The Cooperbowl

My son’s 8^th birthday was planned to fix all the ways in which he’d been disappointed at recess.

Picked last. Not picked at all. Rarely getting to try quarterback. Teammates making intentionally bad snaps when he finally got to try being the quarterback. Kids suck.

  

Clearly hearing about it in snips and bits over the past few weeks was really bothering me. Him, too. But The Coop really does let things roll.

I’m a bear.

And so that is how we came to rent a full indoor football field, name ourselves the commissioners of The Cooperbowl, and host what boiled down to an extended recess.

Oh did he have fun.

It was the first time we had planned to host our December baby’s party after Christmas, nearly three weeks after his actual big day. That might have been a mistake. But it was a nice change of pace. Or rather, the pace of the chaos in our house three weeks ago really didn’t afford the time for a birthday party.

After the running, and jumping, and sweating – my do boys stink – they sat down for some good ‘ol fashioned concessions and a quiz. That’s right, the Who-Knows-Coop-Best Quiz. Questions and answers that I’d like to keep:

Who is Cooper’s favorite football team? Broncos (it was the Jets until the 27^th of December).

What belt has Cooper earned in karate? Orange

What is Cooper’s favorite color? Green

Other than football, what is Cooper’s favorite sport? Swimming – though he first answered soccer (?!?!?!!?).

Who is Cooper’s favorite football player? Peyton Manning – though I know he loves Tim Tebow.

What is Cooper’s favorite special? P.E.

What is Cooper’s favorite book? Diary of a Wimpy Kid

There were some other questions I wanted to ask Coop. You know, my usual birthday interview. But it seems that all questions are answered with “butt cheeks”, “fart head”, or “I dunno”. I gave up.  

Planning a Party? Visit my sewing blog for resources. 

Generous Heart

You know that awkward moment when the teacher puts you on the spot in front of 23 kids? Guh. Why do they do that? 

Mason's kindergarten teacher -- who we like very much -- invited me to be a part of a tradition she does during a student's birthday week. Basically it's some form of show-and-tell every day of an entire week. Gratefully she gave Mason a short week. 

I'm sure you can guess her reasons. During the presentation of his life on a poster board -- 5 years condensed into 10 photographs -- he stared directly at the poster board and read word for word the captions I had written. These captions said things like, "My brother Cooper and I built a replica of the Fukushima nuclear plant disaster." and "I volunteered to paint the cafeteria last fall." Come on, the kid was reading it having never rehearsed it! I was both totally proud and somewhat aching at the awkwardness.

His teacher wanted him to improvise, however, and was trying to get him to talk into a microphone. Hated it. But he endured. Oh that's when sweet kindergarten teacher said, "I'm going to ask your mom to list some of the reasons she loves you so much." 

Is this a test? Am I supposed to cry? Or am I supposed to let things just eloquently roll off my tongue like a Hallmark card? Pah-lease. I decided blubbering would be frowned upon. Basically I said, but I can't remember exactly what I said because I was mostly concentrating on not crying....

1.  When Mason was born, one of the reasons he stayed at the hospital (they had just seen his grotesque NICU picture) so long is that he had what is called a generous heart. Generous is a word we use when we mean big. He was born with a big heart and he still has a big heart. He is kind and gentle and generous of his time, and his things. He never wants to leave out someone. 

2.  Have you ever noticed Mason doesn't talk as much as some of your other friends? (Can I tell you how many times small boogery children point out this when I'm in the classroom volunteering?) And when he does talk he speaks very quietly? Well, I call this soft spoken and it is one of my favorite things about him because I know he listens to others before speaking. When he does speak, he means what he says. 

3.  And last, he's creative and I love creative people. 

And here is where Mason interrupted me and said, "What about those LEGO crayons?!?!" What a transition! Basically he gracefully got me off the hook and allowed me to stop talking and start handing out tiny LEGO men made of melted crayons. He then bragged about me while I bragged about him. It was excellent. 

Tonight, as tradition dictates, I tucked in 5-year-old Mason for the last time and said good bye. sniff sniff. Thankfully Mason, reassured me with, "I'll still be the same person tomorrow." And just as I'm wishing they didn't grow so quickly I'm reminded of a conversation I very recently had with Mason. 

He asked, "Mom, do some kids grow up and never leave their mom's houses?"

Tentatively I answer, "Yes. Why? Do you think you wanna do that?"

"Well, I been thinking about it. " And that was the last I heard of that. Until today when he twisted off the stem of his apple in 29 turns and declared that is when he would get married. Great. Idea. 

PS -- I'll be writing about the party on my sewing blog later this week.

Pinterest Myths

As you know I have a penchant for debunking myths – except when I’m promoting them. Now that the kids are back in school I’m going to hope the myth of having more time proves to be false. Already I’ve taken on some Pinterest projects to make my life more fabulous. (That last bit should be read with a hint of sarcasm.)

The recipes.

Pinterest recipes are a literal mixed bag of fantastic ideas, foodie impossibilities, Mormon casserole crap, and a fair share of alcoholic non-sense. Or at least the ones I seem to be drawn to and pin. Here’s the key to getting your recipe pinned on Pinterest, take a good picture of it. And here in enters the first myth. Food that looks good doesn’t necessarily taste good.

I used to work in television, so I knew this was true. You see, we used to say they could call this smellevision. Namely half of the folks on air have actually been up all night and haven’t showered in a while – especially when it is flood and fire season. But they can do wonders with MAC Studio Fix in the back of a live truck and make themselves look good from the waist up. Same is true for food photographed and pinned on Pinterest.

This comes as no surprise to anyone, yes?

I don’t usually take pictures of food. I’m not a food photographer and I usually like to eat up before I plate up and make it look all fancy. Plus, I’m not trying to make a career of food reviews. But I do like to share what I’ve learned. In fact, I’m a bit of an over-sharer.

This week I have made three (for reals) Pinterest recipes.

1.     The Pizzadilla from Budget Bytes.

2.     The 2-Ingredient Berry Cake from The Frugal Girls.

3.     The Cheesy Chicken Tater Tot Casserole from The Country Cook.

First things first, the Pizzadilla. Not a lot of mystery here. Basically it’s a quesadilla with Italian insides. Easy to make, easy to eat. My family ate it with no complaints. It whips up in about 4 minutes and you could basically use this model to get rid of any leftovers in your fridge. I say you should try it.

Next, the 2-Ingredient Berry Cake. I believe one pinner said something like, "this tastes SOOOOO good and is good for you." It got my attention because it had a cake mix (I’m a sucker for a cake mix recipe.) and it had pie filling. Also, it appeared to be easy. It was easy to prepare. It tasted good for about the first 15 minutes after you pull it out of the oven. After that, it was just a heavy pan of goo. I don’t for one minute think it’s healthy. If I were you, I’d pass.

And finally, the Cheesy Chicken Tater Tot Casserole. I am as enamored with tater tots as cake mixes. So, this was a no-brainer.  This is a slow cooker recipe but could be done in the oven. I messed up when it came to following directions – surprise, surprise – and completely skipped all steps following the layer ingredients in your slow cooker step. That means, I didn’t add all the ingredients and frankly I thought it tasted just fine. This recipe is not healthy. I made it using real bacon, and frankly I think the real bacon is what saved it when I forgot the other ingredients (milk). It’s not really pretty and it comes out kinda like a mash. We served it in bowls and the kids kept thinking it was scrambled eggs. At one point my husband asked, “Is there rice in this?” No rice, just completely unrecognizable components.  If that doesn’t scare you away, please know this did taste good and appealed to my Utah Pioneer roots. It tasted exactly like funeral potatoes with chicken and bacon added.

So, go you out into the world of Pinterest food boards and get your cooking on. But please, report back!

Kindergarten, II

See this picture?

On a campus far, far away in a decade long, long ago.

I’m the one in the ever-so-striking pleated shorts, too much make up, and earrings that are large enough to pick up AM/FM radio. It’s significant, however, because that short imp in second row sent it to me via text message just a few days ago. And guess why she had it? Because our university was going to throw it away. Apparently our legacy is obsolete. We’re old. They took our picture out of the frame and probably put new “kids” in – ones that definitely are not wearing pleated shorts – and threatened to throw it away if no one claimed it.

This blow to the ego was the horse pulling the dreaded cart of a new stage in life. My Masaroni is growing up and stuff. That’s right, the littlest starts kindergarten in less than 48 hours.

Oh yeah, he's that cute.

I’ve been worrying more about how I feel about this. But then, in a quiet voice Mason asked me, “How long until I go to my new school?” There was obvious uncertainty fluttering in his eyelashes. The kind that makes a mother gasp in her heart of hearts and choose her next words very, very carefully. At the time it was a mere two sleeps. In fact, it was this afternoon and he is to report to class on Monday morning. Explaining this time period brought a silence in him that was more silent than usual.

With hesitation I asked him if he was nervous. Pregnant pause. “I don’t know,” he muttered.

“Well, you know," I started, “The Coop will be just down the hall; you can ask your teacher to go and get him.” Mason nodded, thoughtfully.

“You are going to rock kindergarten! They will love you!” I said with just a touch of desperation in my voice.

I knew I should be asking him what he was afraid of, but I also knew if I asked I would cry when I, a) admitted to myself that he was afraid, and b) heard why he was afraid. Also, I am afraid. I am afraid that if my kindergartener leaves the home campus, I’ll step even closer to the “old” that my alma matter has labeled me.

This isn’t my first kindergartener. You’d think I was an old pro at this talk. But, Coop was… I mean is a different type of student. He can’t wait for school to start. He, frankly, thought very little of the first day of school that first year, or this year. He shooed us away when we tried to take pictures and make a big deal of it. Then he walked into class. Didn’t even look back, or hug us, or cry.

Darn it.

I felt cheated that year. Wasn’t nostalgia supposed to drip off the day? Isn’t the first day of kindergarten for the first child you send the very reason Jackie-O sunglasses have never gone out of fashion? I had no running mascara to hide that day. But this year, I suspect this year will be – wetter. Crying-er. Maybe down right pathetic-er.

And Hooorah! Right?

If I missed out on something last time, should I be happy I’ll definitely get it this time? This very last time. Sigh. Nope. I think I’m wishing for some courage for the both of us. Which feels better? That your child hang onto your leg, shed some tears, and hesitate as he crosses the threshold of the classroom? Or should we all wish that our kids bound in, take a seat, and excitedly breathe in the scent of freshly sharpened pencils? I’ll report back once I’ve had a taste of both.

For now, good luck to my two favorite students. Both of you. You have each other. You will be liked at school. And you will be missed here at home. Got any suggestions what I should do with myself?

Put a Hot Dog on It

As I bit into the first juicy nitrate tube of the day I celebrated the tastes of the season with a sigh and...

"What would the Fourth of July be without hot dogs?"

Cooper replied...

"A hot dog-less Fourth of July."

My husband and I exchanged side glances and nearly sprained our eyes with rolling. Then my husband muttered...

"Cooper, You are a master of stating the obvious."

Cooper replied...

"It's not that hard to master."

Obviously.

Hoppy Hoppy Joy Joy

How we hopped to it, a photo essay. And the crafts.

The Fool’s Rules

Of course we observe the national day of silliness, April Fool’s Day. But I don’t go in for practical jokes and pranks. Frankly I don’t like being taken by surprise and I’m not very gracious about it. So, I just bend the rules and routine of a typical day and call it good.

Today we had dessert for breakfast. Not a nutritional rule was abided and I didn’t even feel guilty about it. The boys weren’t any more or less well-behaved. They didn’t appear to have any more or less energy. And they certainly did not seem any more or less brilliant.


Because we began our day up to our eyes in cake and whipped cream we closed the evening with scrambled eggs, bagels, yogurt, and mini muffins. It was all washed down with the quintessential breakfast beverage – O.J.

I liked the fool’s rules.

While we’re on the topic of food, I thought I would share with you a kidism of a couple of weeks past. My husband made the error of grabbing on to a cup of coffee he had just reheated in the microwave only to scorch himself. This provoked the all too awesome shout of, “Son of a B**ch!”

Yes, he said it. He said it loudly. We all sat in silence for a beat and then Mason squealed in laughter. Once the laughter subsided I expected something of a long discussion about the reasons we don’t usually use this word in front of moms and teachers. But instead Mason threw back his head as if to laugh once more but said, “You said Son of a Sandwich, ah ha ha ha hah a!” Then he slapped his knee and started laughing again.

Wish yesterday’s episode of road rage ended so well.

What Do You Give __________?

Here's the dilemma, create an appropriate token of gratitude for the teachers who helped this little man climb out of his shell.

I've learned competing with all the greatness of all the other moms on days like Christmas and Valentine's is not for me. I take the no-pressure holidays -- St. Pat's, National Karaoke Week, Cinco de Mayo, and my all-time favorite: Knut Day. These are perfect holidays for me to be crafting and creating. Then when I bomb a project, I mean nail it, I can rest easy knowing no one else will have done anything at all for teacher.

This year I engaged in a hunt for licorice the colors of the rainbow. That was a super idea. You can read about my struggle to pull all this together at my sewing blog. Or just see a picture of the finished gift below. Entirely up to you.

It Was All Very Non-Traditional

I'm not sure -- even at this juncture -- if it grew from laziness or a desire to embrace some heritage, but our family left the tree up until Knut Day this year. We did it. Which is to say, we didn't do anything at all. It just sat there taking up all the space in the sitting room (te he he, I just said sitting room). We refused to touch it in the name of Knut. But today is Knut Day and I'm predicting the tree will stay right where it is until Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. But damn it, it better be gone by Abraham Lincoln's birthday.

"Why," you might ask did we leave the tree in its spot for so long. First and foremost, we are procrastinators. In this house, some more so than others, and all equally in denial.

Next, the basement is finally under construction. If I wanted to put the tree away, there is no away for it to rest. This situation is only going to get worse before it gets better.

Lastly, I really have wanted to have a Knut Day celebration of my own for a few years, now.

I'm quite sick of talking about my procrastination. So let's just skip to the basement nonsense, shall we? I cannot even describe to you the disaster this phase of construction has written on the wall. It's all there, time constraints, space constraints, patience constraints. People, this will be a true test of going-through-hell-to-get-what-you-really-want.

Did I mention the unfinished basement is the former home of aforementioned Christmas tree? Oh yes. It's current home is temporary -- though my neighbors will question my grasp of the meaning of "temporary" by the time all this is finished. It's future and mostly permanent home is yet to be determined. This is the main reason I hesitate to disassemble it. Is it better to let an assembled -- though not decorated -- tree stand in your living room; opposed to an undecorated, disassembled heap of tree parts stand in your living room? Yeah, I'm not sure about that. Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

I'm feeling terribly lost in my current predicament because I had such a strong plan up until 6:30 p.m. today. Until today I was resting easy in the luxury of knowing I was -- on some level -- a little bit Swedish and could tell people I was observing Knut Day this year. (This is also a total misnomer. You don't observe it so much as mark it as the day the season of festivity is over with one last festivity.)

We invited a few friends over for a crafternoon and smorgasbord. It was a delightful plan. Now it has unfurled and I have to have a new plan to get that tree out of the house.

But let's look past my panic and talk about what a hit the photobooth at the Knut Day celebration was. Magic. In the grand scheme of my Pinterest fueled thoughts I thought the crafts would be the big hit. But the photobooth was clearly the one thing that every kid wanted to try out. Well, every kid except Mason and another guest who is a) Mason's age and b) a lot like Mason.

The photobooth was assembled half-heartedly and consisted of a cast-off piece of banana yellow broadcloth thrown in front of the T.V. to create a fearfully unironed backdrop. Then I plucked a few props from our prodigious costume closet and provided the kids with a few guidelines. Pick a prop, pose, and take a picture. Hysterical. I will have a photobooth at my next party. I will have a photobooth at the next classroom party. I will have a photobooth at the next fundraiser. Hell, I'd have a photobooth at a funeral. It is a scream. Enjoy the pictures.

We munched on Swedish meatballs from IKEA, veggies, fruits, lemon cakes, and golden raisins in boxes wrapped to look like Swedish flags. I also filled my Christmas card tree with goldfish bags and notes that proclaimed the holiday season to be o-fish-ally over. I served glogg to the adults. I decorated with undecorated smaller Christmas trees, candles shaped like Christmas trees, and even a miniature battery operated Christmas tree meant to adorn one of those creepy miniature towns (it's amazing what you can find on clearance).

The theme was really less about Swedes (because I don't know or remember much about Swedish traditions) and more about blue and yellow. I had the kids create a goat mask, a foam smores snowman, and a goody bag for the tree plundering. Once all the crafts had been crafted or had an upturned nose presented to them, and the photobooth exhausted, pandemonium broke loose. I actually had to use a whistle to get things back to order. A whistle.

Once I got over the shame of using a whistle in the house I got the kids engaged in a good 'ol fashioned game of who can do the most push ups. Then we had a pretty good face off for the most sit ups. Then, and only then, did I encourage them to plunder the tree of its gingerbread cookie ornaments and bags of popcorn.

Here's a short list of the things I was determined to do, but did not:
1. Take a picture of all the Swedish flag adorned raisin boxes.
2. Take a picture of the smorgasbord.
3. Take a picture of the Christmas tree with its edible ornaments.
4. Take a group picture of all the kids.
5. Dress like a scary goat and perform mischievous acts.

Alas...

Christmas has come to an end,
And the tree must go.
But next year once again
We shall see our dear old friend,
For he has promised us so.