The Best Soup Recipe in the World

This afternoon, my seven year-old son asked he could make himself a snack.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked.

"Something healthy," he replied.

I gave him a nod of approval.

A few minutes later, the smell of burning fuselage wafted from the kitchen.


Microwaving soup--still in the can--will do that for you.

I caught it just in time.

Our Hotel Staycation

A few weeks ago, I gave my kids pieces of paper and asked them to make lists of things they wanted to do this summer.

Most of the activities had to be crossed off immediately.

"Buying a horse is not an option," I told my daughter.

"Neither is going to Hawaii," I told my son.

"I regret to inform you that you will not be joining your friends at the $300 per week karate camp," I told my other son.

Everyone hated me until I read through all of their lists. Much to my surprise, there was a common denominator. It was a strange request, but one that fit within my budget.

This weekend, we made everyone's dreams come true. Specifically, we spent the night at the hotel down the street.

"This hotel isn't even a resort," my husband said, as we pulled into the parking lot. "It's next to the freeway and it's for business travelers."

"It has a pool and a free continental breakfast," I reminded him.

"But we have a pool and breakfast at our house," he said. The idea of staying at a hotel with children on purpose confused him.

Lest you be overcome with delusions of grandeur similar to my own, here is a brief summary of our evening's activities:

* Filled buckets with ice x 3
* Unfolded sleeper sofa and folded it back up again x 3
* Tried on complimentary shower cap x 3
* Dialed hotel operator x 1
* Fought over piece of hotel stationary and matching envelope: 20 minutes
* Fantasized over possible breakfast offerings: 40 minutes
* Rode the elevator: independently, in small groups, and all together as a family: 75 minutes
* Swam in coveted hotel swimming pool: exactly 7 minutes

It was all very special.

Hope you are having a happy and safe Memorial Day weekend.

On Wednesday afternoon, my husband and I took the kids to the Magic Kingdom. Everything was going great until Splash Mountain broke down...while we were on it.

We were deep inside the fake mountain when it happened. To our left was a large animatronic bear, singing "Zippa-dee-doo-dah." To the right was a rabbit robot wearing overalls and a straw hat.

It could have been worse. I'm not sure how, but it could have been.

After a few seconds, the person sitting next to me tapped my shoulder.

"I have to go to bathroom," he whispered.

The fact that we were floating down a fake river didn't help.

"I've gotta go super bad," he whimpered. He began crossing and uncrossing his legs.

I told him to to close his eyes and not look at the water.

Five minutes later, things began to get desperate. It wasn't a matter of if I was going to be sitting in a puddle of urine (or worse), but when.

By this point, I also wanted to punch the singing bear.

"Hang tight," I told him. "Take deep breaths. You can do this."

After five more minutes had passed, I began to giggle. There was something vaguely amusing about sitting in a hollowed out log next to a child who needed to produce one. There was also something horrifying.
"Please hurry. Please hurry. Please hurry." I hoped that God could hear me over all the singing.

After what seemed like forever, the log jam (pun intended) cleared and we were on our way again. Long story short: he made it. Thankfully.

The young man who helped us off the ride apologized for the technical difficulties. I didn't stop to chat. Instead, I picked up my son and ran.

Looking back, I am filled with sympathy for my son. The experience has left him scarred for life. Or so he claims. I also can't help but feel badly for the ride operator. I was preoccupied, but as I brushed past him, I couldn't help but notice that he was wearing khaki pants and a flannel shirt...that appeared to have been sewn together.

The Highs and Lows of Daily Life with Kids

Yesterday was the best of days and the worst of days.

Best:
I ordered a new sofa back in February. It finally came in and I love it.

Worst:
Before I could spray the sofa down with Scotchgard, one of my kids decided to eat carrots with ranch dressing on it.

I am not at a point where I can post photographs of the sofa's center seat cushion without crying. My husband insists that with enough time, and with the right combination of ingredients, the stain will come out. I have no faith and have already decided to turn my house into a museum and rope off anything that is remotely valuable.

Best:
I spent the hour before the sofa was delivered teaching my older kids how to iron their dad's dress shirts.

Worst:
One of my sons was a little overly enthusiastic about showing off his new skill. He wasn't paying attention and ran the iron over my hand. In response to the pain, I blurted out a bad word and had to forfeit my allowance for the week.

Best:
I got a summons to appear in court for the guy who pulled a gun at my kids' soccer game last month. As most of you know, one of my lifetime goals is to participate in a criminal trial, preferably not my own.

Worst:
The police officer that came to my door told me that the odds of this case going to trial are very slim. Most likely the defendant will strike a plea deal or plead guilty.

This news made me realize that in order to participate in a criminal trial, I might have to go to law school.

My husband said that my desire to be a serial student is not an option.

I Have Been Discovered

I love getting emails from PR reps. Love them! I don't know how I will entertain myself when they stop coming. Over the past few days, I've been invited to peddle organic granola bars, dog food, three addiction recovery books, X-rated silly bands, "the world's first digital golf glove," and some sort of weird can opener.

I am in need of all of these products and thus am taking the invitations very seriously.

The kinds of emails that I like best are written by PR reps who actually read my blog. Like this fellow:

Hi Jana,

I hope you had a great weekend!

My name is Mark and I'm with a promotional product company called X. We have a new custom photo mug that we know you will love.

I think this mug would look perfect with some of those great photographs that you have on your blog. Your photography talent is one of the reasons why we are reaching out to you. Would you be interested in receiving a mug for free?

If you email me a picture and text we'll design a mug for you and mail it to you in the next few days.

Thanks! I look forward to hearing from you!


I knew that it was just a matter of time until the full range of my talents was discovered.

I'm thinking seriously about starting a photography business out of my home. As soon as my awesome eight year-old camera dries out.

Currently, it's buried in a bowl of dried rice. I dropped it into the kitchen sink yesterday when I was washing dishes.

***
Days until school lets out for the summer: 9
Feeling: optimistic

I Threw Away My Keys

Yesterday I threw away my keys. All of them: car, house, church, and a bunch that have been on my key chain forever and open things that I can't remember.

We had just arrived home after soccer practice. My kids were hungry and tired. One was complaining about what I was planning to make for dinner. Another announced that he had a book report due the next day and had no idea where his book was.

I decided that that was as good of time as any to clean out the car. What I found in the cup holders and underneath the seats was truly atrocious: homework pages from September, pieces of paper cups, 5000 pencils, several Matchbox cars, and my daughter's missing lunch box.

I was so irritated that I dumped everything in my arms into the trash can in the garage.

The next morning, I couldn't find my keys. I realized what I had done with them at a particularly unfortunate moment.

I ran outside in a state of harried panic just in time to see the garbage collectors dump the trash can into their truck and drive away.

Sad.

The House Auction

Over the past few weeks, we've caught several cars driving by our house really slowly. When the drivers see us, they get skittish and speed away.

Understandably, this all has made us sort of nervous and pretty much convinced that an organized crime ring is casing our house.

As it turns out, people have been casing our house...not because they want to rob it but because they want to buy it.

Yesterday we got a letter in the mail from an attorney's office in Tallahassee informing us that our house is going up for public auction in two weeks.

Me no likey Bank of America.

We bought this house via a short sale from BoA back in December. Based on the content of the letter and to whom it was addressed (the home's former owners), we figured out pretty quickly that the bank didn't tell all of the necessary parties that they sold the property. Hence, the auction.

Bank of America assured us that they'll get everything cleared up before the auction date. Mmm hmmm. I totally believe them.

What should I wear to the auction? Of course I'm going to attend. With all my screaming kids.

Mommy Math

I was driving through my neighborhood this afternoon when something out of the ordinary caught my eye. Or rather a lot of somethings.

I slammed on the brakes.

"Are those our balls?" I asked my offspring. I pointed to the eight objects floating in the middle of a large retention pond in the distance.

I sent one of my kids on a scouting mission. He came back with a Duke basketball under his arm.

"Every ball we own is out there," I said matter-of-factly. "How in the world did they get there?"

No one could explain the specifics. All they knew was that if you shoved an object down the storm drain that it would eventually end up in the pond behind the neighbors' houses.

"Everyone owes me a million dollars," I said.

That should cover the replacement cost of the balls, plus pain and suffering.

The Medieval Conference

I just got back from a medieval literature conference. Instead of telling you how it went, I'll just stick with the facts:

* The conference was held in a college dorm in Kalamazoo, Michigan.

* There were 2,000 college professors in attendance. And a handful of nuns.

* On Saturday night, there was a dance.

* I slept in a college dorm room. On an army cot.

* I forgot to pack deodorant.

* I went out to dinner with some fancy professors and was offered what appeared to be canned cat food. I learned later that it was cat food. Fancy professors call it fois gras.



* No one wanted to see the pictures that I took of the nuns.

* Most of the people in attendance also forgot to pack deodorant.

* None of the buildings were air-conditioned.

* Most people seemed genuinely disappointed that I only had four children. They had heard that I had eight.

* My flight to Michigan was delayed 3 hours. We sat on the runway for an additional three hours on my flight home.

* Like everyone on my return flight, the mom and little boy sitting next to me were headed to Disney World. While we were waiting for our plane to take off, the mom showed me how she had grouped and color-coded all of the rides on each of the theme park maps.

* Instead of sitting together on the plane, the above family split up so that their two children could each have a window seat. The dad and son #2 sat eight rows in back of us, but spent most of the flight standing in the aisle next to my seat.

* After listening to the mom and son #1 sing "It's A Small World" (in rounds) for fifteen minutes, I told them that the ride is closed for renovations. This isn't true, but at the time I really wished it was.

I'm glad to be home.

Soccer Mom 101

Today included one of those magical afternoons where my boys had a baseball game at one place and my daughter had soccer practice at the same time in another.

We arrived at the baseball field 15 minutes before the opening pitch.

"I am amazing," I said as I patted myself on my back.

That was before Cortlen and Kellen opened up their baseball bags.

"There's nothing in here!" they cried in unison. That wasn't exactly true. One of the bags contained a cracked water bottle and several candy wrappers.

"Where are your baseball gloves and hats?" I shrieked. "And cups?"

Cortlen remembered that he put his baseball glove under the bathroom sink for safe keeping. Kellen had no idea what I was talking about.

"Am I supposed to be wearing cleats?" My daughter picked the perfect time to mention that she had forgotten her soccer shoes at home.

Thirty minutes later, we arrived back at the baseball field with 2 baseball gloves, 1 baseball cap, and 1 cup. The rest of the gear is officially AWOL.

We had to flip coins to see who got to wear the hat. The winner gloated and pranced onto the field. The loser told me that he was never speaking to me again.

My daughter interrupted the diatribe to make a confession. She was really sorry, but she left her soccer cleats on top of the dryer back at the house. While the rest of us were running around like crazy trying to find the missing sports gear, she was petting the cat.

Fish Killers

Kellen's fish tank has been unoccupied for almost a year. On Saturday night, we handed over the space to three new tenants: Optimus Prime 1, Optimus Prime 2, and Optimus Prime 3.

Creativity isn't our strong suit.

All of the tenants were alive when we purchased them at the pet store. They were still alive when we put them into the tank an hour later.

Unfortunately, none of the tenants made it through the night.

By the time we made it to the kids' bedroom, the funeral program had already been put together.

For inexplicable reasons, the corpses were laid out in a row on the bathroom counter.

"Flush 'em," I ordered.

My husband would have none of it. Instead, he wrapped the bodies in paper towels, stuffed them in plastic ziploc sandwich bags, and shoved them into the freezer.

"You don't expect me to try to cook them, do you?" I asked nervously.

My husband has deluded himself into thinking that he is going to take the $2.00 creatures back to the store and they will give him new ones.

"There's a three day guarantee," he said.

"They all died at the same time," I reminded him. All fingers pointed to us as the murderers.

My husband looked out the window.

The truth comes slow to some.

Mother's Day Compliments

Mmm....

Hmm....

Ugh...

The Guinea Pig

My husband and I just got back from Peru late last night. While we were there, I ate a guinea pig.

I ponied up and ordered the local delicacy for two reasons: a) Consuming any type of rodent equals instant popularity with two seven year-old boys b) It gives me something to insert into the awkward silences at dinner parties.

"By a show of hands, who else in the room has eaten a household pet?"

If I ever get invited to a party, I'm going to be very popular.

As predicted, my offspring bowed down in homage when I showed them the pictures:






I was also not surprised by the reaction of the ladies at the bus stop. These women, who already held me in high regard, now think that I'm the coolest thing on the planet.

"If what your son told my son is true," one mom said after marching up to me, "That's revolting."

I smiled and bared my teeth, trying hard to imitate the expression of the critter in my belly.

"That is totally disgusting," added another mom said. Her lip curled up around her teeth like a horse.

I have to admit that I felt slightly annoyed. I didn't remember asking either of these ladies for their opinions. My husband told me that things like this happen when you are (in)famous.

"I told my whole class what you did," Kellen said proudly.

"That wasn't necessary," I replied, uneasily.

"Can we get a guinea pig for a pet?" he continued.

"No." Suddenly, my good idea seemed like a bad one.

"Oh right," he said. "You might eat it."

Suspicion confirmed.