tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28779780112782387212024-02-20T02:54:10.380-08:00cowgirls like methe stories of a transplanted cowgirlRikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-49349298044469298082011-05-07T06:12:00.000-07:002011-05-07T06:16:56.378-07:00A contest!Ok, so I have been gone for a while. But I'm back, and this time it's personal.<br /><br />Shoot over to Joshilyn Jackson's page for a chance to win all kinds of cool stuff.<br /><br />For some reason, my toolbar is not appearing so I cannot hyperlink it, but I will fix it when it allows me to. In the meantime, here is the link<br /><br />http://www.joshilynjackson.com/ftk/?p=1071&cpage=2#comment-7573Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-47835559279102051442010-07-20T13:18:00.000-07:002010-07-20T13:33:45.352-07:00Chickens, Jelly, and FacebookI had a plan, when I was in 8th grade that I believed in with all my heart until I graduated from high school. I was going to be a teacher, I was going to live on a ranch and train horses all by myself, because I was never going to be married and certainly never going to have any children. Kids were always … sticky. Men were always trying to boss me around. When I remember that plan, it’s the one time in my life when I think that there might just be a God, because how else, two marriages and four children later, could things have drastically come to a different point?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/TEYHu6h9NDI/AAAAAAAAASM/tLOyLk4GspA/s1600/jellyjars.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/TEYHu6h9NDI/AAAAAAAAASM/tLOyLk4GspA/s320/jellyjars.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496088897819325490" /></a><br /><br />I thought about change today, while I was making black raspberry jelly from berries picked from my woods, while the chickens clucked and purred under the window and my husband’s chainsaw ran its protesting teeth through the Birch tree we plan to use to warm our house this winter. I thought about how I never would have imagined this life when I was busy making plans. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/TEYIFivGXcI/AAAAAAAAASU/_dcsrfPJ7IE/s1600/chickensintheyard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/TEYIFivGXcI/AAAAAAAAASU/_dcsrfPJ7IE/s320/chickensintheyard.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496089286568992194" /></a><br /><br />Facebook has forced me to look back on my life. I really hate that, because, for lack of a better, more cultivated word, I was an asshole. One big bundle of ME hormones all shoved into Chic jeans and Limited shirts. When I look at the faces of the people I went to school with, read their daily stories, I wonder if they look back like I do. I wish I could fly them out to my house, one by one, and show them how different I am now. I would like to have them meet my students, drive over the cavernous ruts in my driveway, talk with me while I rustle up my Cowboy Spaghetti or lasagna or BBQ ribs and the kids do a good job of not breaking their necks on the trampoline, telling me about how they hate or love their bosses or their iPhone, and how school is getting close to starting, the summer goes by so fast! I want to know them like I never did. I guess I wish I had a do-over, like I could stand in the yard and yell “allleeee-allleeee-all-come-free!” and I could really be a friend this time.Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-18681806471110903582010-04-08T17:02:00.000-07:002010-04-08T17:15:05.574-07:00Appearances, Books, and Hugs <meta name="Title" content=""> <meta name="Keywords" content=""> <meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"> <meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"> <meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 2008"> <link rel="File-List" href="file://localhost/Users/rcarr/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:documentproperties> <o:template>Normal.dotm</o:Template> <o:revision>0</o:Revision> <o:totaltime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:pages>1</o:Pages> <o:words>510</o:Words> <o:characters>2910</o:Characters> <o:company>Classrooms for the Future</o:Company> <o:lines>24</o:Lines> <o:paragraphs>5</o:Paragraphs> <o:characterswithspaces>3573</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:version>12.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <style> <!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face {font-family:Cambria; panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4; mso-font-charset:0; mso-generic-font-family:auto; mso-font-pitch:variable; mso-font-signature:3 0 0 0 1 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal {mso-style-parent:""; margin:0in; margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:Cambria; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;} @page Section1 {size:8.5in 11.0in; margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; mso-header-margin:.5in; mso-footer-margin:.5in; mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 {page:Section1;} --> </style> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">I just put down a book.<span style=""> </span>This is a normal thing, I do it probably a hundred times a day without thinking about it, but this time was significant for two reasons.<span style=""> </span>First, I was crying.<span style=""> </span>Well, sobbing a little.<span style=""> </span>The second is that this book was brought to me by a student.<span style=""> </span>I sat on the couch, tears pouring down my face, chest hitching, face contorted as I read the last ten pages, fervently hoping my husband would not walk by, knowing that I was powerless to stop whether he did or not.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">My student, a girl in my first period class, announced to me that she had “the best book ever” for me to read.<span style=""> </span>It was her favorite book, she explained, so favored that the binding had broken, separating it into halves. <span style=""> </span>I was amazed when she brought Searching for David’s Heart, by Cherie Bennett, in the next day, not only because she remembered, but because she was willing to trust me with a treasure.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This got me to thinking about when I was in college, getting ready to begin Junior Field Experience, and we had a speaker come in.<span style=""> </span>An elementary school teacher, she came in to explain to us the dangers and pitfalls of showing too much of ourselves to our students.<span style=""> </span>I don’t mean cleavage and leg, but she told us things like not to wear a crucifix necklace if we were Catholic so that we would not be criticized for attempting to sway students to a certain faith or not to show allegiance to one political party.<span style=""> </span>She also told us that under no circumstance should we hug or touch a student at all – even if they were crying – because this could give the appearance of impropriety.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What?</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If one of my students is crying, I am not supposed to hug or reach out in any way?</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If one of my students just got accepted to a college they never dreamed of being able to get into, no hugs of joy and pride?</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“NO,” she said, emphatically and unequivocally.<span style=""> </span>No.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I started to think maybe teaching wasn’t for me.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now I am so happy that I finished, that I get to teach.<span style=""> </span>Each one of my classes is a microcosm, a community that laughs, learns, sometimes cries, but, most importantly, shares at least part of themselves with the rest of us.<span style=""> </span>I have my critics who say that my non-traditional methods are bunk, that when you walk past my room, kids are either reading, working on laptops, doing group activities, or some combination of the three – you never see me actually teaching anything.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /><span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And they’re right.<span style=""> </span>I don’t stand up there and blather on, showing the kids how very much I know about literature and history.<span style=""> </span>Because that’s not the point – the point is for them to discover, unearth for themselves and possibly find a passion or a truth.<span style=""> </span>The point is for them to be given opportunities to figure out how to work with other people, how to find ways and paths and openings, to be creative and to have pride in what they have done.<span style=""> </span>The point is for me to support them, to start them off and help them along the way, not be the center of attention.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I will never forget one student crying as she read the end of a novel, or when a student struggled with making a college choice, fearing alienating her mother, or putting on prom and the senior trip, going to Washington DC … the memories are crowding into this paragraph like kids tumbling through the turnstiles into Disneyland, too many to list here.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But I will go in tomorrow and tell my student how her treasured book made me cry, citing exactly what parts did me, and I will probably tear up, and she will probably hug me. <span style=""> </span>Appearances be damned, I will hug her right back.</p><p class="MsoNormal">
<br /></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For more Spins on appearances, head over to <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/2010/04/spin-cycle-is-it-really-all-about-the-looks.html">Sprite’s Keeper</a>!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-26259836636548945342010-03-28T15:44:00.000-07:002010-03-28T16:21:27.300-07:00Easter, Jett, and My Dad.<a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/">The Spin</a> this week is supposed to be your favorite post, your best post, of the ones you have already done. The key word there is "supposed." This is a new post, but, in the spirit of Easter and new beginnings, I am choosing this as the best one.<br /><br />When my father died in October, my life went into a tailspin that I truly never saw coming. I new he was ill, I knew he would die soon, but I was totally unprepared for the impact this would have on my life. It sounds so stupid to say that, because it's my DAD for goodness sake, of course it's going to have a huge impact, but I really was blindsided. This is why I have not blogged - I simply could not.<br /><br />I grew up riding, showing, and eventually training horses. My dad was such a part of that, always not only supporting me, but working side by side with me, so much so that horses and my dad were interwoven and inseparable. I think it was harder to deal with his death because I didn't have any horses - there wasn't any creature who was part of that connection that I could lean my face against and cry until I couldn't cry anymore.<br /><br />A few weeks ago, my best friend asked me to stop by her classroom on my prep period, she had something she wanted to show me. I had no idea she was going to show me this:<br /><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S6_cm7grV0I/AAAAAAAAARU/fe2I_biGjew/s1600/jett.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S6_cm7grV0I/AAAAAAAAARU/fe2I_biGjew/s320/jett.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453820235136849730" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Jett.<br /><br />Look at that face. Is your heart melting? Mine did.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She explained that he needed a "retirement home." Plenty healthy enough to ride, he just couldn't be shown anymore, and his fabulous owner, Teri, needed a haven for him. MC thought of me. She was there when I couldn't have my last horse anymore (I hurt my back, herniated my L5 disc). She knew how after the physical therapy I was so terrified I wouldn't be able to ride again, and the absolute joy when I could. Most of all, she knew how much I missed it, how I had an empty space.<br /></div></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S6_cR_s3ruI/AAAAAAAAARM/ADrdPVB7jmk/s1600/JettandMaggie.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S6_cR_s3ruI/AAAAAAAAARM/ADrdPVB7jmk/s320/JettandMaggie.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453819875484479202" border="0" /></a><br />Thank you, MC and Teri, for my new beginning.<br /><br /><br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S6_cHJUHdhI/AAAAAAAAARE/yDh4ajborxA/s1600/Jett2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S6_cHJUHdhI/AAAAAAAAARE/yDh4ajborxA/s320/Jett2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453819689086449170" border="0" /></a><br />So I am back, a little wobbly, but the emotional bruises are healing. I am slowly but surely pulling my life back together, and this guy is helping me along wonderfully.Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-57709544766940341402010-01-23T16:41:00.000-08:002010-01-23T17:15:53.382-08:00Three Girls, Nine Hundred Children, and Unsatisfactory Macaroni<div style="text-align: center;">Two very close friends of mine and our nine hundred children went to see Alvin and the Chipmunks and then out to dinner - what fun! We had the entire theater to ourselves which was such a blessing, since we didn't have to shush the children or offend anyone by pushing past them for the eighth trip to the bathroom! Although, it turns out that if you use your cell phone for texting during the movie, even if you are the only ones in the theater, a woman who needs to be introduced to conditioner and Xanax will sharply reprimand you. "Ma'am!" she snapped, "there are NO cell phones in the theater!" Thank God she stopped us - we were probably interfering with heart monitors or other sensitive medical equipment.<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The restaurant we went to en masse had something interesting on the menu, which I don't remember the exact name, but it was sauteed gnocchi with bruschetta - yum! But then, when it was on the plate in front of me, it just kinda fell flat. I realize I'm about to sound really snotty and self-important, but hey, I gotta be honest. I thought I could do better.<br /><br />Tonight, while I boiled about half a pound of angel hair pasta (I was going to use gnocchi, but my husband's face fell when I said "gnocchi," so I used macaroni instead), I took a sirloin steak and cut it into thin strips. Then I smashed the heck out of the strips with this:<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S1uXt26ZlgI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/6mdUVoyRSgI/s1600-h/meatbasher.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S1uXt26ZlgI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/6mdUVoyRSgI/s320/meatbasher.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430100589815633410" border="0" /></a><br />Then, I cut the strips into bite-sized pieces, and tossed them with a mixture of searing flour, garlic powder, and cayenne.<br /><br />I coated my cast iron frying pan with a few turns of vegetable oil, and fried my little strips of deliciousness quickly, scooping them out medium to medium-rare and tossing them onto my mound of cooked and drained macaroni waiting in the pot.<br /><br />When all the strips were done and accounted for, I dashed a little Worchestershire Sauce and some beef broth into the pan, scraping up all the wonderful browned bits stuck to the bottom. Then, I dumped in about two cups of bruschetta. Ohhh my.<br /><br />I tossed it all together, topped it with some Parmigiano Reggiano, and ended up with this:<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S1uXlBO2A6I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Px-nNpf4vd4/s1600-h/finishedproduct.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S1uXlBO2A6I/AAAAAAAAAQ0/Px-nNpf4vd4/s320/finishedproduct.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430100437966914466" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">Please, Sir, Allow Me Pasta<br /><br />1 pound sirloin, cut into strips and pounded thin<br />1/2 c searing flour<br />1/2 teaspoon garlic powder<br />1/8 teaspoon cayenne pepper<br />oil for sauteeing<br />2 teaspoons worchestershire sauce<br />1/2 cup beef broth<br />2 cups bruschetta<br />parmigiano reggiano to taste<br /></div></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-54069051081344302662010-01-06T03:05:00.000-08:002010-01-06T03:12:20.805-08:00Wordless Wednesday #14<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Outside ...</span></span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S0Rv3w7sCnI/AAAAAAAAAQs/BWD7Du6Uh1Q/s1600-h/DSCF3079.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S0Rv3w7sCnI/AAAAAAAAAQs/BWD7Du6Uh1Q/s320/DSCF3079.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423582855079660146" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Inside ...</span></span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S0Ru6SYi1qI/AAAAAAAAAQk/A0WGa1ULzlA/s1600-h/mms_picture-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/S0Ru6SYi1qI/AAAAAAAAAQk/A0WGa1ULzlA/s320/mms_picture-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5423581798907172514" border="0" /></a>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-48842650343519651002009-12-31T18:24:00.000-08:002009-12-31T18:53:23.460-08:00Propane, septic, and speeding tickets."Alright," I thought, "Game ON, 2010, GAME ON." Gritting my teeth, I planned to write down my weight every morning, get up 20 precious minutes early so that I could Tread on the Mill and Boost My Metabolism, and keep a *faithful* journal about what I ate. I scheduled days to blog. I figured out ways to save money. I was SET I had a PLAN and I had resolved on how to resolve to be a better me.<br /><br />Then the mail came.<br /><br />Let me say first that this month has been a tough one. Christmas, for one, the first without my dad. And, even though Christmas is wonderful, it is expensive, but hey, ok. Two weeks before Christmas my husband had to buy a new truck (new to us, but still), since his simply wasn't going to pass the Nazi Regime Inspection. I have passed the edict that none in the household shall say the payment aloud. Saying aloud makes it real. But I still smiled and gritted my teeth and determined to keep track of what I had resolved to do.<br /><br />Two days before Christmas, well into the evening, my husband looks at me and says "oh SHIT I forgot to call for propane. Hon, can you do that tomorrow?" Two. Days. Four hundred dollars for *some* propane, not coming close to filling the tank. "Look," the children whispered to each other, "she smiles but can't talk while she does. It's creepin' me out, man." <br /><br />The day after Christmas, all the drains in our house simply go on strike - nothing will drain. Um, what? It turns out the septic tank is full. *blink* That can happen? Why yes, it can. And to have it drained, which is just as disgusting and malodorous as the picture your imagination is painting right now, costs 250 dollars. I now twitch when I smile.<br /><br />Now, the mail.<br /><br />In the mail is a speeding ticket. The state of Arizona insists that my husband was speeding "approximately" 14 miles per hour over the limit. I must include here that I told my husband that Arizona brooked no nonsense when it came to speeding, from the mobile speed traps, the 8 million patrol cars, and the (this is the important part) fixed cameras on intersection lights. "It must not be me!" he exclaimed. Then he looked on page two, on which there is are pictures of the car coming and going. There is also a picture of the license plate, and a remarkably clear picture of my husband driving. I am so proud that only ONE of the "I told you to slow down"s jostling at the back of my clenched teeth manages to bolt free, and that the "I told you so" did <span style="font-style: italic;">not have a single</span> "you stupid son-of-a-bitch" <span style="font-style: italic;">attached</span>. Especially when he read the part about having 30 days to pay $254.00.<br /><br />Ah, sweet Jesus.<br /><br />My new resolve? Besides trying to make it through January without having to eat the dog or sell one of the children for gas money? I really am resolving to be a healthier me, a better me, but now I have added: when I speak, I will be heard. After all, it seems to be expensive to not listen.<br /><br />For more resolution, head over to <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/">Sprite's Keeper</a>.Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-65292190391709257592009-11-23T16:39:00.000-08:002009-11-24T15:32:13.164-08:00Silver Linings. They don't come cheap.A few weeks ago, one of my students piped up in class about hating her mom. From the look on her face, she wasn't kidding, not even a little bit. I said something along the lines of "but it's your <span style="font-style: italic;">mom</span>," but that only increased the vehemence. Her mom wasn't nice, her mom was awful, her mom was <span style="font-weight: bold;">wretched</span>. "Whoa down a minute," I said. I had a mom I could not stand, a mom who did not understand me, a mom who disliked me right back. So much so that I moved across the country when the opportunity came. Then she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease. My sister told me that several times a day she would go looking for me in the backyard, towards the barns, calling my name, bewildered and worried when I didn't show up. By then it was too late for "I'm sorry" and "I love you," I told my student. "That's so sad," she said, her eyes tearing up. "Then don't let it happen to you," I said. "You have no idea when that rug is going to be pulled out from under you. When she's gone, she is gone."<br /><br />I am so very grateful that when my father died on Halloween of this year, I had made regular phone calls home, I had sent my dad pictures of the kids and the chickens, and that I ended every conversation, voice, email, or paper, with "I love you."<br /><br />I am grateful that my book club pooled their money and sent me home just a few months before he died - that week with him and the rest of my family was one of the best in my entire life. I'm getting old, so that's really saying something. Those memories, so sweet and fresh, are like soft pillows to lay my head down on for just a bit.<br /><br />I am grateful that when I was home for my dad's funeral, I had opportunities to reconnect with friends: Bill and Susan, who made me laugh so hard my sides ached for days; Debbie, who is a slice of home, a connection to what I thought was lost; and Matt, whose family, love, and faith rocked something very deep inside me.<br /><br />I am grateful for my family: for Laura, who took care of home - and learned that it was no easy task :o) - I was so relieved to be able to know that the Nut was taken care of with love; for my sister and brothers, who shouldered this grief with me; for Dena making me feel loved; and for my husband. I began life with four parents, two birth and two adoptive, and now they are all gone. He has been my rudder; without him, I would be lost.<br /><br />But most of all, I am grateful to know that I have been truly blessed and still am, to be surrounded by family, co-workers, and fabulous friends who are simply the best people on the planet.<br /><br />I miss my dad, but I am so grateful I had one as wonderful as him.<br /><br />For more Spins on gratitude, head over to <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/">Sprite's Keeper</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SwszFSWkuBI/AAAAAAAAAQY/wX1wp3D1peo/s1600/CIMG0699.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SwszFSWkuBI/AAAAAAAAAQY/wX1wp3D1peo/s320/CIMG0699.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407471943507294226" border="0" /></a>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-51165915681663713712009-11-10T17:42:00.000-08:002009-11-10T17:44:31.103-08:00Wordless Wednesday #13<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SvoW9EQsxBI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/OScCDddcSlQ/s1600-h/DSCF2836.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SvoW9EQsxBI/AAAAAAAAAQQ/OScCDddcSlQ/s320/DSCF2836.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402655941355947026" border="0" /></a>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-4323369442086227412009-10-22T16:56:00.000-07:002009-10-22T17:57:12.613-07:00So Darn Cute<div style="text-align: center;">I just love this picture of the Nut:<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SuDynRl1yrI/AAAAAAAAAQI/q7Su4k2oKd8/s1600-h/DSCF2392_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SuDynRl1yrI/AAAAAAAAAQI/q7Su4k2oKd8/s320/DSCF2392_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395579110140791474" border="0" /></a><br />And, I just love my immensely wonderful friend, Katie, who happens to be an incredibly <a id="aptureLink_GMivGt3GoS" href="http://www.kmihalakphotography.net/index2.php">talented photographer.</a><br /><br />Add the two together and you get this:<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SuDyClEV3ZI/AAAAAAAAAQA/MJ-t4B3KYS4/s1600-h/CIMG0777.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SuDyClEV3ZI/AAAAAAAAAQA/MJ-t4B3KYS4/s320/CIMG0777.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395578479713836434" border="0" /></a><br />Yes. She put my picture on this purse.<br /><br />Here's a closer look:<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SuDxttdnoGI/AAAAAAAAAP4/9jxVEDboQyc/s1600-h/CIMG0778.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SuDxttdnoGI/AAAAAAAAAP4/9jxVEDboQyc/s320/CIMG0778.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395578121190088802" border="0" /></a><br />Want one of your own? <a id="aptureLink_GibYXdOlMq" href="http://www.kmihalakphotography.net/index2.php">Go visit my friend.</a> Don't be nervous, she's awfully nice. <br /></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-35237932384582061322009-10-20T17:49:00.001-07:002009-10-22T17:06:55.078-07:00Wordless Wednesday #12<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/St5a-ejieVI/AAAAAAAAAPg/Rinj0GKDo0c/s1600-h/CIMG0751.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/St5a-ejieVI/AAAAAAAAAPg/Rinj0GKDo0c/s320/CIMG0751.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394849433036945746" border="0" /></a><br />Here is a jar of bay leaves I recently bought.<br />Yes, I realize the picture is a little blurry.<br /><br />But here is the confusing part, when I opened the lid and saw this:<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/St5cI1E_46I/AAAAAAAAAPw/hRla82nPVkY/s1600-h/CIMG0753.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/St5cI1E_46I/AAAAAAAAAPw/hRla82nPVkY/s320/CIMG0753.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394850710393185186" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">um, what?<br /><br />Please excuse my double-jointed, alien thumb.<br /></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-57887534501991458212009-10-18T14:17:00.000-07:002009-10-19T16:51:35.028-07:00Sister, Your Butt is Crushing Me.<div style="text-align: center;">Remember in <a id="aptureLink_Giop1vJcAd" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r4aor3FulOU">Lilo and Stitch</a>, when Lilo says to Nani: "You rotten sister! Your butt is <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">crushing</span> me." That's how I feel lately, like I am being crushed by the world's butt. I am sure the world means well, but, um, <span style="font-style: italic;">I am still </span><span style="font-style: italic;">being</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span><span style="font-style: italic;">crus</span><span style="font-style: italic;">hed</span>. By school, by my house, by football season, and, the <span style="font-style: italic;">c</span><span style="font-style: italic;">oup de gr<span style="font-family:georgia;">a</span>ce</span>, archery season.<br /><br />It is my favorite time of year now, and the leaves are everywhere, so gorgeous and whispery and blanketing the yard I should have mowed weeks ago. A total win-win.<br /><br />Fall is also my favorite time to eat. I love to pull out the cast-iron dutch oven and simmer some chili, slow-cook a roast, stew up some ... stew. This week's <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/2009/10/spin-cycle-make-your-mouth-water.html">Spin Cycle</a> is all about sharing recipes, and even though sharing is an awkward and frustrating concept for me to grasp (despite the intervention of my parents, teachers, and angry bystanders), I am setting the table for more than just me. Tonight I am setting it for Stuffed Pepper Soup.<br /><br />I love this soup! My kids love it, my husband tolerates it, but I love it.<br /><br />First, brown up one pound or more of hamburger with a chopped sweet onion and two cloves of garlic, minced.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz5si1lj-I/AAAAAAAAAPQ/LJugLfCQhYc/s1600-h/CIMG0745.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz5si1lj-I/AAAAAAAAAPQ/LJugLfCQhYc/s320/CIMG0745.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394460997344137186" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Then, deglaze the pan with a few rounds of Worcestershire sauce. I had to go pull the bottle out of the refrigerator to see how to spell it.<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz4fmJlknI/AAAAAAAAAPI/2th6fRgcuTI/s1600-h/CIMG0746.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 151px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz4fmJlknI/AAAAAAAAAPI/2th6fRgcuTI/s320/CIMG0746.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394459675383403122" border="0" /></a>Here are the last of the garden's jalapenos.<br /><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz6q9KnfhI/AAAAAAAAAPY/UYfIC9nkXP4/s1600-h/CIMG0749.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 169px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz6q9KnfhI/AAAAAAAAAPY/UYfIC9nkXP4/s320/CIMG0749.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394462069563555346" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Throw in three or four chopped jalapenos, a healthy shake or two of crushed red peppers, salt, Italian seasoning to taste, two bay leaves, and a pinch of sugar.<br />The sugar helps it from getting all acidic and bitter. <br /><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz3xH8bWfI/AAAAAAAAAPA/FxIvtB1UZYk/s1600-h/CIMG0754.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz3xH8bWfI/AAAAAAAAAPA/FxIvtB1UZYk/s320/CIMG0754.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394458877001161202" border="0" /></a><br />Add a carton of beef broth, a bottle/large can of tomato juice, and a can of tomato sauce. If you like things chunky, add a can of diced tomatoes. Throw in two large green peppers, chopped. Half of these peppers are from the freezer, so that's why they look a little strange.<br /></div><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz0wGXoJFI/AAAAAAAAAOg/gl3g4f3EGUs/s1600-h/CIMG0767.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 193px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz0wGXoJFI/AAAAAAAAAOg/gl3g4f3EGUs/s320/CIMG0767.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394455560863622226" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">While this is simmering, fire up the rice cooker and steam up any kind of rice you prefer (I prefer Jasmine).<br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz1g6Y6g-I/AAAAAAAAAOo/Uw1t6yp04QE/s1600-h/CIMG0760.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 208px; height: 156px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz1g6Y6g-I/AAAAAAAAAOo/Uw1t6yp04QE/s320/CIMG0760.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394456399461385186" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz2UokTN4I/AAAAAAAAAOw/uQYB-ZCeBiU/s1600-h/CIMG0761.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 157px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz2UokTN4I/AAAAAAAAAOw/uQYB-ZCeBiU/s320/CIMG0761.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394457288030500738" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz25ncPENI/AAAAAAAAAO4/7roX3_o-iRk/s1600-h/CIMG0763.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 210px; height: 157px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz25ncPENI/AAAAAAAAAO4/7roX3_o-iRk/s320/CIMG0763.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394457923383398610" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Look at how cool this is: There is a removable basin, so when you lift the lid and all the steam runs off the lid, it goes into the basin.<br /><br /><br /><br />I like to keep my rice and soup separate, since I don't like it when the rice gets all mushy the next day, so when I serve it, I scoop some rice into the bowl and ladle over some steamy, wonderful soup.<br /> <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz0DadKyfI/AAAAAAAAAOY/VLDYNZG6eio/s1600-h/CIMG0770.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Stz0DadKyfI/AAAAAAAAAOY/VLDYNZG6eio/s320/CIMG0770.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394454793161460210" border="0" /></a> Mmmmmmm.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/StzzEMM-tiI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/K6SQUI5XmX0/s1600-h/CIMG0772.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/StzzEMM-tiI/AAAAAAAAAOQ/K6SQUI5XmX0/s320/CIMG0772.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394453707003704866" border="0" /></a>No worries about mushy rice if there's any soup left the next day ...<br /></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-66464478037518969042009-10-13T18:22:00.000-07:002009-10-22T17:06:38.360-07:00Wordless Wednesday #11<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/StUoLwGwtNI/AAAAAAAAAOI/OxEaeZodyOc/s1600-h/DSCF2395_1.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/StUoLwGwtNI/AAAAAAAAAOI/OxEaeZodyOc/s400/DSCF2395_1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392260311202968786" border="0" /></a>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-60787548226879832472009-09-22T18:49:00.000-07:002009-10-22T17:06:21.552-07:00Wordless Wednesday #10<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Srl_MxbwMAI/AAAAAAAAAN4/w4vi6I9toUk/s1600-h/nutnegg.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Srl_MxbwMAI/AAAAAAAAAN4/w4vi6I9toUk/s400/nutnegg.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384474686903037954" border="0" /></a><br />The Peanut with the first egg laid by our chickens.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Srl_yCevpOI/AAAAAAAAAOA/n1JipjZZCyQ/s1600-h/CIMG0727.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Srl_yCevpOI/AAAAAAAAAOA/n1JipjZZCyQ/s400/CIMG0727.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384475327134147810" border="0" /></a><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, not this one. He's the rooster.<br /></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-86285124765793722452009-08-23T08:14:00.000-07:002009-08-23T18:00:37.472-07:00Claws, fondant, and the Un-Loved Middle Child UPDATEDI tried something new today and I think I may have pulled at least one muscle in my hand.<br /><br />Wait. That makes this post sound way more fun than it really is.<br /><br />I tried covering my daughter's (the ULMC) birthday cake with fondant. I hate saying "fondant," since it's nearly impossible for me to say it without sounding like I am poorly impersonating a British butler. Fohndahnt. Plus it had a kind of nasty feel to it, like if Play-doh and frosting had a baby, it would be fondant.<br /><br />Here are the results:<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SpFfA04qp2I/AAAAAAAAANw/rL9_j7jhvYQ/s1600-h/CIMG0675.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SpFfA04qp2I/AAAAAAAAANw/rL9_j7jhvYQ/s400/CIMG0675.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373180298230671202" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />It's a birthday carrot cake (the ULMC's favorite) from <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/tasty-kitchen/recipes/desserts/birthday-carrot-cake/">Tasty Kitchen</a>, an offshoot from the Pioneer Woman. The cake itself was very easy to make and smells heavenly - I can't wait to try it tonight!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SpFd75VNBSI/AAAAAAAAANo/01tfbHQRlgk/s1600-h/CIMG0673.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SpFd75VNBSI/AAAAAAAAANo/01tfbHQRlgk/s400/CIMG0673.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373179114013132066" border="0" /></a><br />It's not nearly as pretty, smooth, and perfect as I imagined it would be, so no quitting my day job. Plus, adding the color to the fondant turned my hands into claws. Seriously, I couldn't pick up a pencil for an hour.<br /><br />If this ends up on <a href="http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/">Cake Wrecks</a> I will be <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">crushed</span>.<br /><br />Updated: We ate it and it actually tasted kind of fabulous! Even the ULMC liked it!Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-61916558733834873232009-08-19T04:48:00.001-07:002009-10-22T17:06:04.901-07:00Wordless Wednesday #9<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Sovm-MVanjI/AAAAAAAAANg/mNabTNOwhuA/s1600-h/L1007066-dirty-angel.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Sovm-MVanjI/AAAAAAAAANg/mNabTNOwhuA/s400/L1007066-dirty-angel.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371640936706776626" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This is not my picture - and despite all efforts, I cannot find who took it - but this besmirched angel shifts something inside me.<br /></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-59814802947858547702009-08-12T08:01:00.001-07:002009-10-22T17:05:10.448-07:00Wordless Wednesday #8<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SoLZjmzaZBI/AAAAAAAAANY/l7Jho2KsssQ/s1600-h/CIMG0719.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SoLZjmzaZBI/AAAAAAAAANY/l7Jho2KsssQ/s400/CIMG0719.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369092911513887762" border="0" /></a>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-50965543696444942402009-08-09T11:04:00.000-07:002009-08-09T11:11:53.199-07:00Chalkboards, wheelchairs, and Christian Slater look-alikesThis week's <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/">Spin Cycle</a> challenge is to dredge up the worst post of all, the one that gives you the all-overs when you think about it. I chose this one because it was one of the most awful moments - a moment that gives me the willies when I think about it, which ends up being really, really often since it happened in my classroom. Plus I use words like 'mite' and 'tad,' like I'm an English nanny.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Chalkboards, wheelchairs, and Christian Slater look-alikes.</span></span><br /><br />My classroom was taken over by the uber-geek squad. Seriously, not only were they a computer -installation <span style="font-style: italic;">team</span> of seven, but they even wore matching wind breaker suits. I shit you not. I hadn't even realized that they still even <span style="font-style: italic;">made</span> that material since 1984. Fortunately, one of them looked remarkably like Christian Slater, so I chalked it up as a win.<br /><br />They bustled in, like a swat-team from Revenge of the Nerds, to install my Polyvision board (which is an interactive white board that hooks up to my laptop and I can do all these crazy educational things. oh, um, wait - who's the geek in this story?). I remained at my desk after greeting them, looking all very teacher-busy on my laptop. The plan was to hang the Polyvision board between my two chalkboards, which was really going along very nicely until I noticed that they were NOT HANGING IT LEVEL TO THE CHALKBOARDS. Anyone with a touch of OCD will completely understand my instant stress. So I ask, "Um, excuse me, but could you, like, hang it so it's the same height as the chalkboards?" The ALL turn to stare at me, the only sound the faint rubbing of nylon. "I don't mean to be a bother," I stammer on, "but, um, well, it leaves like a <span style="font-style: italic;">gap."<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>There is a long pause. The Christian Slater's stunt-double takes a breath and slowly, since I am obviously a mite on the slow side, "<span style="font-style: italic;">that's so the handicapped children can reach it."</span><br /><br />"<span style="font-style: italic;">Gegh</span>" is all I can manage. They turn back to their task as I ever so gently put my face upon my desk, remaining prone until I hear the last power drill and extension cord packed away, and the soft rustle of nylon as they softly click the door shut behind their exit.<br /><br />And I wonder why I have yet to win Teacher of the Year.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-58291746715373372842009-08-05T08:47:00.000-07:002009-08-05T08:50:34.825-07:00Spinning the OldiesThis week's <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/2009/07/spin-cycle-digging-for-gold-in-the-archives.html"><span style="font-style: italic;">Spin Cycle</span></a> is to choose an old post - a favorite. This one is actually my first Spin.<br /><br />Go <a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://rikkicarr.blogspot.com/2008/12/good-thing-i-didnt-have-dyson-when-my.html">here</a> to read about why sometimes I guess I should listen to my husband.<br /><br />*sigh*Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-72113377817649835682009-07-25T09:02:00.000-07:002009-07-25T09:19:50.966-07:00TIMMMAY!<div style="text-align: center;">If you watch South Park, you'll know who <a id="aptureLink_q5Yjs4ig0q" href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ThtQTIK3UFw">Timmy</a> is.<br /><br />Here is our Timmy (the yellow (Buff Polish) hen:<br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzDXz_fzwByPWdny-7op9rhjQCqF8glMMDZwPuZ2bqulZeXTi7dT_g0r2GKbp71tqR97YeWgYYmZiHmEbIF5w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-40201025234382962562009-07-22T05:10:00.001-07:002009-10-22T17:04:46.373-07:00Wordless Wednesday #7<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SmcCPO7-3HI/AAAAAAAAANQ/zUiQofs7aso/s1600-h/CIMG0450.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 407px; height: 311px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SmcCPO7-3HI/AAAAAAAAANQ/zUiQofs7aso/s400/CIMG0450.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361256342138838130" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">This was taken on my last trip to the Penn Stater for a conference - I wanted nothing more than to completely ditch my meetings, grab my book and a cup of tea, and spend the afternoon here.<br /></div>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-40504871741359613402009-07-15T04:05:00.000-07:002009-10-22T17:04:16.299-07:00Wordless Wednesday #6<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Sl24YAClqeI/AAAAAAAAANI/F7w3cvV88YI/s1600-h/DSCF2708.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/Sl24YAClqeI/AAAAAAAAANI/F7w3cvV88YI/s400/DSCF2708.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358641854107986402" border="0" /></a>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-8320873980503942822009-07-09T19:37:00.000-07:002009-07-09T19:51:53.365-07:00Spin Cyle: Driving Me CrazyWhen I read the challenge for this week's <a href="http://www.spriteskeeper.com/my_weblog/2009/07/spin-cycle-setting-the-cruise-control-to-take-us-to-friday.html">Spin Cycle</a>, I was immediately laughing, remembering this:<br /><br />I had not been living in the Almost-Great-White-North for very long, and this winter was a doozy! There was just no 'easier way' to go; all the roads were snow-packed and sketchy, making me very nervous. This made me mad at myself for being such a ninny about driving on snow, for cryin' out loud, <span style="font-style: italic;">people do it all the time</span>. And they survive. So I made myself drive like a normal person even though it scared the bejesus out of me to do it.<br /><br />The route to school was full of twists and turns, no berm to speak of, and not a Penn DOT truck to be seen (resulting in no clearing, no salt). Scary, but I had to go to school. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I had to</span>. <br /><br />As I am driving (not creeping - just going a little slow because of the packed snow) and I approaching a sharp curve to the right, a rather large truck comes up fast behind me, and without even a pause, PASSES ME. On snow-packed roads, up a hill, on a blind curve. <span style="font-weight: bold;">I was pissed</span> - if there was a car coming, none of us would have been able to avoid a collision. <span style="font-style: italic;">What if the kids had been in the car?</span> All this flashed through my mind in a split second.<br /><br />So I sped up, just enough to catch him, honked my hard - long and loud enough to get his attention - and flipped him off. <span style="font-weight: bold;">HA!</span><br /><br />Then I noticed something.<br /><br />Something that would normally not be a big deal, but something that turned out to be rather significant in this moment.<br /><br />I was wearing mittens.Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-85187109943966973912009-07-08T11:11:00.000-07:002009-07-08T11:13:04.229-07:00Wordless Wednesday #5 aka Better Late Than Never. Possibly.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SlThlQwMJuI/AAAAAAAAANA/MK_Yp_VAbaU/s1600-h/pirates+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 439px; height: 329px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_6ZNQPKaBc_w/SlThlQwMJuI/AAAAAAAAANA/MK_Yp_VAbaU/s320/pirates+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356153887118862050" border="0" /></a>Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2877978011278238721.post-64277062150326928972009-07-08T09:17:00.001-07:002009-07-08T10:11:05.198-07:00Painting 101 and a great giveaway linkFirst. let me say that I took all kinds of pictures to accompany this post, but my camera just said <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">no</span> to uploading to iPhoto. Just plain <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">no</span>.<br /><br />*sigh*<br /><br />I have some interesting, yet little-known facts about painting a bedroom. I have been excited to do this project for the Peanut and the UMC (Unloved Middle Child), picking out colors and scheming ideas. The Nut wanted a "mermaid princess room" but, instead of being sucked into the Disney vortex of doom, I proposed creating a room for a mermaid princess and she loves that idea. The walls are painted a green color named 'mermaid,' and I intend to dot her ceiling with fake diamonds, pepper her tulle curtains with gems and sea paraphernalia, and create a top to her dresser with the undersides of the little glass doo-dads you put in the bottoms of vases - flat side up. UMC's bedroom is going to be a creamy khaki color called 'cottage' with mauve accents and an idea for a series of collages that I will only be able to explain with pictures. <span style="font-style: italic;">Ahem</span>.<br /><br /><br />As I started painting the ceiling, I though in tweets:<br /><br />rikkifish Roll three: I chose to this *why* again?<br /><br />rikkifish Roll six: oh yeah, <span style="font-style: italic;">this is why painters wear hats</span>.<br /><br />rikkifish Roll 37: I love my children I love my children I will finish this I will finish this<br /><br />The facts I had no idea existed but seriously appear to be true:<br /><br />1. If you are low on heating fuel, be it oil, gas, or wood, simply opening a can of paint raises the temperature of the room you are painting by 20 degrees, despite breezes, cloudy cool weather, or oscillating fans.<br /><br />2. It is grammatically incorrect to use the the phrase "When I paint," either before or after the simple sentence "I will be more careful and not need drop cloths."<br /><br />3. No matter how many rolls of masking tape you buy, you will always be one short.<br /><br />Nikes and a Ponytail is having a <a href="http://nikesandponytails.blogspot.com/2009/07/ginormous-july-giveaway.html">FABULOUS GIVEAWAY</a> - if you go there from here, please tell her so!Rikkihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11889968115671704243noreply@blogger.com1