Category Archives: Uncategorized

How We Make A Pizza

How we make a pizza in twenty easy steps:

1)Raise a pig.

2) Send the pig to the butcher and get back tasty packages of meat including ground pork.

3) Shoot a deer.

4) Butcher the deer ourselves wrap meat in tasty packages including ground venison.

5) Mix the ground venison and pork with a bunch of seasonings and smoke it for awhile.  Call it pepperoni, store it in the freezer.

6) Make a crust – a yeast free, dairy free crust.

  • Mix together: 2 cups of flour, 1 tsp salt, 2 tsp baking powder, 2/3 cup rice milk, 1/4 cup olive oil. Press out onto cookie sheet, coat with olive oil and pre-cook at 425.

7) Create another crust – a yeast free, mostly dairy free, wheat free crust that Clara can eat, hope that that whatever you come up with turns out better than the crumbly cardboard you made last time.

  •  It did! Today’s Clara crust was my best effort so far, it went like this: mix 1 & 1/2 c barley flour, 1/2 c soy flour, 1 tsp salt 2 t special corn free baking powder, 1/3 c coconut milk, 1/3 c yogurt, 1/4 c olive oil. Press out onto cookie sheet, coat with olive oil and pre-cook at 425.

8) Get distracted by laundry and over flowing garbage and burn the edges of the crusts while setting off all the smoke detectors in the house.

9)Cut up Pepperoni that you made in step 5.

10) Realize you don’t have enough pepperoni and thaw out ground pork from step 2.

11) Mix ground pork with pizza spices from Penzeys and brown.

12) Grate a large pile of goat cheese for those who can’t have cow’s milk.

13) Grate a large pile of cow cheese for every one else.

14) Combine plain tomato sauce with more pizza spice from Penzeys.

15) Cut up pineapple.

16) Assemble pizzas to the direction of a five year old with the help of a two year old.

17) Put in oven to bake until toppings are browned.

28) Get impatient, turn on the broiler.

19) Quick take pizza out as it will be starting to burn because you forgot about it again.

20) Eat.

It’s a good twenty step process right? Fairly healthy result, made with partly local ingredients, minimal food additives, cooking kids… blah, blah, blah. After I look at my kitchen full of pineapple juice, sauce splatters, spilled flours and cheeses, dirty pans, bowls, spoons and baking sheets all I can think is that I really miss the days of the three step pizza.

1) Dial.

2) Open Door.

3) Eat.

Loud Issues

When Clara and Ivy are playing unless bodily harm seems imminent we leave them alone to figure out their own differences. For the most part they manage to play together, work together and resolve their troubles without help. There are of course times when one or the other comes to us in tears and we have to step in and moderate.  Since we’ve been having trouble with hitting and pushing lately the moderating has been happening quite a bit more frequently.

We are saving money by having the girls wear the same clothes. We are saving time by making them wear them at the same time to reduce the amount of laundry.

This afternoon I heard the start of their spat at the sandbox from in the house while I was putting Jane down for a nap.  As I bent over to lay Jane in her crib it escalated into screaming, shrieking and crying and Clara flew into the house yelling like she’d been mortally wounded. Since Clara often screams like she’s been mortally wounded but has never actually been in that condition I wasn’t too worried.  But, wounded or not, the screaming had woken Jane up and my attention was needed downstairs. Now, I suspect that spat occurred not over a yellow plastic shovel like they claim but purely because their little sister was almost asleep.  It’s like some sort of eerie siren song.  When I’m putting Jane to sleep as soon as I stand to lay her down in the crib everyone runs to me with their issues.  LOUD issues. Dogs bark, the cat pukes, the phone rings with advice on how I should vote in the upcoming election, John has questions and children who have been playing quietly for hours start beating on each other and run to me crying.

It’s possible that the frantic, one armed, gesticulating to get out while silently yelling “Go away!” that they receive isn’t the friendliest reception, but seriously, can’t anyone see that “I’M TRYING TO PUT THE BABY TO SLEEP?!”

Ahem, anyways….where was I? Oh yes…

Clara comes into the house screaming.

Jane wakes up.

Ivy follows Clara into the house yelling.

I go downstairs and tell the girls to stay put.

I head back upstairs get the baby to sleep.

Finally I go back downstairs to ask what happened.

There they are still sitting in their chairs at the table where I told them to stay happily playing together.  I have to interrupt the new game to ask what all the fighting was about and with frightening nonchalance I hear:

Clara: “I hit Ivy two times and then she pushed me out of the sandbox.”

Ivy: “Clara hit me, I told her to go away and she didn’t leave fast enough so I pushed her out of the sandbox.”

I had just started to make obligatorily parental noises about behavior, and ways to solve arguments when they asked if they could go back outside and keep playing yet.  I looked at my two happy girls, who were barely paying attention to me because they were still trying to secretly play with each other, agreed and they disappeared all giggles out the door.

Rain puddles after a May storm are fun, but chilly, gotta wear a hat!

Which left me standing in the kitchen with a spinning head.

Did what I think happened just happen?

Was this all just because Jane was going to fall asleep and cosmic forces conspired against their happy play forcing them into a noisy fight?

Is there any way of impressing on your children that they should stop beating on each other when after four minutes neither of them care any longer?

Or is it yet another example that I should learn from of the way kids live in the moment and can let bygones be bygones at the drop of a hat.

I thought about it, decided that parenting philosophy, cosmic forces and moral issues were all beyond me this afternoon, grabbed a Diet Coke and sat down in my quite house to enjoy it while it lasted.

Sweet Sisters

Some days I look back on my posts and feel that I write a disproportionate amount of posts about naughty children.

Some days I look back on my posts and feel that I write about such a small portion of the things that make my hair go grey that as readers you are really missing the true flavor of life here.

I’m pretty sure the direction that feeling takes  is directly related to whether or not my kitchen has undergone any flooding activity in the last 12 hours.

Today the kitchen stayed dry, and while good behavior and normal days don’t make for interesting stories they do hold some very sweet pictures.

Listening to Ivy “reading” to Clara  as she puts her down for a nap is one of my favorite things, sneaking a few pictures through the keyhole was even better!

“It’s Raining…”

One of the major problems I have staying home with three kids is that while I’m nursing the baby the other two are doing stuff. Some days they are doing nice stuff and some days are like today. Today I came into the kitchen and found that Clara discovered not only how to change the kitchen faucet from a stream to a spray but that you can also pull out the head of the faucet. I pull out the head of the faucet to wash large pans and clean the sink. Clara pulled it out, must have thought it was actually intended to be the worlds best water gun and got right to work spraying Ivy.

We’ve got good water pressure, Ivy got wet on the far side of the kitchen table.

This is sort of impressive if you don’t think about the fact that most of the water is landing on the floor, the counter, the paper, the microwave, the radio, the cell phone, the eggs, the vitamins on the shelves, the ceiling, the windows, the blinds, the leftover food waiting to go back into the fridge, the tin full of change, the chairs, the table, under the sink, under the fridge and in the cupboard.

But I’m the Mom, so I thought about all those things and was, shall we say, less impressed with Clara’s feat than Clara was, much less.

As Clara was doing her best to be a poster child for the terrible two’s and unapologetically running through the puddles instead of helping clean up Ivy chimed with, “It’s raining in here Mom.”  I looked up, saw all the water on the ceiling dripping down, took a deep breath, squashed my urge to strangle the kids, decided that while making them clean up their own mess was a good lesson it really wouldn’t do them any good if they were dead and sent them out of the room before I changed my mind.

Shortly afterwards while I was still fuming and sopping up water Clara danced through the kitchen with her underwear on her head on her way to brush her teeth. I took a picture.  As I continued cleaning I fantasized that in about ten years I could blow it up really large and hang it on my kitchen wall. Then Clara would be embarrassed and ask me to take it off the wall and I would laugh manically and say “NO! You were a rotten two year old who flooded the kitchen, the picture stays!” Unfortunately after looking at the picture I took I’m afraid I’ll hang it on my wall and everyone will tell her how cute she was even with underwear on her head. So much for that fantasy.  Next time I’ll work on something involving beaches. You know, if I closed my eyes and concentrated I’m pretty sure I could turn that big puddle on a gritty floor into the oceans edge on a sandy beach…. now where’s my drink with the umbrella in it?

Storm’s Sticks

This is Storm,

…she likes sticks.


This is Storm,

…she loves sticks.


This is Storm,

she has a stick obsession.

Obsessed as in John and I never touch sticks. Touching a stick is like sending Storm a telegraph indicating that you’d love to play fetch with her for the next three days.  Since that is never the case we don’t touch sticks. Ever.  Even when Storm drops a stick on your lap, you can’t touch it or – THREE DAYS OF FETCH!

Obsessed as in she’s got shiny white teeth from frantically chewing sticks into wood chips on peoples feet in some misguided hope that that will increase the chances of someone playing with her. Brush off those wood chips at your peril, they are actually tiny sticks and – THREE DAYS OF FETCH!

Obsessed as in even Ivy and Clara know that you can’t play with sticks when Storm is outside. Try to use a stick as a fairy wand and -THREE DAYS OF FETCH!

Obsessed as in any unsuspecting visitor to our house is greeted with the words, “Don’t touch the stick.” Sadly for most people they don’t believe John and I and before you know it there goes that Storm telegraph -THREE DAYS OF FETCH!

Like in any true obsession Storm has a huge amount focus and patience when it comes to sticks.  In Storms case this manifests itself in bug eyed, panting, staring, focus and the patience to outlast any unsuspecting victim who might be near a stick and eventually forget that Storm is there and touch it – THREE DAYS OF FETCH!

Storm, no doubt dismayed by her family’s general stick aversion, must remember that the last baby grew up into a girl who will occasionally throw a stick for her. So she is patently waiting for her next playmate to grow up.

Just to make sure she doesn’t miss the moment when Jane is ready to play every time Jane is on the ground Storm brings her a stick. It’s only a matter of time before all that stick dropping persistence pays off and Jane learns her first lesson about – THREE DAYS OF FETCH!

Mother’s Day

Are you a mother?

How was your Mothers Day?

Was it as good as mine?

Did you have breakfast in bed?

Did you get to shoot shotguns with your mother until due to a broken gun and lack of shells you just couldn’t shoot anymore?

Did you have lunch  out with just your mother and have ice cream for dessert?

Did you get to take a picture with four generations of mothers and daughters?

Did you have a great Mother’s Day?

I did!

Bug Eyes

I am shamed to report that I have backed out of a pact with my husband.

We stood in the kitchen and pinky swore. John promised never to wear Crocs and I promised to never wear giant, bug eye, sunglasses.

I have broken the pinky oath.

I now own, and wear, bug eye sunglasses… with sparkles.

Oh, what a change…

My birthday was last week and for weeks prior Ivy had been telling me that she bought me a present with Grandma Mary. Ivy kept her present secret all the way up to my birthday and when the time finally came to hand over her little box she was grinning ear to ear and about to burst with excitement. Looking behind her to the grin on my Mom’s face it was with a bit of trepidation that I opened her gift.

Ivy had got me sunglasses for my birthday. My very observant and thoughtful daughter remembered that I left my old sunglasses in a friends car over the winter and hadn’t yet got a replacement pair.  According to all reports, she picked them out herself. This I do not doubt, they are large, they are round and they have sparkles. They are Ivy sort of glasses, they are glasses Fancy Nancy would be proud of, they are not unfashionable, hooded sweatshirt and jeans wearing, Mom glasses.

Oblivious to the giggles of my rotten family who were enjoying watching me squirm, Ivy beamed with pride in her gift she leaned in and said, “Don’t worry Mom, if you lose these, I can just get you another one!” And so, I did the only thing a mother could do when faced with ugly glasses and a child beaming with pride. I ignored the snickers of my family, mentally discarded my half formed thought of losing the things, (Ivy was clearly ahead of me on that one), put on my new sunglasses and gave my daughter a big hug as I assured her that I was indeed so happy that she got them for me.

Here is the paragraph you should skip reading if you own these types of sunglasses, that way we can still be friends.  Prior to my birthday I had just assumed that people who wore gigantic sunglasses blindly followed fashion trends without caring or realizing they looked like a bug. Because, clearly if they had thought about it they would realize that looking like a bug is a bad idea. No one looks at a woman masquerading as a bug and thinks, “Now there’s a smart lady.” Nope, bug looks elicit other less kind thoughts about the intelligence of the wearer, (trust me on this one, I’ve made them). Which is why many months ago in the kitchen I had swore to John that I would never wear glasses that made me look like a bug.

But that was, as I said, prior to my birthday. Now I know, it’s possible that there are other reasons to wear ridiculous sunglasses and I am reminded once again why it’s recommended not to judge people. You just never know, perhaps other women also have daughters that are as thoughtful as mine.

Ivy’s thoughtfulness didn’t end on my birthday. No, she makes sure I do not forget my new sunglasses when we get in the truck and if I happen to be driving when it’s sunny out she helps me remember to put them on in case I forget.

She is so very proud to have picked out such a perfect gift for me.

So, while I am shamed to report that I have broken a pinky swear with John, I just can’t help but wear my new sunglasses with pride as I think of my thoughtful daughter….

Picture by Ivy

…at least so long as nobody is looking!

Did I Just Say What I Thought I Said? V

Today’s edition of “Did I Just Say What I Thought I Said?” was an unfortunate choice of words on my part, in that I was proven wrong as the words were coming out of my mouth.

“WE DON’T PEE IN DOG BOWLS!”

Apparently some members of the family do indeed pee in dog bowls.

I shall be working on both my grammar and toilet training this afternoon, emphasis on the toilet.

How Much Wood…

I have seen more woodchucks this spring that I have ever seen before.  I feel fairly confident in my statement since I was trained from a very young age to keep close watch out the window ready to yell if I spotted any turkey or deer. In fact just tonight I won the who-can-find-the-most-turkeys-while-we-drive-to-our-friends-house contest. So, I speak with the confidence of one who spends more time watching fields and ditches than perhaps one should while driving when I say, I have seen more woodchucks this spring than I have ever seen before.

Where did they all come from?

Do they have population booms and cycles?

Am I being followed around by a small group of rouge woodchucks messing with my mind?

What is the plural of woodchuck? Woodchucks? Groundhogs? Marmots?

When in doubt ask Google.

Tonight Google has taught me that…

…there is no use trying to eliminate woodchuck from an area, they will reproduce and migrate back in at a rate so high that there will be close to zero population change in your elimination area. No use unless of course you want to eat them, then you’ll have a steady supply of woodchuck meat but you should remove the scent glands first.

… they are fairly aggressive, they look cute but they aren’t cuddly.

… they are very useful for studying medical things like hepatitis.

… they only live three to six years in the wild.

… and, get this, that they can climb trees. Trees! Woodchuck!

So I have three questions tonight.

1) Have you ever seen a woodchuck in a tree?

2) Have you seen more woodchuck than usual this spring?

3) Do you know if woodchuck have population cycles?

Now excuse me I have to go try and chase a woodchuck up a tree, I’m a see it to believe it kinda girl on this one!

The Final River Run?

Every year, my friend Steph and I paddle the canoe race in Pewaukee known as the River Run.

Every year my Mom and her friend Donna paddle faster than us.

Every year the big sign for the River Run goes up in Pewaukee but this year a small handwritten sign was taped on top of it: “Final River Run”

To which all of us said: “WHAT?”

When we got our preregistration letter we found out more. The Kiwanis Club organizes the race as a fundraiser for the community and they feel they are bringing in too little money to make it worth while. To which I say… well, I say a lot of things to that, but it can be summed up in one short: “Huh.”

Saturday was the morning of the final River Run,  a lovely, 40 degree, rainy, April morning. Which was ugly to wake up to but not as ugly as the sleet that fell on us as we were getting our boats ready.

We all hid in our cars with the heaters running until the last possible minute, jumped out, threw the canoes in and started racing.

Fortunately it was no longer sleeting, just raining and really, it was fine. In fact by the time we were ten minutes into the race I told Steph not to worry I was doing great. I had improved to only not being able to feel two fingers on each hand. Things improved even more when the rain stopped and we warmed up enough to throw our winter hats into the bottom of the boat.

By the end of the race I was wishing I had time to rip off my rain jacket and we had only three boats in front of us. My Mom and Donna, just barely still in sight, a man racing a solo canoe and two guys in an aluminum boat.  I said to Steph that while I had become accustomed to getting beat by my Mom I was not OK with losing a sprint to the finish to a big ole aluminum canoe.

We dug in, chased them down and passed them by. And let me just tell you, it doesn’t matter that our canoe was a much faster boat then their aluminum beast, it’s still incredibly satisfying to pass up two men in a sprint to the finish.

Unfortunately even our final sprint wasn’t enough to close the gap to Mom’s canoe and they beat us again. It did however place us decidedly faster than John and his friend Steve, which helps makes up for that getting beat by old ladies thing!

A few hours later we showed back up at the finish for the award ceremony, and missed it. Which was surprising because we were only five minutes late and the award ceremony has never started until it was at least 10 minutes behind schedule.  Soon we discovered why. The lovely, unvarnished, pine board and plexiglass plaques given as awards had run out. In past years they had always been busily hammering the plexiglass over the fill in the blank paper that makes up the award. No plaques, no hammering, and they were right on time. We picked up our pieces of paper and headed home, completely miffed that the awards we had complained about for so many years had been downgraded to a piece of paper.

Now, let me do a quick re-cap for you. The Kiwanis have declared this to be the last River Run because they don’t have enough participants bringing in enough money to make it worth while.  Meanwhile, we woke up early on an extra cold wet, sleeting day, paid our race fee, despite freezing fingers managed to paddle faster than almost everyone else and were given a piece of paper that I’m not even sure I can hang in the chicken coop for our efforts.

Huh, I think sums it up nicely.