The Giving Stie

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My favorite place to curl up in the warmth of the afternoon sun with a good book:
And the good book I'm currently reading unable to put down:
Oh, the sacrifices one makes on a Sunday, staying home with a [yes, still!] sick child. Oh, but I'd have gladly let The Husband take my place if he didn't have that darn Sunday School class to teach.

Honestly, I would have.

But, alas, duty calls and I must do my part. I'm just a good woman like that.

Channeling your inner Stie

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I have decided that if I can't be thin, then all my friends should be fat. So to help you along with your new quest, here is THE BEST oatmeal chocolate chip cookie recipe. Ever. I dare you to find me a better, more moist, and chewy cookie than this one. You won't.
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Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 cup shortening (do not use butter, shortening is best. Probably because it's so chock full of lard)
1 cup sugar
1 cup brown sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
2 cups flour
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
2 cups oatmeal
2 cups choclate chips

Combine shortening, both sugars, eggs, and vanilla. Beat until fluffy. Add flour, baking soda, and baking powder. Combine. Add oatmeal. Stir in chocolate chips by hand. (I like to mix it up and add a bag of Skor's milk chocolate toffee chips instead of the chocolate chips. Just delicious).

When all the ingredients are combined, be sure to take a little like this:

And put it here:

Repeat eight times, minimum. Make another batch, if you must, to hide your sin.

Spoon balls of dough onto an ungreased cookie sheet. With the palm of your hand, flatten the dough balls slightly.
Bake at 350 for 7 minutes and 33 seconds. Do not question my inner-OCD on this. It is a tested time. Seven minutes, 33 seconds. No more, no less.

Pull from the oven and cool on a rack.


Now I'll be honest here, friends. I actually prefer the dough to the cookies. Although they are spectacular cookies, by the time they come out of the oven, I am usually sick to my stomach from all the dough I ate. But give me a few hours and I'll be ready for one of these babies with a tall glass of milk.

Now make and eat these a hundred times. Send your husband out of town every night and essentially you are me.

Nice, isn't it?

Statistically speaking

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We are already 38 days into the new year. Here are some interesting statistics on my daily life so far:

In the 38 days of 2008:
  • The Husband has spent 29 days out of town.
  • I have helped kids with homework for about 23 hours.
  • I have exercised 33 days.
  • It has snowed once.
  • It has rained six times.
  • I have done approximately 62 loads of laundry.
  • I have cooked four actual meals (see number one for questions on this).
  • I have made eight batches of chocolate chip oatmeal cookies.
  • I have read three-and-a-half books.
  • I have spent 15 hours in church.
  • I have not had one. single. nap.
  • I have seen three new movies, and one old favorite.
  • I have had two house guests.
  • I have written 23 blog posts (not counting this one).
  • I have stared at my bangs and debated whether to grow or cut for about 4.6 hours (not in one sitting, mind you).
  • I have driven kids to 20 lessons/sports activities.
  • I have cleaned out the fridge once.
  • I have helped in three different classrooms for a total of eight times.
  • I have celebrated one child's birthday.
  • I have been to the grocery store about 25 times.
  • I have been hit on once (the only interesting one of all the trips to the grocery store).
  • I have been in two swaps. [Hi, Laurie! Yours is going in the mail today!]
  • I have transcribed 30 interviews.
  • I have fixed the telephone and internet twice.
  • I have thought about fixing the toilet once and reconsidered.
  • I have had kids home sick on three different days (and still counting, thanks to Hannah).
And I wonder why I'm tired?

Not anymore.

And the green cloud of doom wins

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Today has been anything but boring. Several things have happened, each in their turn, and they have all caused me to pause and reflect. I am trying to weigh the pros and cons of each event in order to help determine if any positivity can come out of them. Play along, won't you?

Today, I was able to:

Vote in my state's primary election.
Pros: I feel like a productive member of society who has a right to complain when I don't like who is in office, especially if her name happens to rhyme with Zillary Flinton.

Cons: My vote probably won't make a difference. Sorry, Mitt.
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I went to help in Hannah's class today.
Pros: I get to feel like an active, attentive parent and spend time with my daughter.

Cons: I get to see firsthand all the sniffles, sneezes, and coughs filling the air like a thick, green cloud of doom.
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I got called an hour after helping in Hannah's class to come pick her up because she was running a 103-degree fever.
Pros: I would not be going to Cub Scouts tonight.

Cons: I would get to spend the evening holding a feverish, whimpering child who is miserable and sad, instead of touring the firehouse with my den and staring at the strong, handsome men in their uniforms, which I love to do.
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I spent the remainder of the afternoon in the doctor's office.
Pros: None. Are you kidding me?

Cons: Three kids in the waiting room of the doctor's office? Enough said.
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The doctor determined that Hannah has a virus and prescribed three to five days of rest, fluids, and children's Motrin.
Pros: None.

Cons: We can look forward to three to five days of feverish, whimpering sadness. More if the green cloud of doom passes from person-to-person, as it frequently likes to do.
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Due to the aforementioned sick child, I was forced to cancel a day of planned self-indulgent appointments for myself tomorrow.
Pros: I am saving my husband some money, and that always makes him happy.

Cons: No shopping, browsing, mani/pedi, or movie day for me.
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I think the cons have it. Looks like a sucky day, today and tomorrow.

Blah.

Blink

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Dear McKay,

Today you are ten years old. I look back and cannot believe how fast the time has gone.

You were born in Minneapolis on a crisp, sunny February day (although I have still not forgiven you for that, as you were supposed to be born on January 28). Your delivery was a little stressful for your dad and I. You somehow managed to get that cord tangled around your little neck, which is quite a feat considering the cramped quarters you were living in at the time. You came out perfect though, in the end, for which I am eternally grateful.

I can still picture you in your Daddy's arms that first time, just minutes old. You had your eyes wide open, and sat there just staring at Daddy's face while sucking on your little thumb. He rocked you slowly, back and forth, in a white wooden rocker, and I just held my breath. My heart felt like it was going to burst. I knew in that moment what it finally meant to love. You were my boys. Together at last. What started out as me and him became a family that day with you.

I can still picture you as a bald, cheerful newborn baby. You were the easiest of my three babies, and you rarely cried. I can remember even calling Oma and asking her if there was something wrong with you because you never cried. She laughed and told us to enjoy you. Which we did. You grew quickly and happily, and have never given us an ounce of trouble. You've met all your challenges thus far with a smile and a cheerful attitude.


You have broken us in as parents. Yours is the unhappy task of doing everything first and watching us make our mistakes on you. It's not hard to go easy on you though because you try so hard to please. You notice little things, like when I'm cranky, and you gently ask me if I need to eat something. You make sure to stop and play Hannah's games, even though you're dying to get back to your own stuff. You are the best friend Chase could ever have. Your strengths compliment his, and I know you will always be there to support him.

You are getting too big to sit on my lap and hug me anymore (I tried the other day and you thought you were going to die), but I know that you still need your Mama. I'm the one you run to, cheerfully waving a math test in your hand with a bright, red "A" scrawled on the top. I'm the one you hug tight when you go to bed, even though you pretend to think it's gross. You can still pretend, because deep down inside, I know. And that's more than enough for me.

So happy birthday, Mack. I could not be prouder of the boy you are, and I cannot wait to see the man you will become.

Love,

Mama