Spam It Up

I've noticed that a lot of bloggers do giveaways. I've also noticed that a lot of bloggers post photos on their blogs. Today I am killing two birds with one stone.

I have a thorn in my side, and it is this can of Spam. It has been in my "pantry" (which is really just a glorified cupboard and the bane of my existence) for, well, a long time. Happily, I still have 23 more years until it expires.

I have no idea how it came to be in my possession. I'm pretty sure I didn't buy it. All I know is, every night when I open the cupboard to figure out what to make for dinner, there it is. Staring at me, hope in its little metal eyes, thinking, "Maybe tonight is the night that she will choose me." It's starting to creep me out.

Plus, I do feel sorry for the little guy. I mean, how would you feel if someone stole your name and made it synonymous with the most vile and hated form of e-mail around? It's the same as if your mom would have named you Emo. (Not that there's anything wrong with being Emo, it's just not that great as a first name).

I have tried to think of something to do with my can of Spam, but I'm drawing a blank. There is nothing related to Spam in my Better Homes & Gardens cookbook. Of course, my new favorite place to go for recipes is my sister-i-l Connie's awesome blog (you can click through from My Blog List). This is because I once made her sweet and sour pork and all six people in my family liked it, which never happens. And while she has lots of delicious recipes on her blog, there are none (yet) for Spam, so I'm still stuck.

So finally I get to the giveaway part. Leave me a comment with your best (edible) idea on how I can use my can of Spam. The best recipe will win - you guessed it - their very own can of Spam, plus a collection of the 3+ recipes I may or may not receive. (I promise to buy you a fresh can and not send you the old one from my cupboard).

The winner will be chosen based on scores in three different categories: 1) Does the recipe involve Spam? Score 100,000,000 points if it does, zero if it does not. 2) Is the recipe edible? Score 18,000 if yes, zero if no. 3) Which recipe does the writer of this blog randomly think is the best? Score 2 if I choose yours, and 1 if I do not.

P.S. Did you like my photo?

P.P.S. Don't forget to comment with your recipe!

DST, It's All The Rage

Husbands, wives, take note: I have created a remarkable solution to all of your marital conflict. Not that you have any. I know most homes are filled with mainly peace and love, but just on the off-chance...

Statistically speaking, what causes the most discord in a marriage? Money, work, children? Wrong! It's snuggling, the age old conflict: one spouse likes to snuggle and the other does not.

This issue came to my attention when I was counseling two unnamed individuals recently. Let's just call them Indycay and Eansay for simplicity's sake. And no, I am not a professional counselor, but that doesn't seem to stop people from seeking my sage advice at no cost to themselves.

Indycay told me that she is a snuggler and Eansay is not. Neither would budge from their position. Eansay gave Indycay the nostril flare of total rejection. Indycay responded by sighing forcefully through her nose, an ancient Tibetan insult. A ferocious fight soon ensued with insults like "You non-snuggler!" and "You snuggle freak!" being flung around. It was very sad. I knew I must put an immediate stop to it.

So, I did what any good counselor would do. I powered up my laptop and Googled 'snuggling' to see what kind of advice I could find. Unfortunately, my web filter blocked me from viewing any of the content that came up. (I have a very strong filter. It also blocks me from Ebay and Amazon, but I believe my husband may have manually added those to the block list. That's a fight for another day).

Since I could get no help from the internet, I decided to use good old-fashioned brain power to come up with a solution, and that is just what I did. My solution was so good that I trademarked it immediately. Sure, that caused a little delay in my counseling with Indycay and Eansay, but the royalties will be worth it. My solution is called DST (imagine a tiny TM after that, because I can't figure out how to insert those little characters). DST stands for Designated Snuggle Time. It means that you designate ten minutes before bed to snuggle, and then you are free to turn your back and start snoring with no recriminations. Genius!

Indycay and Eansay have been using DST for two days now, and I've noticed a marked improvement in their relationship. For example, Indycay has stopped posting photos of Eansay popping his zits on YouTube, and Eansay has begun calling Indycay by her real name instead of 'Spawn of the Devil'. I feel pretty good about that.

(With my apologies to all the REAL counselors out there. Ummm, and Indycay and Eansay)

Fame and Misfortune

Well, you'll soon be seeing my picture on the news, and it's not for the reason you think. (What do you think?) I'm guessing I'll soon be famous for setting a record for most library books checked out at once. I just checked my account online, and right now I have 47 books checked out. I'm pretty much the most devoted library patron ever. On the downside, that's 47 chances that I'm going to lose a library book, which is not totally unheard of at my house.

We lost a library book last year that we never found. It was one of those Easy Readers for kids who are just learning to sound out words. I can't remember what it was called, but it was something like Run Bun Sun, I'm sure. Or Scat Rat Cat, or Bug Jug Hug, you get the idea. Anyway, the thing was about 6 pages long and as thin as a sheet of construction paper. Now, really! Should libraries even be allowed to lend out books as small as that? That little micro-book was just begging to be lost!

Sure enough, that's exactly what we did. My late fees starting piling up to the ceiling, and I was looking everywhere for it. Do you know how many places a book the width of a CD could be hiding? With the CDs, for one. Behind the toilet, under the living room rug, in the flour barrel (yes, I have a flour barrel). It could be wedged in a recipe book. Good heavens, I would never find it there! I make all my dishes from memory. Spaghetti, tacos, pancakes. That's it. Just those three. I rotate them, though, so it's not like we're eating the same thing every night.

Eventually I went to the library to confess that I could not find the book. Before I went, I practiced getting tears to well up in my eyes while declaring that the $37.90 I now owed in late fees was more than my meager budget could handle. I wore my most bedraggled outfit (coincidentally, the same one I wear each time I blog and/or make spaghetti) and blacked out a tooth with a Sharpie. I approached the librarian with a look of abject humility and surrender, and told her I had lost a book and couldn't find it and would have to either pay for it, or legally change my name and take out a new library card with no late fees on it.

She looked at me somewhat askance, as all librarians look at people who are book-losers, and told me that the cost to replace the book was $1.97. The sun broke out of the clouds as I turned my face toward heaven. Hurray for skinny books! She even told me that if I would pay to replace the book she would waive my late fees. Obviously not a financial wizard, but I didn't argue with her. I'll let the library's board of directors handle that one.

So, now my card is free of late fees and my conscience is free of Run Sun Bun, or whatever it was. However, if you are ever at my house and you see one of 47 other books lying around, let me know.

Caryn

Caryn sat in Biology and wondered why she was so unlucky. Today was the day Mr. Thomas was pairing his students up as lab partners for their dissection project, and Caryn had been planning for it all week. In addition to crossing her fingers that she'd be paired with Wyatt, she'd also planned her outfit and shaved her legs, just in case Wyatt happened to brush up against her, in a scientific manner, of course.

He was just so hot! And she would know. She spent an hour everyday sitting behind him in Biology with nothing better to do than study the way his neck and shoulder muscles shifted and curved when he bent over his notebook or leaned back in his chair to stretch. She found herself constantly fighting the temptation to lean forward and run her fingernails across his broad back.

She'd planned to wear green. With her strawberry blonde hair being more strawberry than blonde, she was one of the few girls in school who could really pull off green. Not being a natural knock-out, Caryn had learned to work with what she had. And great hair was one thing she had.

So, she'd come to school in a jewel green top and her skinny black pants, hair straightened, then curled at the ends only, then glossed, and finally, sprayed. Possibly she'd also sprayed the rest of herself with Tickle, The New Body Fragrance for Women, in the girls' bathroom earlier. She was hoping the exotic notes of jasmine and sandalwood mentioned on the label would prove to be irresistible. All in preparation for dissecting a frog. With Wyatt, of course.

But wouldn't you know it, Wyatt had walked in late today, after the pairings had already been made, and Mr. Thomas had shooed him over to the team closest to his desk, which was now a threesome - Jacie, Meghan, and now Wyatt. That was a sight that made Caryn's stomach churn. The star running back flanked by two adoring female cheerleaders. Caryn glowered at the back of Jacie's head as she laid a hand on Wyatt's forearm, her little silvery laugh carrying to the back of the room, where Caryn was stuck working with Ian and wondering why she was so unlucky.

She tore her gaze away from Jacie and Wyatt long enough to glance briefly at Ian, then immediately regretted the action when she saw him vigorously scratching the inside of his ear with his pinkie.

"Gross!" she muttered under her breath, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms in front of her. Ian reminded her of Shaggy in the Scooby-Doo cartoon. A little too tall, a little too skinny, and a lot too immature. As if to prove her point, Ian looked over just then and saw that she'd caught him overhauling his ear, but just grinned like he could care less. "Want some?" he asked, waving the pinkie in her direction and actually brushing the sleeve of her shirt with it in the process.

"Gross! Get away from me, you heinous pig!" Caryn screamed, jumping out of her chair and toppling over the tray with the dead frog in it at the same time. The whole class burst out laughing, and Ian laughed along as he picked their frog up off the floor and made a big show out of dusting it off and making sure it wasn't hurt. Caryn, in the meantime, stalked over to Mr. Thomas, demanding an immediate partner change. The last thing she needed was an earwax stain on her jewel green top, for the love of Pete.

Too busy, or too weary, to care, Mr. Thomas quickly gave in. "Fine," he said, barely looking up from the stack of papers he was grading.

"Wyatt's group has three people," Caryn added helpfully.

Mr. Thomas glanced over at them. "Great," he said, more loudly this time. "Jacie, you're with Caryn now. Ian, join Wyatt's group over here."

Caryn mentally groaned as Jacie sent her a look that would chill a Flamin' Hot Cheeto. This day was not looking so good, and it was only 2nd hour.

Miss Appleton

Shirley Appleton woke up and stretched. Her alarm clock was chirping with the sounds of KGLD, the local golden oldies station.
It was exactly 6:00 a.m., and it was Tuesday, which meant it would be a good day.
"Rockin' robin, tweet, tweet, tweet," Shirley sang along softly as she sat up and gingerly stretched first her legs, then her neck, then her back.
She certainly couldn't bounce out of bed the way she had when she was a youngster, but she was happy to be getting up with a purpose. Tuesday and Thursday were the days she volunteered at Madison Jr. High, and the semi-weekly interaction with the staff and students kept her feeling young at heart.
Making her way to the kitchen, Shirley noted that the crack in the linoleum by the fridge had become more pronounced. Oh, well. She put the observation into the back of her mind while she stirred up a pot of oatmeal on the stove, and thought instead about what her task might be at the school that day. Sometimes she worked in the office, and that was her favorite. As she filed and sorted mail she could listen in on the conversations of the students as they wandered by or stopped in with their tardy slips.
The bookstore was another place she regularly worked, usually in the company of a student aide. The bookstore was a little less lively, and therefore not her first choice, but she did enjoy getting to know the students she worked with.
Less frequently she was asked to help individual teachers in their classrooms, usually during their prep period, putting up bulletin boards or whittling down the endless piles of papers to be graded.
A former English teacher herself, Shirley could be counted on to help in any way, and to complete her tasks with accuracy and attention to detail.
She smiled contentedly as she sprinkled a little brown sugar over the sticky mound of oatmeal in her bowl.
"Maybe a little cream today," she thought to herself. "After all, it is a Tuesday."

* * * * * *

Wyatt groaned, looking up from the cash register and out the window that separated the bookstore from the hallway beyond it.

"What?" Jenna asked, turning from the t-shirts she was straightening.

"It's Miss Appleton," Wyatt said.

"So?"

"So, we can't have any fun when she's here. 'Everything must be ship-shape,'" he mimicked.

Jenna giggled. "Poor baby, can't hang keychains from your ears or build mechanical pencil teepees today."

"Hey, I've got to pass the time somehow," he said, rolling up the sleeve of his t-shirt and examining his right bicep while he talked.

Shirley walked in just at that moment, raising an eyebrow at Wyatt.

"Good morning, young Mr. Langford," she said. "I trust your arms are in good working order today."

Not the type to be easily abashed, Wyatt responded without hesitation. "I don't know, Miss Appleton," he said. "I'm a little worried that my right bicep might be a little bigger than the left one. What do you think?" He flexed both arms for her, showing off the muscles he'd developed lifting weights for football.

Never one to be flustered herself, Shirley took her time examining the proffered muscles before responding demurely, "Dear me, I believe you may be right. Perhaps you better start writing left-handed and see if you can't correct that deficiency."

Jenna snickered and Shirley winked at her as she came around behind the counter and went to work, straightening and dusting things that were already straight and dust-free.

Sugar Rush

I never outgrew sugary cereals. Every morning I say to myself, "Self, it would be very good to have Special K for breakfast this morning." But Self disagrees. Self wants Lucky Charms or, if I'm really having a blessed day, Apple Jacks. Self usually wins, and then I must punish Self by making us do Cardioke for an hour. (Okay, 20 minutes...I'm no Suzanne Sommers, gimme a break).

And yes, there really is such a thing as cardioke. I discovered it on Cox's On Demand channel. It's a special combination of cardio exercise and karaoke singing which allows me to use two of my lesser talents at once, for a truly scary sight. One or the other of those things is usually enough of a challenge for me. I do okay with cardio until it gets dance-y, then my lack of coordination starts working against me. It generally goes something like this:

(The truly brave-hearted can take a moment here to visualize me standing in my living room exercising in front of the TV):

Me: Okay, step touch, step touch, I got this. Why does she keep saying left and moving right?

Aerobic Goddess with six-pack and buns of steel: Let's add in some arms.

Me: Uh-oh. Okay, focus. Step touch, arms out, step touch, arms in. This doesn't look quite like what they're doing.

Aerobic Goddess with six-pack and buns of steel: Adding a new step here, grapevine...and go!

Me: Grapevine, what's that? Step, cross, step, heel. Wow, the girl in the back really puts a flair into it with those hips, doesn't she? Step, heel, cross, oops... (trip, fall back onto couch, be grateful, once again, that I'm doing this in the privacy of my own home).

My karaoke's even worse. I have a range of about 5 notes, and even Paula Abdul would have to concede that I'm "a little pitchy". Worse yet, I have singing enthusiasm. So, basically, I sing five notes, off-key, but with enthusiasm - a deadly combination.

It should be obvious, then, that Cardioke was a natural choice for me. The chance to be able to trip over my own two feet while singing "It's your thing...do what you wanna do" at the top of my lungs is priceless. It wasn't so bad when my kids were at school and I exercised in peace, but now that my flailing has an audience of four, it's worse. I mean, it can be really hard to hear what the Goddess is saying with everyone laughing so hard.

Come to think of it, they say that laughter can burn up to 40 calories a day. There's a chance my kids may be getting a better workout than me.

Keepin' It Real

So I'm sitting here skimming through a women's magazine when I spot an article titled "Holiday Fun". Since I would like to have fun this holiday season, I decide to read the article. Mostly when I skim magazines I read the article's title only, make a hasty judgment call about its worth (usually negative), and then move on. So far today I've already passed on "Eat Your Way to a Healthy Heart" (if it doesn't involve cookies, I'm not into it), "Look Sexy in a Swimsuit Again!" (never did before, so probably not gonna happen now), and "De-Clutter Your Closets For Good" (puh-lease).

There should really be more honesty in writing. I mean, wouldn't it be great to see an article called, "I Threw a Rock at My Neighbor's Dog at 3:00 This Morning, Then Felt Guilty and Couldn't Sleep, So I Should Have Just Stayed In Bed To Begin With". Kind of wordy for a title, but at least we can all relate.

And what about that Ladies' Home Journal standard, "Can This Marriage Be Saved?" I used to get all excited reading that question every month, because I really wondered, can it? Sometimes I would make myself wait three full minutes to read the actual article just to increase the suspense. But guess what? It's saved. Every single month, month after month after month, always the same. Saved. And I'm left sitting there thinking, "I thought the divorce rate was much higher than this." I mean, it's good news and all, but shouldn't they just call their feature, "Another Marriage Saved" and stop the charade?

People should know what they're getting into when they start reading something. That's what's so great about children's books. When you see a book called, Anthony's Purple Hat, you can be pretty sure what that book is about. It's refreshing.

You know what else is refreshing? According to my "Holiday Fun" article, "making homemade wassail, putting on your holiday finery and entertaining those you love". Sigh. It would have been more honest to say, "Work yourself into a frenzy cleaning your house, try to find 5 friends who would want to come over for a refreshing sip of wassail, whatever that is, and then quickly sew yourself a holiday frock, since you can't afford finery." How fun!

Instead, I think I'll go get a cookie to eat while I read the rest of this magazine. And that's the honest truth.

A Season of Selling

If you need some extra money, think of selling things. A wise sage once told me, "You can make money when you sell stuff. " That was either a wise sage or my friend Craig Slist, I can't remember. Anyway, my family decided to try it out.

DDawg sold homemade soft pretzels and made enough money to pay for football camp.

TLC whipped together a few ingredients and made his own laundry soap, earning enough to pay for scout camp.

Angelface conned her great-grandma into saving pop cans for her, and she earned enough to put up a tent in the living room and eat marshmallows, as if she were at camp.

AJ didn't sell anything, but she's cute and people (aka her grandmas) give her money all the time. She has enough for a pint of Ben & Jerry's, although she's too young to appreciate that fact.

I tried to sell my autograph on Ebay, because my friend at work told me autographs bring big money on Ebay. Nobody bought mine, though. Maybe my reserve was too high.

My failure prompted Hubby to buy me some Tony Robbins CDs (on Ebay, of course. It seems like everyone is making money there but me). Apparently Tony thinks I can do anything I put my mind to, so Hubby suggested I listen to the T-Rob every morning while styling my hair. I just started yesterday, but it turns out he was right! Just for fun, I started thinking about those old beehive hairdos people used to have, and I ended up making the BIGGEST hairdo ever! It was so crazy! Still no money though.

In my sorrow I walked down the street to commiserate with my sister-in-law, but she was busy helping her 6-year-old with a lemonade stand. They made $26. Man, I should have thought of that.

A Prayer for Me

From Luke Chapter 22:

"And he was withdrawn from them about a stone's cast, and kneeled down and prayed. Saying, Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done. And there appeared an angel unto him from heaven, strengthening him.

And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly: and his sweat was as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground."

It's common to pray more earnestly in moments of great pain. A natural, and welcome, result of pain is being driven to your knees, where you can find a measure of relief. When I am in pain, physical or emotional, I often pray more frequently and more earnestly. I pray for myself: for relief, for strength, for understanding, for deliverance.

But I'm human. My natural man is inclined to be selfish. I pray for myself a lot, even when I'm not in pain! But Jesus Christ is the opposite of selfish.

Could he have been praying for me?

Is it possible that, being in agony, he prayed more earnestly for me, not for himself? I know I was part of the agony. I know part of His agony was because He saw, felt and understood all my future sins, sorrows and heartaches. In the midst of his own great and terrible pain, did He pray over mine?

Amazing.

Summer Fun

Summer's coming
Better gear up.
Do jumping jacks,
Get a tummy tuck.

Enroll those kids
In swim team, now!
If you hesitate
You'll be left out.

Must, must, must
Go to EFY.
Everyone's going, Mom,
That's why.

Dance lessons, really?
It's such a joke.
My 3-yr-old plies,
While I go broke.

Horse riding, piano,
Gymnastics, bale hay.
Private cooking classes,
Make things out of clay.

We'll be bored, we must go,
My kids cry and sob!
What else can I do?
I get them all jobs!