Roller Herbie

Dave read my recent Q & A where I whined mentioned that I was unable to put pictures on my blog anymore and, boom!  He figured out a way for me to do it!  He also asked me to tell you that no sordid favors influenced his decision to do so. 

So…a backlog of photos…which should I choose?   Where should I begin?  Hmmm.  Such a difficult decision.

I know!  When in doubt, you can’t go wrong with guinea pig pictures!  (Sorry, Stephanie, but it’s true).

Recently at school, Ben traded some Lego Dudes for a big Tech Deck (miniature skateboard), brought it home from school, and within minutes, our sweet little Herbie was jumping up and down in his cage:  “Me!  Me! Me! Me!” he squeaked at us! 

Well, actually, within minutes, the kids crowded around Herbie’s cage, pulled him out, and did their best to give him the ride of his life, while he did his best to get the heck away from them:





1…2…3…4…

Herbie did not stay on the skateboard long enough to ride around the living room, nor to perform aerials and fliptricks ala Tony Hawk, as Ben was hoping to train him to do.

But it was awfully cute. 

(Dear Herbie, please don’t run away from home. 

We promise to never put you on a skateboard or in the Barbie Beetle again. 

Love, The Demon Children and their Kind Mother).

It Don’t Mean a Thing If You Ain’t Got That Swing

It’s hard to take a good picture of a kid on a moving swing.

Bad timing…

Almost…

Got it!

 

Well-deserved rest…

My Lovey Baby.

Brownies From Heaven

I’m going to share a recipe I got from a colleague about fifteen years ago.  She brought them into the faculty room, and we all just raved over them so much, that she brought in recipe cards for everyone.  I put mine away, and completely forgot about it until last month.

Since I have found it, I’ve made it twice, and my family agrees, they are our favorite dessert, ever.

Start with a brownie mix (or you can make homemade) that fits into a 13x9 pan. Here is Maddie going to town:

Spread the batter in a 13x9 pan and bake 3 minutes short of the time on the box.  When the timer goes off, pull out the pan and spread an entire bag of mini-marshmallows on top.  Then slide it back into the oven for the last 3 minutes.

During those 3 minutes, microwave some peanut butter, chocolate chips, and butter and stir until melted.  Then mix in some Rice Krispies.

By this time, the marshmallow-topped brownies should be ready to pull out of the oven.  Spread your chocolate/peanut butter/rice krispie mixture atop the marshmallows.  Allow to cool (I usually put this in the fridge for a good hour or so).

Cut into squares, gaze adoringly at your own little slice of heaven, and just try to not eat the entire pan in one sitting.

Fudgy Peanut Butter Krispie Brownies

1 pkg. brownie mix (for 13x9 pan)
1 pkg (10 1/2 oz) mini-marshmallows
1 1/2 c. chocolate chips
1 cup creamy peanut butter
1 T butter
1 1/2 c. Rice Krispies

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. 

Prepare brownies according to package.  Bake 3 minutes less than required time.

Remove pan from oven and cover hot brownies with marshmallows.  Return to oven and bake 3 minutes longer.

Meanwhile, combine chocolate chips, peanut butter, and butter in microwave safe bowl.  Microwave and stir in 30 second intervals until melted.  Stir in Rice Krispies.

Spread over marshmallow layer (hot from the oven).

Refrigerate until chilled.  Cut into squares. 

I am linking this recipe to Foodie Friday!

Q & A With Beth!

The fan mail has been pouring in, and with it, lots of questions about yours truly.  I’m going to take a moment to answer some of your questions, and hope you’ll feel free to ask me a question in the comment section anytime, or perhaps get up your nerve to approach me at the bus stop or at the checkout line in the grocery store.  No unauthorized photos, though, please.


Q:  Beth, I have a feeling your house is clean and orderly.  Any tips for us?
A:  I think you have mistaken me for another blogger.
 
Q:  I believe your children mentioned Legos during Sunday’s mass, in addition to possums.  Care to elaborate?
A:  I had blocked this memory, as by this time in the Children’s Homily, my own children were misbehaving, and my Mad Mother Eyes were boring into them with the intensity of a thousand white burning suns, which I think may have temporarily shorted out my memory cells.  Anyway, yes, Father asked if anyone had ever found a toy which had been lost, and just that morning, Jack and Ben had had a tussle over the ownership of a Lego Dude.  So Jack informed Father that “my brother stole a Lego from me this morning” to which Ben replied “No, I didn’t!” then gave him a shove.  Oh, it’s all coming back to me now.  I’m going to take a break to hang my head in shame.

<Sigh>  I’m back now.

Q:  How is your diet coming along?
A:  Well, I have lost six pounds, which is fine, I guess.  I could have gained six pounds instead, so maybe since I didn’t gain six pounds, we could really say I am down 12 pounds (the six I lost and the six I didn’t gain).  I am still trying though.

Q:  If you could make up a cute nickname for you and your husband, something along the TomKat and Brangelina lines, what would it be?
A:  I already refer to us as Deth, and sometimes Beave.

Q:  I’ve noticed the lack of pictures on your blog lately.  What’s up with that?
A:  Well, Dave has taken over my laptop, as he is starting his own business as a manufacturer’s rep., and although my in-laws have generously donated their old laptop for me to use, I can’t download my pictures onto it.  So when I want to include pictures, I have to beg Dave to let me use his (my) laptop, and promise him all sorts of sordid favors.  You know, like washing his car and stuff.  Okay, I don’t have to do any sordid favors, but he grumbles at me the whole time because he’s afraid I’ll somehow download a virus and wipe out everything.  Which is valid.  I guess.  So mostly, I just haven’t been including pictures. 

Q:  Beth, you are a gorgeous goddess.  How do you do it?
A:  Windex and lima beans.

Q:  What is your favorite kind of angle?
A  I would have to say it’s a tie between obtuse and right.

Q:  Any new projects on the horizon?
A:  I’ve been hired by a local school district to take over after a second grade teacher goes on maternity leave, sometime in mid-April.  Gosh, I remember going on maternity leave so, so, so, so, long ago.  So young.  So naive.  So huge and full of heartburn.  Thank you, dear Lord, that I am not the one going on maternity leave.  Amen.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

Yes, that was my child who told the priest and the entire congregation this morning that his mom called the police because a possum was in the yard.

The monthly children’s mass makes me nervous.  Father has all the children join him on the floor up front, where he delivers a simplified homily just for them.  He also asks them lots of questions, and then he announces their answers into his microphone, so that even those in the far-away cheap seats get to hear their chucklingly adorable responses.

Last month, Father asked the children what they were giving up for Lent.  The children’s responses varied from “gum” to “my DS” to “M&M’s”.  One child told us he was giving up drinking.  That one got a good laugh, but I’m sure his parents were cringing and explaining that one after mass.

About three years ago, Father asked if anyone had ever broken a rule, and Ben told Father that his mother had, that time she was speeding and the police car pulled her over near the railroad track (I was going 7 above in a 25 mph zone as the speed limit was changing from 35 down to 25.  Don’t get me started on how unfair THAT was).  But now everyone knew it without the background information.

So, the possum.  Let me give you ALL the details.

A few weeks ago, a possum staggered through our front yard and into the neighbor’s yards. First of all, we rarely see possums (or is it just possum?) wandering around all ho-hum during daylight, and secondly, he was wobbling around like a drunken frat possum.  And lastly, it was about 15 minutes away from school bus drop off.  When I pictured what I assumed was a rabid possum attacking innocent children as they walked home from the school bus, I started to get a little nervous.  I couldn’t find a number for Animal Control or Rabid Possum Anonymous, so I dialed 911, apologized for the call and explained the situation. 

A few minutes later I got a call from our local police who listened to my story but basically told me there was nothing they could do.  Then I drove to the bus stop and warned the other parents there to keep an eye out for our rabid little friend.  I probably overreacted.

And now I really regret making the call because everyone attending our church this morning had a little something extra to discuss over lunch today:   me.  The Crazy Woman With a Possum in her Yard Who One Time Speeded Near the Train Tracks.

Ode to a Dirty House

I generally do not like poetry.  When my Creative Writing class in high school switched from essays to poetry, I let my thoughts be known to the teacher.  If I wanted to write poetry, I’d have taken a poetry class!  Poetry at this age is all “they don’t understand me” and “the love in my heart” and “the tears run down my cheeks” and “the sweet little puppy/horse/seagull”. 

I hated that unit.

But I’ve grown.  I’ve lived some life. I appreciate poetry much more now!  And, in honor of my dirty house, I present to you an incredibly bad poem:

The dustbunnies are leaping

Leaping with joy.

How they mock me

With their fluffy, puffy, dusty cottontails.

I drown in the stench of a hundred

Misaimed urine streams.

The Legos they are multiplying,

Joining forces, taking over my floor.

The tiny blocks of pain stabbing

StabbingStabbingStabbing

Under my feet.

Ow.

I can’t see out the windows

From my tear drench-ed eyes

As the windows are coated with a thousand

Acid rains.

Why are there pinecones on the steps?

Why are there mouthprints on the stormdoor?

How doth the toothpaste gettest on the carpet?

Whose underwear is that on the counter?

‘Tis an enigma.

What, do I look like a maid?

I have a Master’s Degree, for heaven’s sake.

Seriously!  Why is there underwear on the counter?

Ow. 

‘Twas another Lego.

Spring: A Sneak Preview

We got a little taste of spring this weekend!  Temperatures were in the fifties and the sun woke us up in the morning then shone until well after dinner.

The kids wore shorts.  We told them it wasn’t warm enough for shorts, but they were adamant  (though they each eventually snuck back in the house and put on pants, hoping we wouldn’t notice--we pretended not to).

I played four square for awhile.  Jack and I chalked up the cul-de-sac with tic-tac-toe games and scribbles.  Scooters and bikes were ridden.  Basketballs were dribbled and kickballs were kicked.  Ben and Jack broke out their rollerblades and the pogo stick was bounced (Maddie bounced 100-something, Jack bounced 4). The giant snowpile at the edge of the front yard, which is still there courtesy of the  Snowplows, took a big bite out of Maddie’s shins.  That snow is dirty, mean, sharp, and holding on to life (too bad…I’m going out there to shovel some of it into the road to melt today.)

I went on a walk and came back feeling slightly sweaty.  We took a family walk, Dave and me on foot, the kids on scooters and bikes, and somehow Dave and I ended up racing the last block back.  I wish I could have seen it, me on the scooter, Dave on Jack’s little bike.  It must have looked pretty funny.  He won, of course.

Dave grilled hamburgers for supper one night, and the kids begged me to break out some popsicles (I probably would have except I haven’t gotten any yet!)

But what made me happiest of all, is that Dave hung up our front porch swing.  I just love that swing, and sit on it all summer-long, with a glass of sweat-beaded iced tea in my hand watching the kids race around the yard.  It gives me hope that spring will soon really be here when I see it on the porch waiting for me.

Secret Identity

Did you know that for about four years, I was known by another name?  Perhaps you are thinking that I was a spy, or was kidnapped, or was possibly the victim of a falling anvil which resulted in traumatic amnesia.

Nice try, but you would be wrong.

The summer of 1985, I spent a lot of time thinking about my approaching move to college.  I was scared of what I was going to find there, having recently seen Revenge of the Nerds and having heard rumors of Animal House.  I thought college was going to be filled with lots of sophisticated, yet wild and crazy people.  I was not so wild and crazy, nor so sophisticated.  I was in the band, for heaven’s sake.  Fun to me was going out for ice cream after band practice with friends, and I always called home first to let mom and dad know I’d be late.

I knew I’d never fit in, I knew I’d be sitting in my dorm room on Saturday nights, practicing scales, hearing the toga parties going on down the hall, wishing I was back home.

But it occurred to me at some point, that no one from my high school was going to my college.  Nobody would know me!  Nobody would be aware of my current state of geekiness if I acted all cool and stuff.  They would think I was the coolest girl in my old high school, and oh, how lucky they all were that I had decided to attend the same college they had!  Yes!  It could work!

I decided I would start by changing my name.  My given name is Elizabeth, but my parents and everyone shortened that to Beth right away.  I hated Beth.  Beth sounded like a baby name to me, or like the sound the cat made when it coughed up a hairball.  Luckily, Elizabeth is a name which lends itself to a lot of nicknames.  I have an Aunt Betty for instance, and my grandmother’s nickname was Libby.  Then there were also Betsy, Eliza, Liza, Ellie, and Liz.  Over the summer I whittled that list down to two finalists:  Elizabeth or Liz.

Elizabeth sounded sophisticated.  Liz sounded cool. 

My parents drove me up to college in mid-August for band camp. I stewed about it the whole way there.  I really didn’t know which name to pick, or, when it came right down to it, if I would even be brave enough to go with a new name.

My parents and I unloaded the car, we smiled and said hello to other parents and kids unloading their cars, but we never got to the, “Hi, my name is…” stage.  My roommate was not in the band, therefore, I had the room to myself.  After having a good cry once my parents left, I sat there alone until there was a knock at the door.

I opened the door to an upperclassmen who was in charge of escorting freshmen to the correct building for the previously scheduled band practice.  She introduced herself.

I had no time to think about it.  I simply replied, “I’m Liz, nice to meet you.”  And I became cool  Liz.

Well, I became Liz, anyway.  The cool part still didn’t happen.  But I introduced myself to hundreds of people over the years in college, always as Liz.   I still maintained the Beth at home, figuring it would be too hard to get everyone who knew me to change their name for me.   And when I left college, I left Liz behind too. 

I don’t miss Liz, although I do miss college.  They were, really, four of the best years of my life, and I sobbed for the first hour on my drive home after graduation.  Now I love when I get an email or phone call meant for “Liz”.  It puts me right back there in time, back to my happy place.

Maybe I kind of do miss the old Liz.  Just a little bit.

First Words!

You know how when your baby is little, and you just can’t wait for those first, magic words?  And then they happen, and your sweet, sweet baby says “Mama” or “Up” or “Vacuum” (Ben’s first word-I kid you not) and it’s wondrous and amazing and you feel a new and meaningful connection to this lovely little being.

Then one year later you are pulling your hair out because car rides are no longer Mommy Down Times, but chances to moo at all the cows, sing the lyrics to Barney’s I Love You, You Love Me song a hundred times, referee the fights that are breaking out, and play the “But Why?” game (“Mama, why do cars go on the road?” “Because that’s where it’s safe to drive, sweetie.”  “But why?”  “Because it’s not so bumpy.” “Why?” “Because they use special machines to make them smooth.”  “But why?”  “So they’ll be safe for driving.”  ETC!) and you wish you could stick a sugar-covered pacifier back in that prolific little mouth for just a few minutes’ peace.

Well, our sweet, sweet guinea pig Herbie has said his first words!  Ever since Santa brought him, he has purred when he is content, and has done little squeaks when we’ve held him, but he’s never offered up his own conversation.

And now that he is talking to us, we are gathering that he is saying something like, “Feed Me!  Feed me! I heard the fridge door open!  Feed Me! Is that the crinkle of a carrot bag I hear?  FEED ME! FEED ME!  FEED ME!”

Jack and I took this little video today.  I am manning the camera, Jack is manning the carrot bag.  It’s not long, I promise:

And what we are finding so incredibly cute right now, is that when he is hungry (and when is he not hungry), he will do this sweet, high-pitched, urgent sounding squeak!  Like when we walk into the empty room!  Or whenever we open the fridge!  Or whenever he hears any bag crinkle!

So cute!

FOR NOW.

I have a feeling this will not seem so cute when he gets a hankering for baby carrots or apple slices in the middle of the night.

But we love him anyway.  Aw, shucks.  The things we do for our kids.

You Say Lasagna, I Say Gazonya

My favorite food as a child was Lasagna, or as I so adorably put it, Gazonya-- or as Jack very recently put it, Wazonya (he has recently conquered his L sound, however, and now says it the boring, big boy way).

Anyhoo, lasagna was my favorite food for the longest time.  I was proud of my mom for making such delicious lasagna, and told anyone who cared (and many who didn’t) that she had won a blue ribbon in a lasagna making contest.  She hadn’t actually ever entered any such contest, but I felt she should have, and I don’t feel guilty about the lie to this day.  Mostly.

So when I moved out and first attempted to make lasagna on my own for a guy I was dating (pre-Dave), I called mom and asked for the recipe. 

She told me she got it from the back of the San Giorgio Gazonya box.  Hmph.  A little bit of a let-down.

I made the lasagna (using the recipe on the back of the box—which is really no longer my recipe…I’ve made a few changes), and the guy liked it so much, that I sent some leftovers home with him.  And, to make sure that I would hear from him again, I sent it home with him on one of my good plates.   Kind of like dropping my glass slipper and forcing a return visit from the prince.  

However, I never heard from Prince Charming again, and I really don’t care so much except that it bugs me that I never got the plate back.  Darn Plate Stealer.  I wonder if he has a collection of date plates?  [Cut to daydream sequence with Rob, the plate stealer, showing his dating plunder to a friend:  “This one was from Beth, she made me some really awesome lasagna and this one was from Judy, she made lemon chicken, and oh!  This one was from Sherry.  Terrible beef stew.  I almost didn’t take the plate…”]

So the gazonya…

First of all, I use the the San Giorgio Oven Ready Lasagna noodles.  These do not need to be boiled ahead of time, though a good layer of sauce must coat the bottom of the pan and they must be laid across the 13x9 pan the short way instead of the long way. 

For the sauce, I browned about 1.5 lbs of turkey burger, (but you can also use hamburger or sausage) then simmered it with jarred spaghetti sauce (we love Francesco Rinaldi-Sweet & Tasty Tomato).  My mother used cottage cheese as her cheese layer base, and it was gooey and delicious, but Dave prefers ricotta, so I use that for him.  In the bowl below is part-skim ricotta, part-skim mozzarella, and 2 eggs.  Mix the ingredients well.

As you can see below, I’ve got a good layer of sauce, the unboiled noodles, then the  cheese layer (yet unspread),  and finally in the next picture, a layer of meat sauce.

This is repeated  two or three more times.  Your layers should look something like this when you’re all done:

Cover with aluminum foil and bake!

I often make garlic bread to go with the gazonya.  I use leftover rolls or bread (today I’m using hot dog buns), and I mix together a few dashes of Tastefully Simple Garlic-Garlic and a good chunk of butter, then spread this over the hot dog buns. I add shredded cheese to the top, then I broil them for a few minutes.

Delicioso!  Grazie Mama Mia & San Giorgio!

Lasagna

adapted from mom and SanGiorgio

1-2 lbs. browned hamburger, turkey burger, or sausage

2 jars spaghetti sauce, divided

15 oz. container Ricotta Cheese

2 c. shredded mozzarella

2 eggs

San Giorgio Oven Ready Lasagna

Brown hamburger and drain, then add 1 and 3/4 jars of sauce.  Simmer.

In a separate bowl, mix together ricotta, mozzarella, and eggs.

Pour remaining quarter jar of sauce in bottom of 13x9 pan.  Lay 3 noodles across pan.  Spread generous scoop of cheese mixture on noodles, then spread layer of meat sauce onto cheese.  Repeat two or three more times.  Finish with a layer of sauce on top.
 
Bake covered with foil at 375 degrees for 30 minutes.  Remove foil and bake an additional 10-15 minutes.  Remove from oven and allow to sit for 5 minutes (will cut easier). 

Believe it or not, I add no additional seasonings, oregano, etc.  Dave and the kids like it plain (“Ew!   What’s that black stuff!?”), but the San Giorgio box will include some seasoning amounts for you to use, if you prefer.

And by the way, Rob, if you’re reading this, I WANT MY PLATE BACK.

I am linking this post to Foodie Friday at Designs by Gollum.