In The Bread Drawer

2005-02-06T17:18:00.000-05:00

Snip, Snip, Snip! RRRRRRRIiiiiiiiippppppp! Scissors and razors change the shape of haristyles, altering faces and even bodies. Six to eight inches of brown laced with auburn and blonde fell on her black robe, leaving strands in a trail as if they would make an attempt to return. A bird's nest of fluff covered the floor at the base of the hudraulic chair.

I found this as I turned the corner in Gwendolly's Beauty Salon, there to check on and pay for a hair cut for Abby, the 14 year old wondergirl. $27 later, a new child sat in the front seat of my car. Older looking, happy, smiling broadly, anxious for school the next day.

She looks different. More proportional? More like a teenager? More like my older sister (see www.Mombrain.com). Now I see my sister every time I turn around -- and I like it.

Hair Cuts

2005-02-04T19:21:00.000-05:00

9th grade seems to be the time to cut your hair around here. At least, that's when I went from VERY long hair to relatively short hair.

And now, because of genetics, Abby has cut her hair. She's in 9th grade. It's short, very layered and "choppy," and very stylish. Everyone loves it!

But now she doesn't look like herself! She's older. More proportional (if that makes sense). Different looking. I almost didn't recognize her when I picked her up from school. Who is this child? She even seems to walk different.

I do love her new "do", but it really changes the way she looks. So goodbye to my very young teenage daughter, and hello to my new, stylish, teen.

Dental Bands

2005-01-31T12:49:00.000-05:00

A2 now has rubber bands that hook onto her braces. The dentitst put them on last Thursday, and let us know that A2 has to wear them for a year, 24/7.

"My teeth hurt." "This Motrin stuff doesn't work." "I can't eat!" "Can I just not wear them and tell the dentist that I did?" "I look like a vampire!" "Why do I have to wear these things?" "Don't they come in colors?"

That's just a short list of comments. My response? It'll only hurt a couple of days; let's try Tylenol; put them back on! Yes, you HAVE to wear them. No, you can't "triple up" the night before the appointment and make the dentist believe that you've worn them regularly. I can't find them in colors - no one sees them anyway. You do NOT look like a vampire - and if you did, then you'd be a very pretty vampiress.

Just another day.

Homemade Pies

2004-11-29T17:35:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine baked me 2 pies from her grandmother's recipes for Thanksgiving becasue I had very little time. She was so nice to do this for me! So we ate them, they were good, and I washed the pie plates to return them.

Both plates say "Mrs. Smith's Pies" on the bottom, and neither had any old knife marks in them. I think she bought them frozen, baked them, and passed them on as her own family recipe. I'm anxious to see her again and rag on her for it!

I'm really grateful she baked them for me, and they were good, so I really can't say TOO much to her!

In the Bread Drawer

2004-11-28T14:19:00.000-05:00

What's in the bread drawer?

Oreo Cookies. Put in the drawer 2 weeks ago in a zipper bag for freshness. I found them this morning. What a great surprise!

OH, FUDGE!

2004-11-28T14:15:00.000-05:00

I cook. I bake. I enjoy dabbling in edible delights. But there is one thing I have no success with: fudge.

About once each year I attempt to make fudge. This year I found a recipe in the local paper. It’s a Blue Ribbon Winner! A sure fire, make every year, eat until you’re sick recipe! 5 gold stars from all the newspaper readers! So I cut it out, made sure I had all the ingredients, and prepared to cook fudge.

I followed the instructions EXACTLY, using a microwave, a microwave-safe bowl with straight sides, and fresh ingredients. But…the sugar crystallized. The butter burned. And this was only after 3 of the 6 minutes it was supposed to cook! The marshmallow and peanut butter wouldn’t mix with the other ingredients. And the plastic container melted into the "fudge". My 11 year old still tasted it and asked why I used crunchy peanut butter. I didn’t.

After it cooled (2 hours later) I threw the bowl and contents away.

Attempt number 2 consisted of a recipe from a children’s cookbook. “Easy Chocolate Fudge.” My fudge turned out grainy. And dry. In another attempt at support, my 11 year old tasted it and felt she could probably eat this batch.

Attempt number 3. Go to the local department store. Find the loose candy counter. Purchase 1 pound of chocolate/peanut butter fudge for $6.99. Go home. Take it out of the box, cut it into squares, and display on my own pretty glass plate. Accept compliments from guests. Promise myself to NEVER attempt to make fudge again – at least for another year.

The Incredibles

2004-11-13T17:35:00.000-05:00

While hubby played poker last Sunday evening, and daughter 1 was at a friend's house, daughter 2 and I went to see The Incredibles. A long but cute long movie!

I like the idea that a small black mask can hide your identity, and that there is a clothing designer that will create a perfect outfit that works with your best attributes. I need to find that designer and hire her!

I also liked the transformation of the daughter, from a teenager who feels invisible to one that really can be. She develops her powers and becomes more assured and confident. A message?

And now I'm trying to convince A2 to see The Polar Express with me tonight. Can you believe she only wants to go if she can bring a friend? So I'll fork over an extra $6 for her friend, just so I can see another kid's movie. Tom Hanks here I come!

Green Thumbs

2004-11-13T17:25:00.000-05:00

Those who know me best know I have a black thumb. Any plant that enters my house in a pot will leave in a black trash back. It's been that way for the last 15 years. I've been known to kill even the strongest cactus known East of the Mississippi!

I recentle plant-sat, admitted my short-comings, and amazingly enough all plants survived. One leafy flowery thing even survived SO well that it actually grew fuller and started flowering! Unheard of in my care.

Bolstered by success, I am now shopping to replace the plants that I had to give back. Can I really take care of them now? Maybe my luck has turned! I purchased 1 leafy green thing (the name wasn't on the pot) that's about 2 feet high. I like it, tranplanted it into a decorative container, and watched 5 leaves drop within 24 hours.

My husband tells me that as I was looking through the plants at the nursery, they (the plants) were playing dead so I wouldn't choose them! They were wilting as I walked down each aisle, then springing back to life as I passed. Apparently my reputation preceded me! The one I chose was actually in the rear of a pile, sticking up above the rest. Idiot plant. Maybe it has a death wish?

Maybe I shouldn't have repotted it, but the plastic pot was so ugly. I'm sure I've done a terrible thing and it's going to die.

Falling Apart

2004-10-25T09:18:00.000-05:00

My house fell apart last week. Not physically, thank goodness, but emotionally. I left home for 24 hours. 24 hours. And most of those 24 hours were away from an empty house.

The morning I was to leave, both daughters were in VERY bad moods. I have NEVER heard so many cabinet doors slam shut because the hair clips could not be found, the brushes were missing, the hot chocolate was ALMOST gone, and the favorite shirt was not where it should have been. One sister was certain the other had taken a sock (no proof was shown). The school bus was going to be crowded. It was too dark outside (they catch the bus at 7 am). And on, and on, and on.

One child missed the bus and had to be driven to school – in silence. She refused to speak to me. And once I returned home, my husband could not find the books he needed to take to work (and then forgot to take them anyway). Wanted breakfast. Needed coffee. Couldn’t choose a tie.

So I left an hour later than planned, but I still left. Just to visit family for 24 hours.

And it was the most relaxing 24 hours I’ve spent in ages! I slept that night for 9 hours. I only took care of myself – no kids, no husband, no dogs, no guinea pig. No errands that MUST be completed, no work, no toting kids around, no housework, no cooking meals that go uneaten.

And then I returned. The closer I came to my turnpike exit, the faster I drove – because now I had things to do, places to go, kids to pick up and drive to lessons. And I haven’t stopped since. It’s been 3 days. I’m tired again. But given the chance, I'd do it all again.

Happy to Be Over 40

2004-10-15T21:14:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine recently turned 40, and cried for days. But I’m happy to be over 40.

Up until high school graduation, you are considered a child. A dependant. An under age, under developed, naïve student who thinks a 30 year old is ancient.

Once you hit 18, you can vote and drive, and in some states, drink. You are a legal adult, ready for the “real life” or college or whatever have you. But 30 is still ancient.

At 29, you’ve probably graduated from college, perhaps have started a family, and are incredible awestruck that next year you’re hitting the big 3-0. Climbing up that age ladder faster than you could ever imagine! And aren’t you supposed to know what you’re doing by now? And now, 40 is very old and mature.

At 40, you’re in the middle of your life. Your children are more independent now, and God, how did I get this old so fast? What will I do for the rest of my life? Why don’t I know what I want to be when I grow up? The horror! I’m old! I’m now over the hill!

But wait…40 isn’t all that bad. Up until now, we’ve been climbing up the hill (so to speak). And 40 was at the top. But I prefer to think of 40 as the bottom. Once again, I’m one of the younger ones in my social group. I’ve begun a new year and a new era. I’ve joined classes to enhance my own personal life. I’ve begun living more for myself instead of my kids. I’m not struggling to climb the hill anymore. I’ve reached one peak, and am gliding to the next.

40 is great. I just hope the wind keeps up so I can keep on gliding!

9am At The YMCA

2004-09-27T12:39:00.000-05:00

Never go to the YMCA at 9 am. Every mother within a 25 mile radius is there. The children are in school or on the bus. The spouse is at work, making money so they can keep the YMCA membership. Soap operas do not start for a few hours. These are the days I try hard to forget!

My children are in Middle School and High School, so they are somewhat dependant. I can “get away” to the gym while they are home if I need to. My office is in my home, so my work hours are flexible. I can go to the gym when it is convenient. Today, 9 am was convenient. But not any more.

I waited for an available treadmill (there are 12). I waited then for an available elliptical trainer (there are 7). Then for each of the 9 weight bearing machines that I use, I waited again. For each one. My hour long workout took close to 2 hours. And then I remembered how often I had to wait when I was in these women’s shoes.

So I will not go to the Y at 9 in the morning again. Why should I make a time-constrained woman wait for my machine, when I could show up a little earlier and get out of there faster? Besides, I’m spoiled and don’t like waiting in lines.

Adult Swimming Lessons

2004-09-24T06:45:00.000-05:00

I took swimming lessons as a child – at least twice. And I failed. I cannot swim. I cannot save my self or my children. I cannot swim out to the raft unless I “doggy paddle.” So I sucked in a large breath and signed up for Adult Swimming Lessons at my local YMCA.

Expecting a group of 85 year old women and me (half their age), I slunk into the Y. I found 8 other men and women, all sizes, all ages, all nationalities, all swimming levels. And I had a blast.

After one lesson, I can float on my back and my front, even if I let go of the wall! I found that with good goggles, I can put my face in the water and blow bubbles! I can look at the bottom of the pool and hold my breath. I am a good kicker. I am in the “polliwog” group, and expect to graduate to a tadpole soon. Before long, I may even be a real toad! Although I don’t think that’s a real swimming category.

And the next day I went to the Y and brought my bathing suit, because I WANTED to swim! It’s fun! And I can do it. I failed as a child, and feared I would fail as an adult. My children urged me on, supported me, and even helped pick out my new bathing suit. Perhaps I should listen to my children more often.

In The Bread Drawer

2004-09-15T15:45:00.000-05:00

After days of long consideration, a new blog has been born. The hardest part? What to call it.

I thought for hours. I pondered over what I consider interesting aspects of my life and work. I considered parts of myself and thought patterns as possible titles. I looked at my family and lifestyle. And then -- an epiphany. A1, my oldest daughter (14 years old), searched for the candy she had seen me eating only moments ago. "Where is it?" she begged from two rooms away. And the answer struck me as the perfect title: "In the bread drawer."

The bread drawer in my kitchen is sacred. My husband rarely opens it, because we do not use it to store bread (it molds too quickly because we forget about it). My children rarely open the drawer, for when they need something from the kitchen I tend to find it for them. And I only open it when I remember it's there.

It sits right in the middle of the cabinets in the island that sits in the center of my kitchen. It is surrounded by highly used drawers and cabinets. I stand directly in front of the drawer to do most of my "kitchen work". Yet we all forget it's there.

So it became the perfect place to hide things. Today I stashed the chocolate covered candies that I love, and when I opened the drawer, I found the vanilla filled cookies that I stashed there and had forgotten (they were stored in a covered container so they would not go stale when I forgot where I put them). So I was pleasantly surprised! I have also stashed money, gifts, jewelry, empty canisters, and more. It is the perfect place to hold an untold number of items of all types and sizes. Once in a while I clean it out and am always surprised at what I've forgotten was hidden.

So what better name to call the new blog than "In The Bread Drawer". Here I can stash all the thoughts that go round inside my head, and look back later to see what I've forgotten. This blog can hold anything. And it can only be found by those who are looking for the bread drawer.

So remember to look in the Bread Drawer, because you never know what you'll find. One thing is for certain though: you will never find what you expect -- bread.

Linda