until I found it.

It was in this cupboard in that empty space on the top shelf.

And it wasn't milk anymore.

Hurry home darling, I'm lost without you.