Not So SAHM

My Latest Sewing Adventure

Well, I actually made this in April. Where does the time go? I’m taking a serger class right now and have been busy working on a big order for Sew Petit, so I haven’t been able to do any other pleasure sewing since this.

It’s the first time I’ve worked with knit fabric. I know, where have I been. And I used my serger to make it. Is it becoming obvious that I was under professional tutelage while constructing this garment? If you live in the KC area you must visit Zoelee and take a sewing class. You must. I got some other knit fabric from her and plan on replicating this. On my own. I also plan on embroidering a cute little monogram or appliqueing an initial on the top. We’ll see if I get around to that soon. Judging from the timeliness of this post I’d say it ain’t happening before we move. I just may surprise myself though.

And here’s a picture of Reagan pretending to be a jaguar. You know, to match the print and all:

What’s For Dinner?

*Hey SITStas! Thanks for stopping by! What I haven’t told Tiffany & Heather is that I’m no chef. Somehow these two recipes came out really yummy. With Murphy’s Law in full affect I fully expect to never be able to create anything else again in my life. I’ll have to get my inspiration from my Saucy SITStas. Enjoy, and please let me know how they taste once you try them!*

At 6:30pm we were all outside playing happily and enjoying the sunshine when this question was floated my direction: “what’s for dinner?” Dinner? On the weekend? You mean that’s my job too? I’ve been She That Provides Life Sustaining Nourishment for years now. Why am I all of the sudden thinking I could take a break on the weekend? Truth be told I was so busy doing the bills and then having fun outside I lost all track of time. Plus, it’s the weekend. Haven’t we started paying someone to cook for us on the weekend?

My response yesterday to this question, again at around 6:30pm, was “whatever you’re going to make us.” This was said to our six year old. In a loving tone, of course. And yes, I’m admitting that this is somewhat becoming a pattern for us on the weekend. Last night I quickly threw together breakfast for dinner. Usually breakfast for dinner includes some type of homemade dough concoction: pancakes, waffles, French toast; eggs, bacon and fruit. Last night it was frozen waffles and frozen sausage, egg and cheese biscuits. I know.

I knew quick BFD (breakfast for dinner) would not go over well tonight. Mainly because we finished off all the “quick” breakfast items last night. Switching on that creative part in my brain (because I do not like to cook without a recipe…but I’m working on it) I opened up the pantry and prayed that we had something in there. I spied a couple of random items and decided to throw them together. I came up with pasta topped with Parma Rosa sauce. And whole wheat pasta at that. You didn’t even know I knew whole wheat pasta existed did you?

My genius item (go with me here people) was what I made with the Bisquick batter. I’m going to post pictures and instructions. Toni does this over at The Happy Housewife all the time and I’m thoroughly impressed. So here goes my attempt:

Ham & Cheese Biscuits

- Bisquick dough
- milk
- 3 cheese sticks (you know, the string cheese that you buy your kids)
- approx. 1/2 to 1 cup ham chunks (pre-chunked, pre-packaged)
- garlic powder
- rosemary

Mix the bisquick dough and milk according to the directions on the box.

Cut the cheese sticks into halves and then halves again, lengthwise.

Then dice them. Throw these into the batter along with a handful of ham chunks. Add some garlic powder and rosemary.

Knead as normal, form into biscuits as normal. Bake at 450 for about 10 minutes or until they look done.

Voila!

Y’all, these are yummy. And don’t tell me you’ve seen ham and cheese biscuits before. Have you seen them with ham chunks and cheese sticks? They’re going to become somewhat regular in my kitchen. I say somewhat because I do not make the same food over and over again. My family has one or two dishes that we have every month. But other than that I do usually cook new dishes.

When I remember to cook.

They’re Hugging!

Du is the best dad in the world. He puts Reagan to bed every night to give me a couple minutes of peace to myself. He is the. best. dad. This nighttime ritual includes among other things reading a story. Tonight Reagan chose From Tadpole to FROG.

Maybe she was missing Phillip, our tadpole who met an untimely death. Who knows how the brain of a six year old works.

Du opened the book to begin reading it to her. Upon finding very few words on each page he handed the book to Reagan to read. She gladly accepted and began reading away. All’s well for the first six pages. Then she reads this page:

Uh, wha? Since when is animal porn acceptable for a Stage 1 reading book!?!? Reagan’s reaction was to point and say, “Look, Dad, he’s hugging her!” Du’s reaction was to say, “yes, honey, that’s absolutely all they’re doing, now let’s go wash our eyes out with soap.” Oh. He didn’t go that far. But come on! It’s night time. The busy day is over. Things are winding down. We’re relaxed. Peaceful. Ready to read to child and turn out lights. Peaceful. Who knew we’d almost be forced into the talk at 9pm on a Saturday night. With a 6 year old. Because of two hugging frogs.

To his credit he must have handled it well. I, sitting in the living room, heard no thuds of bodies fainting to the floor. Heard no yelling for Mom to come fix the situation. I was in my own little innocent world. Until he came back with a concerned look on his face and tossed the book in my general direction and replayed the events. After convulsing with laughter I got up off the floor and changed my pants. I had to see for myself. Take a peek at what the back of the book describes as Stage 1 reading (bold print mine for emphasis):

“Stage 1 books explain simple and easily observable science concepts for preschool- and kindergarten-age children.”

What is so easy about reproduction? Who, in the whole world, has ever observed two frogs doing it? Oh, you have? Tell me, was it easily observed? Did you just happen by a pond one day, look down and see two frogs “hugging”? Horses? Easily observable. Meerkats? Apparently so as well. Frogs? Not so much. Or do I not spend enough time outside?

Now, I see nothing wrong with the content of this book. But not for my six year old. When? We’ll all know when our children are ready for the talk. I’m all about openness and honesty. But please, God, give me a few more years. Be warned! Not all kids books are as innocent as they seem. Maybe we should have been warned by the title? Maybe we should actually pre-read the books we’re handing our daughter to read?

Whew, I had to share this you. Happy dreams.

Friday 13: I Am Not A Dance Mom

Reagan has been dancing professionally for two years now. Wait a minute. Did I just write that? Cause that’s what it feels like. The dance “academy” she attends is the only thing going around these parts, so if she wants to take dance, it’s got to be at this place. And they take dance seriously. And they breed parents to take dance seriously as well. And they’re very good at what they do.***(see bottom of post)

Think I jest? Let me cite some examples.

They hold their recital at the college performing arts theater because they need that much seating for the audience.
The recital takes two days.
The recital takes three different performances to get all the acts in.
They sell tickets online now because in previous years the line for tickets would stretch around the building and last literally all day.
This year, the online ticket company sold over 2,000 seats within the first 30 minutes. I did not stutter with the 0 key.
It would be advisable for some families to take out small loans to be able to afford the dance season. I just did a rough calculation and we spent close to $1,000 this year on the dance “world”. Wouldn’t this money be better used feeding the hungry? Wouldn’t this money be better used feeding ourselves?

Gone are the innocent days of sticking your kid in a dance class and then going to the class on the last day to watch what they’ve learned. Gone are the days of wearing whatever shoes and outfit are on that day to a dance class that may be a church gymnasium on another day. That is so low tech people. These are the days of Marley floors in classrooms. Testy floors that can only handle dance shoes, in classrooms full of 6 year olds! Gone are the days of innocent girls staying innocent until they actually become women. These are the days where girls as young as six are learning to shake their chests and butts because it’s “dance”. I’m almost embarrassed for Du to have to watch it–a “family” show where you have kids showing and shaking their t&a and getting applauded for it. Reagan will not be doing any of those dances.

As if I haven’t listed enough reasons above as to why I am definitely not a dance mom, here are 13 reasons why I’m bucking the establishment and am rebelling about being a dance mom:

I do not live vicariously through my daughter. I have no need to see her succeed in the lime light because I never did.
My daughter’s life is not dance.
My life is not dance.
I actually think there are more important things to pay for than a $50 costume that’s poorly constructed in the first place and will only be worn seriously once. (Yet I did it)
I don’t care whether or not my daughter looks better or dances better than all the other girls in the class.
I don’t care if my daughter has a hole in her tights
I don’t care if my daughter doesn’t have her hair in a bun
I don’t make my daughter practice daily before the recital. I don’t make my daughter practice at all.
I don’t take the recital seriously. Or as seriously as I should.
I don’t want to be back stage running things myself.
I don’t know everything about dance and offer the teacher pointers when I think they’ve got it wrong.
I don’t even sit in the waiting room and watch my daughter through the mirrored glass during her class.
I already micromanage my daughter’s life enough. Why do it in something that is a hobby to her and not a lifestyle?

Now, that being said, I should point out that I love my daughter and am fiercely proud of her. I’m serious about seeing her have a good time and letting her know that she has my 100% support in her endeavors. For that reason I was one of the first 2,000 people online to buy tickets. And I even complained about the stupid ticket company who wouldn’t reward me for being one of the “first in line” online by giving me good seats (they give tickets out randomly so Joe Blow who went in hours later could have gotten better seats). I will be one of the moms with a camera in one hand and a video recorder in the other. I do that when she’s just swinging on the swingset though. I will knock someone out if they try to stand up in the way of one of my cameras. And I guess I will be forking over those big bucks next year if Reagan wants to take dance again. I’ll do it kicking and screaming all the way. Because I am not a dance mom.

****After moving to two different states and being a part of several difference dance studios I have to say, the one I reference here is very good. The staff is competent and dedicated and, honestly, they cannot control how the parents act. As it was my first experience with a dance studio, and me not being a dance mom, I was initially taken aback. Now, I would send my girls back there in a heartbeat…except for the t&a part. I still have an issue with that and would be reticent to allow my daughters to shake their stuff, no matter how good the studio is.

Mini Me

My youngest daughter, Ashlyn, the one I lovingly refer to as “challenging”, eats a very good breakfast. It’s her best meal and therefore I try to keep it healthy. When she first began solids breakfast was plain oatmeal mixed with apple juice, a banana and some Yobaby. Now that the warmer months are upon us we have transitioned to cold cereal in place of warm oatmeal.

At first the cold cereal was healthy. Honey Nut Cheerios. Healthy right? Well, this is the generic brand so they don’t exactly taste like honey. Or nuts. This morning after eating a bowl of the tan circular cardboard thingies she points to the cabinet and does the sign for “more”. She wants more cereal. I pull out the cheerios box and she shakes her head “yes”. (This is really only because she shakes affirmingly at any question she is asked. “Do you want more cereal?” “Yes.” “Do you want a spanking?” “Yes.” With the same enthusiasm). So I pull out the box of Fruit Loops to gauge her reaction. She not only shakes her head yes but begins clapping and laughing.

It hit me. My daughter is a mini me. Oh Lord, does that say something about me if she is “challenging” and supposedly so much like me? She’d rather have the stuff that tastes good than the stuff that’s healthier for her. Can I blame her? How many posts have I talked about, if not lamented, my lack of desire for anything healthy. She gets it honest. Sorry honey. She already asks for sips from our cups because she wants to drink what the big people are drinking. Rarely does mine have water. I keep trying to deny her access because my cup is either filled with sweet tea or Coke. I do not want her started on Coke before I have to. That technique worked with Reagan and she still doesn’t like carbonated beverages to this day. (The word hypocrite is raging through my head right now).

However, I can see into the future (remember that post?). I can just see us fighting over the last Oreo. I can see myself hiding the cokes where she can’t find them so they won’t go missing when I need one desperately. I can just see myself trying to tell her that she needs to eat healthy things and her throwing it back in my face that I don’t eat like that so why should she?

As I was pulling down the box of Fruit Loops to pour her a second bowl, and contemplating how much we are alike, God planted a little thought in my head. Our children really are mini me’s. They see what we do and they mimic us. They see how we eat, act, talk, conduct ourselves, and they do the same. Even more so if we have similar personalities. And why is it that they also seem to like to mimic the bad stuff more than the good? My living needs to be as Godly as possible. I’d much rather her mimic Him than me.

My actions will affect generations to come. Because how Ashlyn becomes so will her children be. We all know we’re a lot more like our parents than we thought we ever would be. I don’t want her growing up desiring to be different than me because I steered her in the wrong direction, with food or any other thing. Parents have a huge responsibility to raise their children. To actually take a proactive role in raising them. And then to try to do it correctly. We rarely see this happen any more. I mean that.

So if you’re needing any motivation to get your butt in gear, and I’m talking to myself here as much as anyone else, remember that your children are watching. And they’re taking it all in. Lord help us.

Arkansas Trip: Day 5 – Heading Home

Click Here for the results of my Friday 13 Photo Scavenger Hunt

Friday 13: Photo Scavenger Hunt

Just like yesterday there was no chance to sleep in this morning. In fact, I had my phone alarm wake me up at 6:30 again. I never mind waking up early to go shopping though. Yes, I am one of those women who will wake up at 3am to get ready just to be able to be at the stores at 5am on Black Friday (I do not shop without putting a little effort towards my appearance). I am a dedicated shopper, so 6:30 wasn’t that hard.

Packing up the truck to go home is always interesting. Somehow we’re able to get everything into the truck in a nice orderly manner before we leave for vacation. Why won’t the same amount of stuff fit when it’s time to go home? I do have to admit that there was just a leettle bit more to fit this time. Although Ashlyn’s clothes are tiny, when there are a lot of Ashlyn’s clothes they aren’t so tiny. If you know Du though, you know that he will make everything fit AND he’ll still be able to see out of the rear view mirror. Desired time of departure = 9am. Actual time of departure = 9:02am. I don’t play when shopping’s concerned.

We made it safely to Springfield after being robbed at the gas pump. I will happily pay for gas though in order to travel. We knew what we were getting ourselves into when we bought an SUV. We arrived at the most awesomely fabulous fabric store before it even opened. We did call to make sure they’d be open on Memorial Monday. Forgot it wasn’t until 11:00. I could have slept in 15 more minutes… The owner must have noticed our desperation (and the desperation of several other women who happened to show up early and be waiting in their cars–it was like it really was Black Friday) because he opened his shop early. The awesomely fabulous thing about this fabric store is that not only does he have rows and rows and rows and rows and rooms of fabric, but that it’s all priced cheaper than you could find it anywhere else. People, silk for $7.99 a yard. I know! Home dec fabric for $5.99 a yard. I know! I was trying to make up projects so I could justify purchasing a yard of every single fabric in the store. After a couple of hours and feeling up every bolt, I walked out hobbled out barely able to stand the weight of everything I bought and still spent less than $100. From now until Jesus returns you’ll find me at the sewing machine making things for my darling daughters.

Unfortunately I cannot live in that store, nor even work at it, so we had to leave to meet the guys and kids for lunch. Have you ever noticed that the best places to eat are usually a little less appealing on the visual side? This was some good barbeque. And since the establishment was no where near hoity toity Ashlyn behaved herself perfectly. Reagan managed to spill her sweet tea though.

We had to leave by 1:30 to be back in time for Reagan’s dance class. I should write a whole other post about dance moms, as I am not one of them. The only reason we even were concerned about the dance class was that this is the last class before the recital. No attendance in dance class, no participation in recital. Fair enough and it meant that we would get back at a decent hour to unpack.

Ah, unpacking, that part you dread because when you were packing all you cared about was leaving so you just grabbed things from here and there and left things strewn about not having time to clean them up, and pulling things out of this makeup case because you want to use it on the trip and leaving that stuff all over the bathroom, and we’ll just get to it when we get back. Know what I’m talking about? I should know better by now that the only thing I care about when getting back is a clean house and paying someone to unpack my bags for me. I haven’t found anyone to do that yet.

OH yes, and to prove what awesome pet owners we are I’ll end with this last story. When we were getting ready to leave we laid eyes on both cats. Having been through this before with our old cat Spaz* we knew we needed to know exactly where both cats were. Ricki* was positive she saw Fuzz* upstairs and Bo* downstairs. Lu* was positive he had seen both of them as well. So we shut the door to the guest bedroom downstairs because we didn’t want them in there causing all kinds of cat trouble. Fast forward to Day 5–we opened the door expecting to see both cats right there wailing at us for leaving them so long. Bo* was right there meowing up a storm. Where was Fuzz*? He’s usually the first one to greet Ricki* whenever she’s left the house? Could he have escaped over the weekend? Ricki* called for Fuzz* throughout the house but there was no sign for him. Wait! What was that Ricki* heard? A faint meowing that took her back downstairs. Behind that closed guest room door the meowing grew louder. Yes indeed people, Fuzz* was locked in the guest bedroom for the whole trip. After realizing that he was still mobile, in good spirits, and would indeed survive the attention was focused on the room. Where had that cat “gone” for those days? Little Fuzz* had done the best possible thing. Understanding that if starvation didn’t kill him Ricki* would he decided not to relieve himself on the bed, the carpet or any other permanent, hard to clean fixture. The poor cat had gone on an old comforter that we had tried to sell at the yard sale.

As we like to say, “all’s well that ends well.”

*As PETA is probably trolling blogs looking for people to throw paint on all names have been changed in this story, to protect the innocent and the guilty.