Thansgiving Dreams… and the Reality, which was pretty funny

November 29, 2015November 29, 2015 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

The Thanksgiving Plan

I would drive down to the greater Charleston area with Scout Son for a fun-filled family-by-choice “weekend.” I would get there early Tuesday evening, allowing for some writer-only time before the kids all came back from school in New York that night. We’d stay through Sunday noon, or until the end of time, whichever came last.

On Wednesday, after a good night’s sleep, I’d get up early and take my time making Pumpkin Cheesecake with Sour Cream Bourbon topping. We’d all take turns in the kitchen and the pre-event cooking would all be done in a leisurely fashion.

Thursday morning would be bright, shiny and relaxed, as Captain Thanksgiving took care of the turkey, potatoes and gravy.

Then, a weekend of holiday hoopla, online shopping, and torturing each other with family ornament craft time, much gaming, and a lot of eating.

The Thanksgiving Reality

One week before Thanksgiving: Get two-month temp assignment. No one mentions the upcoming holiday, or the belief that anyone would be willing to change travel plans to meet their needs. Work schedule bartering takes place, with me offering the soul of my next born child (I might have neglected to mention an inability for there to be a next born child) in exchange for working as late as necessary to meet a given goal on Tuesday and not being there on Wednesday.

Scout Son and I pack the car up, and seven hours after I planned on leaving, we hit the road. The race is on. Who will get to Charleston first: those of us driving, or the kids flying in from Rochester, NY? According to the Google Maps, we will win by ten minutes. But as every self-respecting speed demon knows, Google underestimates times. I feel good about my odds.

Scout Son drives as far as South Carolina’s Welcome Center. When I take over, something insane happens. Google announces there’s a bit of a backup on I-26 in Columbia, and no lie, I drive for an hour at higher than approved speeds (my Kia is the Millennium Falcon) only to have the Google tell me that I’m now 3.5 hours away instead of 2 hours away. Um, WTF?

For once in my life, I do not ignore the Google when it suggests I might want to consider an alternate route that will save me 1.75 hours, and… it is right. I win the race, but just barely, and not by the “I will be there before you get to the Rochester airport” amount I’d been hoping for.

Wednesday does start out early, as Captain Thanksgiving has to go to work for the morning. Well-rested is not a word that enters our vocabulary as we all had to do the catching up we’d planned to do earlier, and nobody went to bed before 2 a.m. With four-ish hours of sleep, we are now downing pots of life-saving coffee, and completely ignoring the plan.

Thus, at 3:00 that afternoon, there is a mad rush of four cooks into the kitchen because we’ve finally realized if we don’t get our $#@! together (yes, I had an opportunity to swear in the blog and passed it up), there will be no Thanksgiving feast. Oops.

Why have pie when there's cheesecake? — Why have pie when there’s cheesecake?

Kitchen hilarity occurs. Yes, there might have been a wee bit of Jameson’s involved. Some whiskey for the cheesecake (don’t start – yes, I know whiskey and bourbon are different; whiskey’s better), some whiskey for the cooks.

Now, we come to the true holiday crisis. We’ve put together the breakfast casserole, but egads! It has to sit on the counter and “rest” (again, WTF?) for thirty minutes before you can bake it for an hour, and there’s one oven, and one turkey and it’s 24.5 pounds so it’s not going to just cook up in an hour.

Here’s where I make my mistake. I look at my dog. “You know, Princess Cassie of the Weak Bladder always gets up at 6ish to go out. I’m going to be down here anyway, so I could pull the casserole out when I bring her down. Then it’d be ready for cooking when we need it at 7:00.”

Much celebrating in the kitchen, and some more tequila/whiskey/wine, depending on who’s glass you sniff. (Julia Child was a wise woman.). Another late night of games, conversation and hilarity ensues.

6:00 Thanksgiving Morning: Princess Cassie snores on as my alarm goes off. You’ve got to be kidding. The one day I have to get up and she ignores me completely. I strongly consider putting her in a hamster suit and sending her back to the college dorm with Snarky Daughter. Stumble downstairs, pull out casserole, write time on aluminum foil (every minute counts when your casserole is resting), and fall back into bed.

6:33 Princess Cassie stretches, and comes over to nose me awake. Evil Cow from Hell. Fantastic! Now I’m awake – again – so might as well go downstairs, start the coffee, put the well-rested casserole (glad one of us is well-rested) into the oven and work out.

8:34 Captain Thanksgiving is wrestling a turkey in the sink. Bacteria-infused water has sloshed everywhere during the Turkey Tsunami of 2015. Dogs and cats are all about helping clean up the bacteria water, while humans practice their slip and slide skills in the kitchen. Points to the turkey for a last ditch attempt to save itself.

2:15 The table is set. Many platters of holiday goodness have appeared on the table. I am handed the most important bowl of all: the ton of mashed potatoes, now referred to as pota-tons! Yes, we are an amusing group, and no, for once, there wasn’t a large amount of alcohol involved in our humor.

I was told, “Please go put these on the table.” Small problem. There’s no room on the table, which is now listing under the weight of 24 pounds of turkey, five gallons of gravy, and fifteen side dishes. Then, I see it. The perfect empty space… and drop the serving bowl of mashed potatoes on my plate.

Let the mashed potato wars begin. I’m not sure who thought it was a good idea to have me sit next to my arch nemesis Potato Guy, but there it is. He walks in and complains about my perfect potato placement. Silly boy. While everyone else wonders if they’re even going to see a potato, he and I reach a potato détente. Yay! Potatoes for all… but mostly for us. Seriously, eight people at the table, and I believe over ten pounds of mashed potatoes were made.

8:52 Gaming continues. I think we played Dark Moon, but really I’m not too sure. By that time, the exhaustion and the whiskey had kicked in. Also the allergy attack from hell that lasted 18 hours. We still haven’t figured out what triggered that.

I’d fill you in on the Crafting Explosion of 2015 which took place Friday night, and the holiday decorating that involved an English major doing electrical engineering of the Christmas tree, but there are some stories that are best saved for another day.

After all, there are 26 shopping days left, and we’ll all need some extra cheer in the weeks ahead.

Stay tuned for the creating of the St. Lucia’s wreath of fire crafting project!

You’ve Been Holding Out

November 30, 2013 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

We have a new computer in the house: an Apple IIc.

I’ll wait a moment while we all remember a time when there were no servers, and 64K was a ton of memory.

And now, because I know you’re wondering why we have this thing, here’s the story.

I was minding my own business, happily working away on my MacBook Pro with a bazillion K of memory, when Scout Son walks in to interrupt my workday.

“I found something weird in the garage.”

Since the “garage” is a 2,400 square foot barn, the possibilities are endless. I’m thinking snake, opossum or any one of the countless mice. “Um-hmm,” I say not looking up. Whatever it is, it can have the barn.

“There’s a box of games out there?”

Still not looking up. “What kind of games?” I’m thinking, there’s no Monopoly in the barn.

“I don’t know. But they say Electronic Arts on them.”

Still not looking up. Hey, don’t judge. I really wanted to get a scene in before it was derailed. “Oh. Those games. Those are from when I play-tested games for them and your grandmother worked there.”

“WHAT?!!?”

And there went the scene. It’s hard to write a love scene with a screeching thirteen year old boy in the background. “I’ve told you this.”

“No.”

“Yes. I have told you that the coffee cup in the kitchen with their logo and my name on it is from the beginning of Electronic Arts. I have told you your grandmother used to work there, and I used to play games for them.”

“But there are games in the garage. You’ve been holding out.”

“You’ve held that box in your hands before. I have not been holding out.”

“Can I play them?”

“You could try, if you had a machine that played them.”

It’s 2013. Only a teenage boy would take the time to find someone who had a IIc kicking around. Plugged in. Functional.

He’s upstairs now seeing which games survived twenty winters in the garage. And he’s happy. Sometimes I don’t understand my kids.

Battling Ladybugs and Wandering Monsters

March 7, 2013 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

Really exciting day here at Chez Hope. Snarky Daughter is on Spring Break because she goes to a school on a college schedule. So she’s lurking around the house, with her nose in a MacBook Air all day. Yesterday we went ice skating and I realized I was really falling down on the conversation side of things. I have no idea what to talk to her about.

Sigh. I’ll figure it out, I’m sure. It didn’t help that I’d only had about 5 hours of sleep. But ask me about the totally awesome chat I had with Magesh at Amazon at midnight. Didn’t have a problem keeping that conversation going for twenty minutes.

Anyway, today, much excitement. First there was the crash that didn’t sound quite like a crash. It was really windy here today, so when I heard a thuddish kind of sound, my first thought was we’d lost a branch. Woo-hoo. So I wandered out around the side of the house where the thud had come from in my bunny slippers (what all professional writers wear to work). OK, they aren’t really bunny slippers, but only because I can’t afford the Killer Rabbit slippers on thinkgeek.com. In college, I had moose head slippers just like these (yes, you can find everything on the internet, even 20 year old slippers). They were awesome.

Right. Focus. So, wander outside, but no, the only branches over there are the ones I have successfully ignored since November. Hey, what’s the point of picking these up until I’m ready to burn them. More will collect in the meantime and I’ll have to do it all again. Also, it’s cold out and I’m a wimp.

So, back into the house. For some reason I can’t remember I wandered into my room, and found the source of the thud, which should have really sounded like a crash. Athena has been working very hard to keep the house ladybug free. In her enthusiasm, she took out my bedside lamp. Thank you, Thea.

Hi, I'm Thea. I broke Mom's ugly-ass lamp. She has another one, and it's got to go too! I am not ashamed. Have you seen that lamp? — Hi, I’m Thea. I broke Mom’s ugly-ass lamp. She has another one, and it’s got to go too! I am not ashamed. Have you seen that lamp?

At this point I should say that I really want to redecorate my ~~life~~, um, house. The lamp in question is 15 years old and totally out of date. Also, the CFL that was in it (remains unbroken) is pretty full of dark and really low on light, so really, this whole light concept is an in name only thing. The lamp shade (also unbroken) is dark green. My bedroom is periwinkle blue.

The surviving lamp. You can't tell, but that would be frosted crackle glass circa 1994. — The surviving lamp. You can’t tell, but that would be frosted crackle glass circa 1994.

In considering a move across country, I’ve been wandering the house figuring out what is worth paying to have it moved 3,000 miles. Believe me, this lamp, and it’s sister, were not on the list to go. In fact, they wouldn’t be on the move list if I was moving two blocks. I keep them because I think I’ll be starting over soon and I don’t want to cart more crap than I have to, or waste money on something I’m going to give away or sell in a yard sale in three months, but I still need light. Or something like candlelight but safer. I still have one, so I’m good.

In other excitement, Scout Son, Snarky Daughter and I all played Munchkin Deluxe tonight. It’s a pretty simple game with some of the worst written directions I’ve ever read. I’m sure they make sense to the D&D set, but I didn’t have the patience for D&D either. Anyway, if you’re playing with someone who can teach you so you aren’t dependent on the directions, it’s really a lot of fun. And vicious. I like being evil. Are you surprised? No? How odd.

Scout Son unleashed a boatload of evil on Snarky Daughter, just so I could see how it's done. He's helpful that way. — Scout Son unleashed a boatload of evil on Snarky Daughter, just so I could see how it’s done. He’s helpful that way.

Anyway, given the choice between writing a cover letter for a job and spending quality time putting curses on my kids, you can guess what I chose. And I won. Well, they kind of let me win. The kids were being gentle for the first couple of rounds because I had no idea what I was doing. They will not be as kind next time. Which will make it even more fun!

Building the Tree

November 15, 2012November 15, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

You know you’ve been out of work too long when…

You’re excited about Michael Strahan’s new dressing room reveal tomorrow;
You know which Twilight star is dumber than a post, which one is the post, and which one actually has a brain. And uses it;
You no longer stop typing when a cat lies (lays?) across your arms;
You have to go to The Oatmeal to figure out if it should be lays or lies. (It’s lies.)

Photo of kids building a fake Christmas tree — “Yeah! We’re building the tree!!!”

I know you’re all shocked because this is two posts in two days, as opposed to my usual once a week/month/lifetime routine I’ve had going lately. But I knew you all wanted to know how the tree building went.

First, boys do not know how to fluff trees. Shocked, I am. Especially since I’ve been re-teaching this skill for five years. So I went through the refresher. Some branches have to point forward to cover the florist wire, some to the left, some to the right, some down so we have a full tree. And still, the skill does not come naturally to those with a Y chromosome.

OK, this tree is 11 years old, so it gave up on full years ago. But it was a really good tree I got for about $2.32 when I worked at Michael’s because that was more fun than potty training one of my children. Yes, I really chose retail during the holiday season over potty training a child. And I wonder why I haven’t been nominated for Mom of the Year.

photo of Kids building a Christmas Tree — Scout Son tries to fluff like Snarky Daughter. Yes, I see she is wearing a barcode on her elbow. Yes, I have the Photoshop skills to fix it, but why miss this opportunity to embarrass her?

Back to the tree. Rockefeller Center’s got nothing on this 7.5-foot plastic concoction currently sitting in my living room. Snarky Daughter, being a girl, was all about the fluffing.

You know what’s really depressing? A Christmas tree without stuff on it. So we built the tree and Stumpasaurus Rex immediately tried to figure out how to scale the tree. Given that he’s missing a back leg and can’t jump well, you’d think I could breathe a sigh of relief. The problem is, he’s muscle. Since he can’t launch himself, he pulls himself up things. He is regularly at the top of the 6-foot cat tree.

Which is the other reason I was worried about the tree. Given that they already have one thing to climb in the room, would the cats see the difference? I really expected a cat as a tree topper.

Rex is crafty. He spent the evening under the tree trying to figure out how to get up the clothing hanger branches. We’d be watching TV and all of a sudden some part of the tree would start shaking.

Photo of kitten exploring Christmas Tree — “Finally, you brought the trees inside! Where are the birds and squirrels?”

I had a glass of wine and generally ignored it. Athena, Goddess of Christmas Trees, felt that this tree was like any other plant (real or fake) in the house and it was meant to be eaten. For that, I grabbed a spray bottle and shot her with water. She was not amused. I expect a retaliatory hairball any time now.

This morning, I’m staring at an empty tree and the cats are totally. Ignoring. It. Totally. Like, OMG.

I may speed up the process and add lights. So tune in next time (I almost wrote tomorrow, but that seemed like a promise I was going to blog tomorrow, hahahaha) to see what’s going on with holiday preparations.

And find out if I mess with Bon Appetite’s Pumpkin Cheesecake recipe or if I keep it pure for Thanksgiving.

I’m back!

October 4, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

Hey, welcome back.

Actually, you should probably be saying that to me.

Like the new colors? It’s quirky. They’re not quite right, but they’re better than the previous version. They’ll probably change again in the next few weeks, but not until I’m sure I’ve nailed it. I’ve been spending a lot of time learning about color and design.

And why, you ask, does a writer care about color and design? Well, let’s review the past few months for me:

In April, I smashed and sprained my thumb.

In May, I fell and screwed up my back… and re-sprained my thumb.

In May, I also was crazy enough to bring two kittens into the house.

photo of kittens playing — That’s Marking Kitten (4 lbs) taking on Laid-Back Kitten (7 lbs).

In June, I re-sprained my thumb.

In July, I finally went to a specialist who told me I had sprained the worst part of my thumb and that it would take forever to heal, but I could type as long as it didn’t hurt.

Guess what? It hurt. No writing for me. I also put Cranky Cat on Prozac. A miracle drug.

In August, I sent Snarky Daughter back to high school. She’s now a sophomore. I also took her to get her learner’s permit . Awesome! The curves may kill us – feel free to light a candle.

In September, I sent Scout Son to 8th grade. He also earned his Life Scout rank in Boy Scouts. Awesome! We also put Marking Kitten on Prozac. Fingers are crossed.

Now every time I think it’s getting better, I do something small like breathe on it and the whole mess swells and I’m back to playing with my website colors instead of writing.

In other news, my new book, The Billionaire Bachelor’s Revenge comes out this month! And I was asked to take part in a holiday anthology, so mistletoe moments are headed everyone’s way!

And now, somehow, it’s October. And I’m writing. Blogs and books.

I’d promise there won’t be any more lapses in content, but then I’ll tweak my thumb and be down for the count again. Of course, one more time and I think I’ll have to invest in some of that Dragon stuff.

Because speaking my blogs to the cats isn’t nearly as interesting as sharing them with you. But the cats think you missed some quality stuff there. Of course, they think I’m a goddess as long as I have one functional thumb.

Kids in the Kitchen: I Scream, You Scream…

June 8, 2012December 31, 2012 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

“Hey mom,” said Scout Son the other day. “What’s that?” He pointed to an appliance next to the toaster that had been used maybe three times in the past 15 years.

Mental groan. “Um, an ice cream machine.”

Stunned silence was followed by, “We have an ice cream maker?”

“I think technically it’s a gelato maker. Your grandfather thought we’d like it.”

More silence as he mulled over this latest parental failure.

“We have an ice cream maker and we don’t use it? That’s not right.”

photo of Gelato Boy separating eggs — Scout Son, aka Gelato Boy, separating eggs for the ice cream.

“Look, we have a gelato machine and we don’t use it. It’s a pain to clean up, you have to cook a custard in order to make ice cream and all three of us have to agree on a flavor. Or, I can go to the grocery store, point at the freezer and you and your sister can each buy a half gallon of whatever, and I can get a pint of Hagen Dazs. It’s easier.”

Now, here’s the problem. Yes, it’s easier. But that kid of mine isn’t stupid. Since coming back from Italy two years ago, we dream about gelato. All rules went out the window while in Italy in July. Gelato for breakfast. Gelato for second breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Dessert. If I could have gotten them to float a scoop of vanilla gelato in my cappuccino every morning, it would have been the perfect meal.

Yes, we take ice cream very seriously. And I knew what would happen if we started using the ice cream maker. I’d have to make ice cream. A lot. Because once you have real ice cream, you don’t want to go back.

Back to the conversation at hand.

“We should make some,” says Scout Son. “Chocolate.”

“No, if we’re going to do this, we’re going to make Salted Caramel from Cooking Light so I can either put the “try it” recipe in the binder of good stuff or in the recycling bin.” So, in the interest of household cleanup, we made ice cream.

I know, that whole ice cream in Cooking Light thing threw you. I keep telling you. They’ve put taste back into food, which means by default, a little fat, but compared to that crap we’d been buying at the store, we’re in good shape. This stuff is so rich you don’t want more than a half a cup. Seriously.

Now we get into why I don’t make ice cream. You need things like candy thermometers. Which I have. But to me, you should just dump all the stuff in the machine, walk away and come back later to ice cream. Which is pretty much what we do… after we cook and cool the custard that becomes ice cream when mixed and frozen. Why this is mentally more difficult than cookie dough is beyond me.

photo of Gelato Boy — After dinner, Gelato Boy prepares to try the final product.

Long story short, Scout Son was fascinated with the whole concept of having to heat the cream and brown sugar to a certain temperature, then add stuff and get that to a higher temperature. Note to self: get the kid some kitchen thermometers. Snarky Daughter wandered in halfway through the process, stared at the saucepan and said, “That’s all that goes into caramel?” Truthfully, I have no idea, but I know it’s the base for pralines, which are basically the same thing.

And finally, the notes on the recipe. It calls for 1/2 teaspoon of sea salt. I’d make it a scant teaspoon. The salt gives it a kick and without it I think this would be too sweet, but ours ended up a little salty to my taste (for just caramel ice cream, they suggest dropping the salt to 1/8 teaspoon). We also omitted the flake salt that you can sprinkle over the top.

Caramel isn’t Scout Son’s favorite, so he hasn’t been inhaling this be he does like it. And he was thrilled to see a recipe in the machine’s manual for chocolate gelato. All through Italy I told him there were other flavors, but he still doesn’t believe me.

Whatever.

But it occurs to me, it’s summer, and on the other side of the toaster, there’s a cappuccino maker. I think it’s time to flavor my coffee this afternoon…

Ciao!

Kids in the Kitchen: Pound Cake by the Pound

April 29, 2012January 4, 2014 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

I’m not really sure how it happened. I signed up to donate two pound cakes for the annual Boy Scout BBQ Chicken Dinner sale. Two. I distinctly remember signing up for two. But then, while being pressed into service as a delivery organizer and money collector (hey, I like money), it was mentioned that we were low on pound cake.
Why yes, that is the word “sucker” you see there on my forehead. I wasn’t actually asked to do more, but as the emails got a little more frantic, I thought, what the heck? It’s cake. I like to bake. Besides, you put them in the oven and walk away for an hour, giving you plenty of time to do things like…write a book. Or a blog.
So, Wednesday morning I wake up and dive into cake baking. Did I mention I used a new recipe? It’s the High-Ratio Pound Cake from Perfect Cakes by Nick Malgieri and it’s really good. Unfortunately, without a hit of caffeine or common sense, I didn’t think to set the timer a little early for that first one to check for doneness. (Is that a word?) Anyway, out came the most beautiful, slightly crispy on the bottom because I should have pulled it out five minutes ago, cake.

Scout Son makes cake #3...or is it #4? — Scout Son makes cake #3…or is it #4?

I am not a fan of pound cake. In my mind, cake should always come with frosting. In fact, in my mind, the cake is optional and only there because apparently it’s uncivilized to just serve a bowl of frosting. Who knew?
I know. You’re wondering when the Kids are entering the Kitchen. Well, Scout Son was drafted for cake number three. Actually, it was cake number four because I was really worried about cake number one being edible. He came home from school and I said, “Drop your stuff, wash your hands, and make a cake.”
Scout Son: Uh…
Tired, Cranky Mom: Dude, I am not going on the trip that this dinner is funding. You are. But you won’t be if you don’t help me with these crazy cakes.
Scout Son, counting cakes on the counter: I thought you were only making two.
TCM: They’re short cakes. So I’m making two extra.
SS, still counting: But there are four…
TCM: Ignore that one.
SS: Does that mean I get to do quality control on it?
TCM: Nobody eats anything until you make the next cake!

And this is how Scout Son learned about high-ratio cakes and made a melt-in-your-mouth pound cake. High-ratio cakes have a higher amount of sugar. This one has the additional benefit of not having to cream the butter and sugar first. It’s painfully simple to make and the results are awesome. Because of all the eggs in it, it’s also a great recipe for kids needing egg-breaking practice.
What happened to the not-quite-perfect cake? I altered the glaze from page 51, made it an orange rum glaze, and fed it to the volunteers that night. Best not-quite-perfect cake I’ve ever made! The best perfect pound cake Scout Son made too.

I Want a Zoo

January 29, 2012October 20, 2013 ~ kimberly ~ 2 Comments

Can someone please explain to me why I cannot get up at 5:15 to work out Monday through Friday, but on Saturday, after reading late into the night (or early into the morning), I wake up at 5:20 and can’t go back to sleep? I fought the good fight until 6:45, at which point I gave up, turned on the light and read until 8:30.

I followed that up with making chocolate chip pancakes for the kids for breakfast and then trimmed my fingernails and cleaned my room. At any point, I could have started, you know, writing.

The thing is, I was really enjoying myself. The dog prints from the rain earlier in the week were banished from my bedroom and my mattress pad was in the washing machine. I danced while I vacuumed and washed the floor.

Then I headed to the kitchen for lunch, but kind of forgot why I was there when I saw the giant bag of chocolate chips sitting on the counter and started making cookies. At 2:00, I gave up all pretense of working on anything resembling a book, and we headed out to buy the least frumpy looking frumpy shoes that my orthotics would fit in (stupid high arches).

They’re kind of cute. Snarky Daughter — living up to her name — didn’t think so. Until I held up the alternative. Then she agreed they were the best we’d found in months of looking. And they’re light blue, which isn’t as cool as 4-inch red stilettos, but they’ll do. From there it was on to Game Stop and Barnes and Noble so Scout Son could blow some of his Christmas money.

Penance for that came in the form of a movie. The child must have been switched at birth, because he doesn’t like movie popcorn. I consider it dinner when you go to a movie after 4:00. So, popcorn, soda and a movie. Yes, true torture. Because no Sith were harmed in the making of this movie. Also, no Deceptacons, Transformers or Starfleet Captains.

If you haven’t seen it yet, you need to go see We Bought A Zoo. This is a great movie about starting over. With the obligatory adorable little girl, a cute, albeit miserable, 14 year-old boy, Matt Damon (I’m happy already), and animals that you’ll fall in love with. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry. And you’ll walk out wanting some wild beast.

The thing is, the movie brought home to me that I must have recently hit a turning point. Because I’m not unhappy anymore. And I should be. Things in my life aren’t perfect right now. I’m still struggling in a lot of ways, and waiting for love to come along, and, you know, living one day at a time. Nothing has really changed from last week or last month or last year.

But today, I was happy. I took a walk after breakfast and pretty much danced down the street. I’m sure the neighbors are wondering what that was about (just a really great soundtrack to walk to). Red Solo Cup came on the radio and I sang along as I drove, laughing because Snarky Daughter thinks it’s the dumbest song ever, and it is, but try getting it out of your head without singing!

I’m sure the patrons of Wal-Mart thought I was nuts as I goofed off with the kids while we were finding the right wire for the iPod to hook into the new car stereo. Maybe that’s it. For the first time in my life, I have a car that doesn’t have a tape deck!

Whatever it is, today was awesome. Even the cleaning. Even as I sit here and realize that it may be midnight before my comforter is dry enough to use. But when we walked out of the theater, all I could think was, I want a zoo.

OK, not an entire zoo. I get grumpy when it’s my day to empty the cat box. I can’t imagine cleaning up after a tiger, although if I had one, maybe UPS would finally put my packages in the garage… Anyway, after careful consideration for about 10 seconds, I announced that I wanted a pair of lemurs.

Hey, if a guy in Great Britain can have a zoo (and since it’s based on a real story, clearly he can), why can’t I have a couple of lemurs? Snarky Daughter immediately pointed out that she still wanted a ferret. Scout Son, the only sane one in the bunch, didn’t want anything– or maybe he just didn’t feel well since he had Bottle Caps candy for dinner.

Ferrets and lemurs and dogs, oh my! And the cat from hell. The other day I wanted a fish for my desk. Really, this is getting out of hand. But I’m laughing again, so maybe just one lemur?

Going Nuts in Scouting

October 6, 2011October 20, 2013 ~ kimberly ~ Leave a comment

So, in a stroke of local insanity, the Girl Scout nut sale and Boy Scout popcorn sale are going on concurrently. They are also following the middle school’s sale of, you guessed it, popcorn, nuts and magazines.

Now, first, would it be too much to ask for the PTA to not sell the same stuff that’s hard enough for Scouts to sell when their neighbors haven’t just been hit up for this stuff two weeks before? We’re not talking Girl Scout Cookies, which sell themselves. We’re talking Boy. Scout. Popcorn. And. Nuts. Your kids are in these organizations. WHY are you making us sell the same stuff twice?!!?

I admit, I have issues with the whole thing. Adult scouts aren’t allowed to sell fundraising items. Yet, both organizations expect me (an adult scout in each) to take the forms and post them at work. Um, isn’t that selling?

Whatever. But here’s what it comes down to: my kids and I now get to spend two weeks hocking food that nobody actually wants to buy. And, like school fundraisers, we get the kids jacked up on the idea of scoring cool prizes for selling what really is good popcorn. (I have no idea about the nuts since we didn’t sell them last year.) Really, I’d rather write a check to Scouts and run over to WallyWorld to pick up the $4 prize on my own, but selling is supposed to teach the kids responsibility. Or humility. Never sure which one it is as Scout Son totals up the 4 sales each year.

But, as a Scout shows up on your door this year, form in hand, I want you to remember something. When you buy that box of popcorn in the store that’s 25 cents cheaper per bag than Scout popcorn, you’re lining the pockets of some corporate conglomerate, and giving some executive a new boat. When you buy the box of popcorn from the cute kid on your doorstep, you’re sending kids to camp, and helping to provide the Scout experience for boys who otherwise wouldn’t be able to afford to participate.

If you haven’t had Scout popcorn in years, it’s gotten better. I can’t speak for the chocolate stuff, although I know people who love it. The caramel corn with cashews is the bomb, and I really can’t tell a difference between the microwave popcorn from the store and Scout popcorn. I just know I feel better supporting Scouts than I do supporting some millionaire’s retirement fund.

The same thing’s true with Girl Scout nuts and magazine sales. Yes, these fundraisers provide a product, but really you’re making a donation to building today’s youth. In both cases, there are options to send food to the troops, or in the case of our Girl Scouts this year, to local food banks.

And isn’t making a change in your community better than buying some guy you’ve never met a new boat?

Kimberly Hope

Writing sexy, sassy contemporary romance novels from coast to coast

Scout Son