Gingerbread Houses and other Christmas traditions

There are several Christmas traditions that I've always wanted to try but have either not had the time or the opportunity to take part in. One of those is building a Gingerbread House. They’re sooo cute and yummy looking too. And definitely a part of Christmas! We see them as decorations and ornaments and they’re in nearly every picture depicting Christmas and family and home. So, this year when I saw a Gingerbread House kit at the supermarket, I grabbed it, determined that this quaint and homey tradition would become a delightful addition to my family’s Christmas experience. And this was a kit! How hard could it be? Certainly, even a novice such as myself could handle a Gingerbread House that comes partially prepared!

The kit sat on the kitchen counter for many days while I promised the kids that “hopefully tomorrow” we’d have a chance to put it together. I didn’t want to just cram it into the jam-packed calendar that the end of the school semester consists of. I wanted to have time to savor the experience. To create a memory that we’d all remember with fondness. So we waited and waited until, finally, on Christmas Eve day, with most of the holiday preparations completed, with the house full of happy children, I moved the Gingerbread House kit to the table and announced, “Now let’s make our Gingerbread House!” Children crowded around all clamoring to take part. “Can I put up the first wall?” “Can I do the roof?” “Can I do the gumdrops?” and so on. I beamed. This was it. The moment. The memory. It was happening.

First, the icing. The instructions were simple enough. Mix 3 tablespoons of water into the powdery substance that came in the bag and beat it for 3 minutes, until peaks formed. My little handheld mixer bogged down long before anything resembling peaks formed. Looked more like mud. “More water” someone suggested and I thought “But, the instructions said…” I added a bit more water. No help. A bit more water. Still nothing. It was beginning to become harder, if anything. “Warm it up” someone else suggested. I popped it into the microwave for a few seconds. No change. An older child wandered through the kitchen. This older child had made a Gingerbread House at school from one of these kits. “Yeah, we had to add a ton more water.” So I added even more water. Now it was moving better, but it was soupy. No peaks forming. Never mind the peaks, I thought, let’s just get this show on the road. Well, liquid icing, in case you couldn’t guess, doesn’t stay where you put it. It drips and runs to other places – places that you don’t necessarily want it. Walls fall down and roof panels slide off and although it may be quite tasty – it’s really quite frustrating too. Popsicle sticks and toothpicks. Rubber bands and staple guns. Nothing was going to keep those 4 gingerbread walls from tipping over.

There was icing on every square inch of the table. On every child around the table. Those once happy little faces were now drooping with sadness. I looked around and said, “Hey, let’s just eat it!” Some of the faces perked up. Some looked horrified. Some just reached for the nearest pieces. And we ate them. And we ate the gumdrops (they were stale) and the little hard candies (they weren’t very tasty).

And then everyone ran outside to play because it was a beautiful, sunny day and it didn’t really matter that we didn’t have a gingerbread house for Christmas.

We don’t have anyplace to put it anyway.

And the dogs would probably eat while we weren’t looking.

Powerwashing Can be Addictive

Beware! Caution! Warning!

To all my beloved family and friends, there is a very real danger lurking in many of our garages! I feel compelled to warn everyone in my email address box and I urge you to do likewise!

Powerwashing, it seems, is..... addictive! It's a sickness really. As powerful a sickness as any other addictive habit. As dangerous as any other compulsion. Here is my story:

It was a fine Saturdayy afternoon. I had spent the morning running errands and driving children hither and yon and as I looked at the remainder of the day before me I realized that there was not much demanding my attention. We had hosted a birthday party the preceding day for offspring number 3 and while entertaining the other mothers on the patio while our children frolicked in the backyard, I realized that the underside of our patio cover was in desperate need of cleaning. So I filled a bucket with soapy, bleachy water (my grandmother would be so proud!) and grabbed a couple of rags and a ladder and set to work. The backyard was shady and a gentle breeze was blowing. All was well with the world. And then my father called. His intentions were innocent enough. He wanted to know what the kids were doing (he obviously needed a playmate) and then he asked what I was doing. I told him. He offered the use of his power washer. I said something to the effect of “Sure, I guess that’d help.” That was my first mistake.

I figured if I was going to use the power washer to clean the ceiling and posts of the patio cover, I might as well do the cement floor as well. So while Dad set up the washer I started hauling furniture and toys off the patio. And then I figured as long as I was going that far, I might as well do the siding as well so I started taking down thermometers and decorations and wind chimes, etc. After about 30 minutes the patio and immediate area were striped and I was ready to start blasting away. Well, my Dad is not the type to simply hand someone a tool and walk away. No, no, no. There must be an instructional session. And a demonstration. And then a trial run. And sometimes some more instructions. And so on. So by now at least an hour has gone by since I originally began my patio cover washing. And now number one offspring needs a ride to work. So we break for that.

Now I’m ready to get started except it seems that I cannot get the washer started. I pull on that cord with all my might for what seems like an eternity. My arm is completely out of the socket. I’m sweating like a mule. I’m scowling. I’m frustrated. And my patio and half the backyard is a mess. I call Dad. He comes back (the man is prompt and reliable, I’ll give him that) and gets it started with two pulls. Show off. And by now number two son needs to be picked up from his friends’ house. Dad starts a second demonstration of proper spray techniques while I sneak away.

By the time I get back, Dad has washed half of the back of the house and a fair portion of the patio too but the patio cover is still disgusting and everything within 100 feet is covered in mud splatter. But I figure, hey, that’s okay, this baby can clean everything up in a flash. Or should I say splash? Anyway, I wrestle the power washer away from him only after lending him one of his grandchildren for the afternoon and I get cleaning.

What enormous fun! Within minutes I’m soaking wet. My glasses are splattered and I can barely see. But I don’t care. I’m quite sure that the dirt is being blasted away forever. A small gecko has been relocated to Connecticut and our chickens are busy trying to get their feathers to lay back down. I’ve blown a hole in a lawn chair – cheap piece of… never mind.

First the rest of the siding, then the patio ceiling, the concrete, the outside edge of the cover, the gutters, the window screens – yech! Hmmm…let’s get the patio furniture sprayed down and the picnic table too. Oh, don’t forget the dog kennel that the chickens are living in! And the grill. And the folding lawn chairs and the swingset – that cottonwood stuff is everywhere….. and so on until, blessedly, the power washer ran out of gas.

I ran to the shed for the gas can and emptied it’s contents into the power washer but, alas, I could not restart it. No amount of tugging was going to start that thing and in my heart I knew it. I struggled for a few more minutes until Sarah came out and put her hand gently on my shoulder. “It’s no good Mom, it’s over.” And I knew she was right. Sobbing, I disconnected the hose and used my inadequate, rusty old spray nozzle to clean off the power washer, wrapped up the cord and started to reposition the patio furniture.

Every now and again I’d glance over in the direction of the power washer, sitting there so majestically, so gallantly, it’s little engine ticking with the heat, glistening in the sunshine and I’d think “Maybe I’ll give it one more try…” “I’d really like to do around the side of the house…” “Would be nice to be able to clean out the AC unit…” “It would probably do a great job on the playscape and the shed (paint ball muck all over the place there)”

But perhaps tomorrow….Dad are you busy after church?????

Progress with the Preteen person inhabiting my house

Wow! What a great day! Rainy and cold but...

Sarah wanted to go to the mall with her friend, Megan. So I brought them. Of course, Steven wanted to go too and I decided to stay there and mooch around for a bit. Stan and David joined us after David's friend went home. At first, Sarah didn't like the idea of her whole family being there at the mall but I convinced her we weren't going to be tagging along with her and her friends. Which, of course, I totally planned to do. Steven and I managed to discreetly follow them at a distance, ducking behind clothes racks and large shoppers. They never knew we were there. As the minutes ticked by their little group began to grow, first there was one girl friend and then her boyfriend and his buddy. Then three more boys, then another girl. I began to get concerned that perhaps she had planned this all along. I approcahed the group outside the store and said "Hello everyone!" Sarah did not seem upset that I was there! She smiled and leaned on my shoulder and said "Hi Mom!"

A little while letter I approcahed them in a skateboarder/wierd clothing store holding up a tiny red and white bikini. "What do you think? Red or blue?" I asked holding it up to my chest. Sarah laughed "Oh Mom, I knew you were going to do that!" But she was kidding with me and wasn't mad and wow! That's great! Not embarrassed to see me in public! Progress!

A Funny Story from Mexico

I have the funniest story to tell but my husband did not at the time, nor does he now, find the incident even remotely amusing so be sure not to mention it to him if you sense that he might not be in the best of moods.

When we went to Mexico we stayed at a youth-type camp in Acuna. The accomodations were certainly adequate but dormitory style and Stan is not a fan of sleeping with dozens of other snoring men who might have the nerve to move around in the middle of the night and disturb his beauty sleep. So we brought our tent and air mattress and after much discussion about the outdoor lights, driveway traffic, foot traffic, proximity to the dumpster, etc. we set up camp in back of the dormitory under a lovely tree on nice level ground. The first night we slept like babies. The next day was the beginning of Monsoon Season apparently and the rain swept in and kept us huddled in the dining hall playing card games and trying not to go crazy. At one point during the day someone informed us that the wind had tipped our tent over. "Odd," I thought, since we had staked it down with no less than 6 stakes and the ground was like rock. So we waded over to the spot where the tent had been and, sure enough, it had been upended by the wind and was being held in place by only one remaining stake. The spot where the tent had been situated was under approximately 3 inches of water. I tipped it back onto it's base and opened the flap to start removing contents. I knew that it was going to be impossible to move with the air mattress, sleeping bags, lantern, air pump, etc. in there. The air mattress was still inflated and due to the wind and rain I decided to just drag it out of the tent, take it to the dining hall (to deflate at my leisure) and come back for the tent. I thought that Stan would follow suit by grabbing other loose items from inside the tent and follow me. So I started around the back of the dormitory toward the dining hall and a blast of wind caught ahold of the mattress and blew me across the field completely opposite where I had intended to go. I regained my balance and giggling madly at my quick and unexpected flight, began to trudge back toward the dormitory. As I rounded the corner of the building headed for the dining hall, still chuckling about my flight worthiness, another blast of wind caught my air mattress and once again I found myself sailing across the field. By now I was howling with laughter and hoping that Stan could see how hilarious this was. I struggled to the back of the dormitory again and this time tried to reposition my hold on the mattress hoping that this new angle would prevent me from being blown away because although I had thoroughly enjoyed my first two flights I was very wet and getting muddier by the minute as my landings in the field had been anything but graceful. I battled through the gale and gained the doorway to the dining hall where I burst through laughing and streaming wet. By now I was mildly curious as to what had become of my dear husband because I could not hear or see him anywhere and thought surely he had collapsed from laughing at the sight of me being dragged across a muddy field by an air mattress turned hang glider.

I went back to the door and much to my dismay my husband rounded the corner of the building, dragging the once again upside down tent, still full of equipment, tent poles jutting at wild angles, mud everywhere. He was not laughing. He was not even smiling. Apparently my antics in the field with the air mattress were completely lost on him as he struggled to control the fully erected and equipment-laden tent in the gale force wind and rain. He smashed his way through the door to the dining hall dragging the bedraggled tent and right in front of God and everyone declared his distaste for the weather and my sense of humor. The tent had apparently become snagged in the trees after one wild gust and Stan had unceremoniously ripped it clear so now we had holes and mud and broken poles and a general shambles inside the tent. I managed to stop laughing at that point.

Anyway, the sight of him dragging that mangled tent, all muddy and wet - very funny. I have an odd sense of humor I guess.

Some days are longer than others

It started early. 5:30 am. I wanted to get up early and get a headstart on the kids because there were extra kids today and it being a school day I figured I'd need all the time I could get. I got all 5 of them up and moving with a minimum of trouble. A lot of noise, but not much trouble. Made breakfast. Lunches had been made the night before. We talked about possible alterations or additions to the lunches. I told the older 4 to finish getting ready while I drove David to school. On the way out the door we were accosted by a very small, very furry, very cute Rottweiler puppy. Sarah appeared as if from out of nowhere, scooped the puppy up and disappeared into the house. "Great," I thought. Just what we don't need.

When I got back I dragged the kennel into the garage, cleaned it out and filled it with towels. Sarah and Natalie deposited the puppy and I drove them to school. By the time I got back to the house I had my plan of action. I figured it belonged to the new nextdoor neighbors but they weren't answering the door. So I left a note on their door, along with my garage door opener telling them where the puppy was and to go and fetch it whenever. And I left for work.

Got home and half hoped the puppy would still be there but she was gone. Phew! We really, really do not need another pet! Now to get the kids where they need to be. Sarah wants to go sell girl scout cookies with a friend. Go. David to Rachel's across the street. Go. Steven to lacrosse. Let's go. Pull into parking lot a few minutes late. There's no one in sight. Is practice cancelled? moved to another location? No email today to indicate change. Let's go look another place. 20 minutes later, find the team. Car is completely out of gas. Use fumes to get to gas station. Here's where it gets interesting.

I remembered a couple of weeks ago an email from my Dad (I think) about women at gas stations being preyed upon by purse snatchers and such. So I thought "Better put my purse on the floor. Better yet, lock the door." I opened the door and as I was getting out, hit the lock button. The doors would not lock. I tried it again. Hmm. Wierd. Oh the keys are in the ignition. I can't lock the door if the keys are in the ignition. Clever feature! This would keep people from locking their keys in the car. Very clever. I removed the keys from the ignition, tossed them in the console and got out of the car, locking the door and slamming it shut. oh oh. I didn't! Yes, I did.

So I pumped the gas and went into the gas station to ask to borrow their phone. In this day and age of cell phone usage, apparently they aren't asked to use the phone often, they were thoroughly perplexed as to whether they should allow me to use the phone. They finally decided to let me as long as they dialed it for me. I called my parents house. No answer. I called my Dad's cell phone. My Mom answered. I told her what was wrong and asked her to go to my house, get my spare key and come to the gas station. Sounds easy, right? Silver key, not black, on red heart key chain. Shell station at the end of Pecan Parkway at Anderson Mill Road. Well an hour goes by and no Mom or Dad. I go back into the gas station and ask to use the phone again. Again a perplexing conversation in a foreign language. Finally I get ahold of my mother who is fielding phone calls from my father who is in another town entirely trying to find me. I could have walked to my house and back to the gas station by now. We finally get him redirected and he arrives at the correct gas station. With the wrong key. "Dad, just give me a ride home."

Unbelievable how tired one can get just from the "normal" events of a day, huh?