Tales of a Shoebox Princess

Let the season of happiness, joy, candy, and spirited fun begin! My Halloween quilt is officially on the bed. Now I'm going to utilize my quilt in its official capacity, for I am tired and coming down with a cold. I need to sleep. The major headaches of the week are all in effect past tense. But I have a poetry midterm coming up next week. So there is that. But I need to sleep first.

OK, I said I wouldn't blog much this week, but dangit if my children don't say funny stuff while I'm on a blog diet. So this time it was Hayley. She has a project for health and her topic is "Phobias." We were looking through an extensive list of phobias and laughing at the funny ones. Then she came across "textophobia" which is the fear of certain fabrics or textiles. We laughed and then she said, "Well, Grandma certainly doesn't have that phobia." (If you don't get the joke, then let me explain. Grandma has two, yes two, sewing rooms. And huge fabric piles in both of them. And in other rooms. In all seriousness, when my mother tells me to get something for her out of the sewing room, I have to ask "Which one?" Then she scowls at me. Pfffftthbhbht I say back. It's a legitimate question) Another thing to tease Grandma about! Other funny phobias: Walloonphobia- Fear of the Walloons . (What is a Walloon? A shortened

I'll be spending most of my time this week getting to know my sewing machine better. A friend of mine asked if I could help her sew a few fairy skirts for a community theater production. I also have some pants I have to finish reconstructing. I love the new set up in the sewing room--I feel much less cramped! And I have room on the floor to cut stuff out. The table also has room for the portable DVD player so I can watch Lark Rise to Candleford while I sew. Blogging might be light this week. I have a full plate. Don't call me this week, I don't have time to answer. If you need my help for anything, you'll have to pay to have me cloned. And you'll have to feed and clothe the clone.

Saturday was the cross country meet for Paul that I couldn't go to but Jim could. (Wish I could have gone) Jim took pictures and so I will post them now for you and then I will relate an anecdote that proves that thriftiness can attract the girls. Again: pictures now, story in a little bit. Here are three running Lakers at the beginning of their varsity race: One of the boys has something in his hand. That's right. His shoe. Silly Thomas! The shoe goes on your foot! (Jim was disappointed that the picture he took didn't include the unshod foot. The foot with the shoe on it was the prominent one. Oh well, it was a missed opportunity that Jim didn't realize was missed until later.) And here is our Paul, who tied his previous personal best of 18:01. He says he could have run faster but the course was muddy and prone to sucking the shoes off of unsuspecting runners, although that didn't happen to him. 'K, now the story. Several weeks ago, my mother, in a fit of

Last night I endured going to a high school football game by myself just to see a tiny Paul (tiny because he was far away) in a marching band uniform. I loaded up the Thermos with hot chocolate and grabbed a beach towel to sit on (the bleachers are pretty near to absolute zero so one must take measures to put a barrier between one's tush and the coldness of metal forged in the blistering frigidity of outer space). I had my fabulous new Laker jacket (to show my allegiance to the high school team) that was sewn with thread made from rays of the sun (yes, I am waxing metaphoric in this post. Deal with it) to keep me warm too. Just to take pictures of Paul so you all could see him with a French horn in his hand and a bottle-brush-topped hat on his head. Here is the band marching into the stadium. I will give ten bucks to anyone who can tell me where Paul is in this picture. Here he is on the field. He has that I've-gotta-concentrate-real-hard-on-playing look on his face. His mar

Ten things that I thought about today after seminary/work: 1. nap? 2. nap. 3. Nap. 4. Nap! 5. Toast. 6. No, nap. 7. Banana? 8. There aren't any. There are only naps. 9. NAP. 10. ZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.........

And with the passing of yesterday, I am done with experimenting with beans. I am still busy this week though. Too much didn't get done while I was puttering in the kitchen and I have to play catch-up. But I don't feel like doing it right now. I'd rather blog. You're welcome. On to Saturday. As in last Saturday. As in Jim and I took a drive (when I really should have been cooking with beans. But Jim was much better company). We wandered aimlessly through eastern Minnesota and into western Wisconsin, where we drove past an abandoned building that we found fascinating: I made Jim turn around (well, actually he offered to turn around and I took him up on it) so I could take a few pictures of it because it was so interesting. What was with the rainbows? And why was this building out in the middle of a very little somewhere? It was a large building--one that reminded me of too many sci-fi movies with E-VIIIILLL corporations housed at buildings that are vaguely ominous

Sorry I have no time to post about the Saturday drive Jim and I took. I'm too busy testing recipes that use canned beans (not green beans; I'm talking about pinto, navy, kidney, etc) or dried bean flour. I just made strawberry/navy bean smoothies (they taste much better than you think they would) and I'm going to make a green pea guacamole, a cream soup using bean flour as a thickener, a spicy bean cake, and assorted other strange things. So no regular post today, or maybe even tomorrow because tomorrow night is when I have to present the bean recipes at a class.

'Nother race for Paul. Statistical information: New personal record for Paulie: 18:00 Improvement over last race: 30 seconds Improvement on last year's best time: 8 seconds 3rd Laker in Paul contemplates his choice of headband. The new spikes. I am blinded by the orange. Nearly halfway through the race. I got prime seating for picture taking. Then I had a few minutes to saunter over to the finish line (where all my pictures were blurry). Labeled picture for Jenni, who likes labeled pictures.

Or maybe it should be Old Mother Evans, but skip the dog with a bone thing. The cupboards are bare and poor Old Mother Evans is hungry. There is no more cookie dough in the freezer. There is no more chocolate hiding in my pantry. There are no more cinnamon rolls leftover from seminary. I need some sugar/chocolate for comfort. I need comforting because I've eaten too much sugar/chocolate in my life. It's a vicious circle, my friends. Please tell me that broiled veggies taste just like Hershey's Nuggets with Toffee bits.

OK not really. I just like to say that I've always thought Paul was an alien. But now that I drive him to school from seminary every day, I see more of the normal teenage Paul as he interacts with a friend (who we also drive to school, along with two girls). I like to hear the kids laugh. I don't feel the need to get in to the conversation, but I do have to laugh when I hear something I think is funny. Today I was rewarded with a gem from Paul (and pardon me if you don't think it's funny. Maybe it was just in the animated way he said it. At home, Paul uses a very monotone voice, but in the car with his friend, he actually varies the tone of his voice in a very human being-ish way). I heard: "And then your teeth turn into grenades IN YOUR MOUTH." I have no idea where that came from or what the conversation was about to that point. After that it turned into a horror movie, and I finally had to say, "Too gross! Talk about something else!" And the

I'm gonna let you in on a little secret. My laundry room is filthy. Let me show you! There are pipes every where on the walls and stuff piled on my dryer (I'd pile stuff on the washer, but the washer throws it all off during vigorous spin cycles) Two litter boxes and an unswept floor (notice the presence of the broom. It wishes to be used) Oh look, it's Evil Madge. And here is cat food spilled on the floor. You can't see some decent-sized water marks on the checkerboard floor, but believe me, they are there. And my dirtiest secret of all. This floor space has been swept and mopped maybe twice since we moved into this house nearly twelve years ago. See? (actually for my laundry room, it's pretty uncluttered by dirty laundry) Normally, I shut the door to the laundry room when visitors happen by and no one has to see the filth (and the wet bras drying on hooks on the wall, which I didn't show you because I was too lazy to photograph everything. And I would rat

So I didn't post obligatory First Day of School pictures of my kids wearing their new clothes and backpacks and standing at the bus stop. We are now a whole week into school and I'm still not posting pictures of my kids wearing their new clothes and backpacks and standing at the bus stop. I've done the first day of school so many times that I'm all MEH with it now. There are only three left going to school anyway, it hardly seems worth it. Besides, Paul wheedled rides to school from his father the whole first week so there was no bus stop action for him at all. And Hayley and Matt were out the door before 7 a.m. and I was too busy getting ready for my new job that I just kinda waved from the bathroom as they were scurrying out the door, instead of following them around with my camera. They were all relieved. There was a first day today. First day of seminary. First day of me having to get up at the crack of way-too-dang-early (yes, Jenni, I know you feel my pain)

I dreamed early this morning that the neighbors behind us had a big party in their backyard and there were people all over (including in my bathroom and dining room and I kept trying to get them to leave and they all looked at me like I was off my rocker and totally mean). And today, those normally quiet and keep-to-themselves neighbors are having a party in their backyard. Must go check the bathroom and dining room for partygoers. Then I'll lock the door.

Pretend I am whispering. I don't want to jinx the situation by telling people out loud. Other Jim got a second job. (I'm still whispering). He will get close to 40 hours a week and his old job, but now he'll get a variable amount of hours at a new job with someone from church. OJ will be helping at the guy's metal components manufacturing place. He worked there yesterday for 6 hours and he's there again today for 7 hours. Obviously this is a good thing for a few reasons: A) more money for OJ for college B) he'll get experience doing something different than pushing carts around C) future job reference from the employer D) he'll be at home less. Not that I mind having him around, but really and truly, does an 18 year old guy really want his mother hovering around him when he's at home? No. And this way, I know he's keeping busy doing something productive.....and.... E) (related to D) he won't have to do household chores on a daily basis if he

It began with me wanting to see if the cross country picture taker had posted any new pictures in her photo gallery. It ended with a remodeled sewing room/food storage room. Our computer is a dinosaur (or at least a woolly mammoth. Or Neanderthal man). Despite its slowness, it was fine for our needs and got me where I wanted to be on the world wide web. But Thursday, I could not access the internet. We'd had problems before but had always been able to fix the situation by manually inputting the IP addresses. But that didn't work this time. No internet. I could not get on to see if Julie B had taken pictures at the CC pasta dinner. In frustration I barked out a few PG-rated epithets at the computer, but it must not have liked my tone and it completely froze up. Rebooting did not work either. Nothing worked. Jim finally broke down and on his lunch break on Friday, he bought a new computer. Meanwhile, we had gotten the old computer back up and running, but still without the i

How did this happen? And how did it happen while still on my finger? As I was driving some kids home on Labor Day, I noticed something wrong with my ring. Hang on tight, I'm heading into a tangent. I don't wear much jewelry, mostly because I will play with whatever jewelry I wear. It's a habit of mine. And by "play with" I mean that I'll take whatever it is off my person and finger it or twist it or fiddle with it or stick it on my nose (not in) or send it spinning on a table. Even rings. One time while waiting for a kid to come out of an ortho appointment, I was fiddling with my wedding and engagement rings and I happened to see a familiar face. As I turned in my enthusiasm to greet her, my wedding ring went flying off the non-wedding ring finger I had put it on and into the toybox. Luckily I had *Fake Child with me and I gave her the task of finding my ring. I find it difficult to leave the jewelry alone, and I can always feel the bracelet or necklace

Today was the first day of school. I worked my first shift at my new job. And my engagement ring needs fixing. Which subject shall I address first? Just kidding (although all three subjects are true, and technically blogworthy). Where was I? Oh yes, traveling from my freshman year of college to the present. So Jake said, "Wax hands!" And after reflecting on my past experience, I asked him, "Where can I get one! My plaster hand broke many years ago!" He said, "Yeah, I thought you would like to know that I'm trying to get a wax hands booth at my club's annual Labor Day Eve thing." (The country club where he works is open to the public on the day before Labor Day every year and we have gone on several occasions because they have an awesome fireworks display) I hadn't even hung up the phone and I was already writing in the club party on my calendar. I was SO going to get me a wax hand! Sunday was the day of the open house and true to the pro

Late spring. The phone rang. I picked it up, after checking the caller ID. Lafayette Club, where my brother works. I wondered why he was calling me from work. Was Mother ill? Another family member? "Hello?" I said, trying to keep my voice calm. "Wax hands" "What?" I asked, not sure what Jake meant, and why he was talking in a somewhat aggressive voice. "Wax hands!" he said, adding a bit more force to his voice. Wax hands....wax...hands.... Suddenly, my mind reeled back twenty-three years to the basement of S Hall at Deseret Towers, Brigham Young University. I was a freshman in college. Cori V and I huddled ourselves over the aged stove, the lone appliance larger than a microwave in the whole of our living quarters. Cori had set a pan of water on the electric burner and heated it to a rolling boil. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she whispered. "Of course. I can deal with the pain," I replied, staring at the churning

1. Computer problems. We are getting a new computer because the old one is...well...really old. And it's sick. It can now only be used as a glorified typewriter. We will keep it upstairs in the sewing room. I expect some late night partying in that room because the serger is such a night owl and likes to stir things up, and the sewing machine will do pretty much whatever the serger tells it to do, especially if it means there'll be a party. The computer hasn't had any friends but the TV for so many years and I think it's excited to see some new faces. Plus there is food in the sewing room. I might have to knock a few power cords to keep it quiet so I can sleep. 2. Paul's first race of the season. No pics though because it was raining and I didn't want to get the camera wet. When asked how he did, he grunted. But I saw him talking with much animation to some of his teammates. He did say that he wasn't cold. 3. I have to use Other Jim's laptop for t

I love the State Fair. Contrary to popular belief, I don't ALWAYS get lost there. (only sometimes) (cell phones are good) We don't go very often, but when we do, I love threading through jostling crowds of people to look at stuff and eat food that is very bad for me. (Side note: our local paper had a calorie count for the most popular fair foods, and it turns out that in order to burn off the calories ingested eating a serving of cheese curds, a person would have to walk ELEVEN miles) We were only at the fair for a few hours last night, most of the those hours were spent watching and listening to this guy: Weird Al Yankovic. I knew most of the words to most of the songs he sang. Jake and Dylan happened to be there too! I had no idea they were coming. But Jim was volunteering at the fair (his company encourages volunteerism and allows their employees to volunteer during work hours) and ran across another brother, Dave, with Owen. Dave mentioned that Jake and Dylan were goin

Can you tell what is different about these two loaves of bread (as compared to other loaves of bread that are not pictured here)? I mean aside from the dent in the top of the cut loaf and that orange spot in the lower middle (which is a crust crumb that I didn't brush off before taking the picture). I added a non-breadish something to it. I added a magical (some say musical) ingredient. That's right. I added BEANS. Actually I added bean flour. I've been commissioned to give a class (for a Relief Society activity) on beans and I'm going the non-traditional uses for beans route. One cup of flour made out of ground pinto beans was used in this batch of bread that I made instead of a cup of whole wheat flour. I even ground up the pinto beans myself, so I know that there is nothing but beany goodness in the flour that I used. You would not know by tasting it that I used bean flour. You might detect a slight nutty aroma, but you wouldn't know what it was from. I'l