Family Favorite Recipes

Our family has many favorite recipes which I have made over the years.  I am going to add one a week to my blog in order to have them on the computer.  I might as well put them here, and in the future, when a friend wants a copy, all you will have to do is visit the woman has been known to have (at least) 13 pair of patterned pants in her closet.

Here is our #1 requested recipe:

Chocolate Chip Muffins

2 c. flour

1/2 c. sugar

3 t. baking powder

1/2 t. salt

3/4 c. miniature chocolate chips

1 egg, well-beaten

3/4 c. milk

1/2 c. oil

Topping:  3 T. sugar & 2 T. brown sugar

Heat oven to 400 degrees.  Line with paper cups or grease bottom only of 12 muffin cups.  In medium bowl, combine flour, 1/2 c. sugar, baking powder, salt & chocolate chips.  Stir in egg, milk, and oil, just until dry ingredients are moist.  Batter will be lumpy.  Spoon batter into muffin cups - 2/3 full.  Combine topping mix and sprinkle over muffins.  Bake for 20-25 minutes.

Makes 12 muffins

I was a Teen Queen, Once.

I really was in a pageant... once.  You know, there are just some things you do for those you love.   I have paid my dues.  My grandparents had an Airstream trailer that kept them traversing the United States through my high school and college years.  We spent Spring Break every year in Harlingen, TX, among the Snowbirds.  My sister and I would drive with my parents hoping for a lot of sun and excitement.  We took many trips across the border into Reynosa, Mexico.  It was there that I found my very favorite mexican dress and umpteen straw purses from the market.  We drank fresh squeezed orange juice from the grove outside the window and ate at cafeteria after cafeteria - at least they have good fried okra and dessert.

Another perk of the Airstream Club is the opportunity to travel to the International Airstream Rally every summer.  During this rally, they have a beauty pageant  - all entrants were grandchildren of the participants.  At least I think they were all grandchildren.

Anyway, I competed for the Miss Oklahoma title and was crowned somewhere in Central Texas.  Yes, I was!  I became Miss Airstream Oklahoma my freshman year in high school.  Here I am, don't I look like the perfect Teen Queen?

I played "Oklahoma" on the piano - you had to have a talent, you see.  I got to make appearances at various rallies for Region 9 (I think it might have included Texas, too) where I played the piano and smiled for many, many senior citizens.

In exchange, I got a free trip to South Bend, IN.  The rally was on the Notre Dame campus.  We were there for 2 weeks and I made some unexpected friends!  There were all sorts of Teen Queen activities and plenty of boys around to "escort" us.  Each of the Queens hosted a party where we ate snacks surrounded by silver bullets and lawn chairs.  We wore our state ribbons everywhere we went - even when we saw GhostBusters!

Our talents were quite a variety.  Greta was a clogger from South Carolina.  Mandy was a baton twirler from North Carolina.  There was a flutist, a few pianos, and a ballerina.  My favorite was the clogging.  I'd never seen anything like it.  

I was closest to Miss Alabama, Alyssa.  I even named my Cabbage Patch Doll after her.  She was a southern girl, for sure.  By the age of 14, she had already mastered the art of having big hair all day long and she had lipstick that stayed on, no matter what she ate.  I swear, her lipstick was always on - she had certainly found the secret to a successful pageant life.  She stood in Pageant Stance, had a million pageant dresses, and was always picture perfect.  Her talent was the flute.  She was sweet and sincere.  I just adored her.  Even when she won the whole thing.

After the pageant, we each had escorts who took us to the Teen Queen Ball.  We had a great time.  We danced and laughed 'til our curfews called.  Then, our escorts walked us back to our trailers (which were all lined up on Teen Queen Row).  And yes, who would've expected, but it was on Teen Queen Row, on the campus of Notre Dame, that I received my very first slippery, disgusting, appalling french kiss.  UGHHHHHH.  I couldn't figure out what it was at first - his tongue.  My grandparents and my aunt were sound asleep, so it was on the toilet in the tiny, cramped bathroom that I sat (lid down) to ponder what exactly had just happened to me.  I had been kissed by a boy who I barely knew and who I never wanted to see again.  What was his name??? Jeff?  Bob?? Ahh, yes, Jim from Ohio. 

Below is a picture of me, Alyssa, and the car I rode in for the parade.

I have a scrapbook full of details.  If you are ever at my house, just inquire and I will pull those memories out.  You can see the bullets, the ribbons and the faces of the friends I kept for years.  I didn't see them in person again, but we kept in contact via mail for a long time.  The best part was the tiara.  I had the prettiest one, in my opinion.  I still have it, and if you don't laugh at me for too long, I might even let you try it on!

I was ONCE but am no longer, Miss Teen Queen Oklahoma - signing off.

The Naked Girl at the Slumber Party

My 3rd child, Reed, was 9 on January 15th.  As you know, the 3rd child position is a tough spot.  In our family, he followed the first child, the first boy, and lost his spot as "baby" just before he turned 3.  On the positive side, he lives with his best friend and brother, Brooks.  He is a talented musician (he prefers percussion to piano but is great at both), and he is a math whiz!  And, as the third, he flies under the radar most of the time.

Reed decided to have his first slumber party to celebrate his 9th birthday.  We invited a few friends for an evening of rock climbing and Wii playing - hoping for a few winks, too.  Unfortunately, we couldn't coordinate the climbing, so we resorted to the stand alone slumber party.  Once the parents had been gone about 15 minutes, I realized that the boys were not quite as calm and quiet as those who had come to our 10 year old slumber party.  No, these boys were rarin' to go - down to the basement, outside in the mud and cold, upstairs to the playroom, back through the kitchen and so on.  I was bracing myself for a sleepless night filled with rowdy 9 year olds.  All of a sudden, the house was quiet.  No movement, no yelling, no slamming doors, no balls bouncing.  Nothing.  

My kitchen is just below Reed's room - and next to the bonus room.  I heard nothing.  Those boys had disappeared.  I headed up the stairs.  Silence at a slumber party can never be good, unless it is about 4:30 in the morning.  Sure enough, Reed's door was locked.  The boys were in the closet.  I decided to listen from the bonus room to see what was really going on.  They were having a pow wow - revealing the names of the girls who were "hot".  That just cracks me up.  What exactly qualifies a girl as "hot" at the age of 9?   I know it's not the typical breast size, gorgeous long hair, dance moves - at 9?  I guess it is based on their smile and athleticism at recess??  I still haven't figured it out.  Well, except for the 10th grader who was mentioned by one boy.  I am sure she meets the earlier discussed typical "hot" requirements.

I felt rather confident that no harm was going to come to the 6 boys in the closet, so I headed back down to my brownies.  My mistake.  Just after the "hot" discussion, they became quite interested in the Guinness Book of World Records 2008.  As I was walking by to check on them again (that is a full time job), I heard one boy say to another.  "Do you want to see the naked girl on page ____"?  That stopped me cold.  What on earth were they looking at, and where did they find it?  I was responsible for these boys and they were gazing at naked girls.  Oh. My.  Well, it turns out, this 2008 edition has just a few eye popping attractions.  Yes, there is a person who can pop their eye the farthest - 11 mm.  Who knew?  Then, in Australia, there is a guy who can pop the most bras - his son came up with the grand idea - and you too can see this pun-filled variety show on youtube.  As for the naked girl?  Well, I don't have the exact copy (one of the guests brought it to the party), but they were gazing at something.  Something naked.

A few boys slept.  A few boys didn't.  I heard nothing.  Reed was a zombie the next day.  I finally asked (after hearing reports that they had only gotten 30 minutes of sleep) what kept them busy all night.  My little 9 year old - with quite a bit of coaxing - admitted they stayed up most of the night talking.  About what?  After much hemming and hawing, he added,  "we weren't sleepy 'cause we were talking about HOT girls.. and we were looking at the 2008 Guinness Book of World Records".  Hmmmm.  Wonder what they were looking at??

I am going to have to recalibrate my radar.

Necking is free!

Cole, our 6 year old, was recently discussing money with his dad.  Actually, he was inquiring why Tim has to work on holidays (MLK Day was last week) and some weekends.  Tim explained that he works so that we can pay for the things we need.  We have to buy groceries so we can eat, we have to pay for the electricity we use when the lights are on, and we have to buy clothes, shoes, etc..  Not only that, but we have to pay fees for Upward Basketball (a game which he had just finished).  So Cole went on a mental search for something that is free.

-what about driving a car??

-yes, we have to pay for the car, and we have to buy gas to keep it running.

-what about cutting down a tree?

-well, that is kind of tricky, because you have to own the land.

-I know something that is free... necking

-What??? Necking??? How do you know what necking is?

- You know, Dad, necking a sweater!

We are in the last days of Cole discovering mispronunciations.  It makes me sad.  This week he decided mid-chorus to clarify the words to "Rocky Top".  He's been singing "Rocky Talk" all this time.

He has finally adjusted from "musgick" to "music".

This summer he is going to be the "Ring Bear" in our nephew's wedding.

Our favorite mispronunciation is the name of our niece Meredith.  Meredith has a dog named Memphis who came to visit when Cole was 3.  Since then, her name has been Merdephis.  A combination of the dog and Meredith.  He is starting to catch on, so now I call her Merdephis, too.  I just can't stand to lose his sweet speech creations!

The Conversation Piece

Tim and I recently took a trip to Vail, CO.  We left the kids with Tim's parents for the week and headed out west to enjoy the slopes.   Every night after skiing, we headed to Vail Village for dinner.  This particular evening, we decided to try the mexican place in Vail Village.  It was really good - we tried several appetizers and made a dinner out of chips, various salsas (they brought 4 with different levels of heat), plus quesadillas and stuffed jalapenos.  Los Amigos was excellente. As we left the restaurant, we happened to pass a store called Kemo Sabe.  The name was quite intriguing, so we headed in to check it out.  What luck!  Kemo Sabe was a western store and I wanted some boots for Christmas. They had quite an assortment - Lucchese cowboy boots, belt buckles, purses, hats and some conversation pieces.  Since I grew up in Houston, you would think I would be fairly well educated on the world of western wear - but I 'm not.   I am sure Pioneer Woman knows all about it, but I have never paid much attention.  I'll bet she even knows what a "saco de toro" is (a purse made from a bull's scrotum).  They were selling those, too.  Anyway, I set out to try on a few pair (of boots) to "get an idea of what my options were" and Tim wandered off to look around the rest of the store. 

 That is when he happened upon this:

Now this is a conversation piece (at least that is what the price tag called it) - don't you just want to throw down $250 to get yourself one of these?  It would have provided some great conversation while going through airport security.  The bottle would have to be empty and I guess you would put the whole shebang on the belt to have it x-rayed.  Once at home, I thought it would really liven up the living room when I placed it on the coffee table.

This is the ultimate replacement for gossip, don't ya think?  We wouldn't have to resort to thinking about the lives of others when in my house.  We could just sit and chat about The Conversation Piece.

In case you aren't sure, the above animal is an armadillo.  I know those of you who are strangers to Texas may not recognize such an attractive critter.  Up close they look like a large rat in very heavy armor.  They will hiss at you if you get too close, and they feel like a speed bump when you run over one in the road.  Last summer while in Houston, we saw a dear armadillo in front of my parents' house.  We stayed far from it - they are mean lookin' little fellas.  But next time I see one, I'm gonna find a way to make it my own.  I'll save $250 and I'll have my very own Conversation Piece.

Barf bowls and Other Comforts

This week has been quite long for my 6 year old.  He came home from school on Monday with a fever and sore throat.  Within 2 hours (after a negative strep test) his sore throat progressed into one very upset tummy.  Bring out the barf bowl!  Fill it up, take it to the toilet bowl.  Time and time again.  In the middle of the night we were travelling to the toilet bowl for other outpourings.  Isn't that a nice description?  The poor guy had some horrible virus that had come to stay.  Wednesday we had to have IV fluids in order to re-hydrate him.  Thursday he continued to have no appetite until evening.  Finally, he was willing to eat some warm spaghetti with a dab of butter.  He had 3 bowls!!  plus a pedialyte popsicle and lots of gatorade.  I think he is on the road to recovery.

I was really quite proud of myself this time.  I don't do well with throw-up.  In fact, just hearing the word will send my adrenaline on a swift course through my body.  I get sweaty palms and worry, worry, worry about whether or not it will hit the family.  BUT this time, I calmly took care of the poor fella.  You see MH wasn't home and he is usually the caretaker when t.u. comes to visit.  He will clean it up, kiss the kid, and do whatever else is needed.  I am, on the other hand, usually freaking out and having IBS symptoms.  Nerves, really.  You see, I think it is somewhat of a phobia stemming back a few years...

my sister puked on me when I was about 8.  We were sleeping (at least I was) when all of a sudden, well, you can imagine, I am sure.  I have been scarred since then, it is most certainly a throw-up phobia.

I really do run if I hear it or see it - and believe me - if it happens even remotely close to me - I will see it.  Then I think about it for the entire rest of the day.  I am just sure that I will catch it or that someone I am with will catch it.  This is absolutely unreasonable, I realize, but reason doesn't go with t.u.

I am thankful that God matched me up with a man who never barfs.  Yep, it's true... in the 18-1/2 years I have known him, he has only upchucked once.  The night before he had a bit of bad crawfish and it sent him over (to) the edge of the bowl.  I haven't eaten crawfish since!