1971

I still distinctly remember the day this picture was taken: The photographer had come to our home for a photo shoot (standard protocol, "back in the day"), and he and my mother decided it would be cute for me to pose while sitting at our piano.

I recall my mother cheerfully suggesting, "Susan, play 'Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head!'" since that was my absolute favorite song back then. And, in response, I tearfully pleaded, "But I don't KNOW how to play the piano, Mama!" Then I promptly burst into tears, in typical preschooler fashion. The photographer and my mother assured me I didn't have to know how to play it, that I could simply place my fingers on the keys. Apparently they settled for next to the keys, as you can see. Anything to prevent another princessy outburst.

Oh, if only life's challenges could be so simple to solve today...

As my husband would say, "You SHARE THIS with people?"

Tonight I made homemade soup for dinner, and I ladled out a bowl for myself and then poured a glass of Kahlua & milk. Between the soup and Kahlua, I was toasty-warm. I was sitting at the computer, adjacent to the kitchen, and decided it was much too hot to have a 5-pound hooded sweatshirt on. I pulled it off and was just sitting there wearing jeans and a bra. You know, like any classy woman would do. Just call me June Cleaver.

Let it be known that: (1) I never saw my mom in a bra more than a small handful of times, and it was in the privacy of her bedroom while she was changing, (2) I never saw my dad without a shirt, (3) I rarely see my husband without a shirt on, and our kids never have, and (4) I obviously am not as modest as the parents I came from or the man I married.

So, there I sat, cooling off--thinking nothing of my appearance--when my son comes into the kitchen to get his dinner. (I'd served myself the soup but didn't want my kids to have theirs until the cheesy garlic biscuits were out of the oven.)

I jumped up and said, "Oh, let me brush the biscuits with melted butter first!"--and, despite my somewhat shocking appearance--Chad didn't as much as flinch. My kids are so used to my "nakedness," as Joe loves to call it, that they don't even think twice when I parade around minus a piece of clothing. I mean, I am never naked-naked in front of them, but still. I would've died a million deaths if either one of my parents ever sat around half-dressed. (Sometimes I even died a million deaths when they sat around fully dressed, but that's neither here nor there.)

So I smirked and said to Chad, "You know, what teenage boy wouldn't love having his mom serving him food wearing just a bra and jeans?" And without missing a beat, Chad says, "Yeah, I know! I can't even imagine!" So I added, "I mean really! Who needs Hooters, anyway?!?"

I hope my kids' future therapists appreciate all the material I regularly provide.

Please forgive us, Barstow

I'm sorry I haven't been around in so long. I've been working some long days, and even some weekends at home too, and frankly I am damn near brain dead whenever I'm not working... so, as a result, this blog has been put on the back burner. It's all I can do to get on Facebook to read what's going on in everyone's lives, post an update or two, a few thumbs-up, and some quick comments before shutting the computer down and calling it a day.

You haven't missed much as far as my life goes, though. Really. It goes pretty much like this: Work, work, work, work, Wal-mart, see some friends, Wal-mart again, work, work, work, work, work, clean the house, do umpteen loads of loaundry, run kids here, run kids there, go to cheerleading, go to baseball, rinse, hang to dry, repeat. Yeah, like that. You get the idea. Which, I'm guessing, is probably almost identical to your life, except not nearly as exciting. (What? Isn't the grass always greener? Or someone else's laundry cleaner? A-ha-ha!)

This weekend, Erin had a cheer competition in Barstow, CA. Barstow is on the way to Las Vegas, at least if you're coming from our direction. It's a remote desert town much like the one we live in.

As we were entering the parking lot at the high school where the competition was to take place, our family's conversation went something like this:

Chad: Wow. Their football field here really stinks!

Joe: Yeah. It's not the only thing that stinks. The whole town does!

Me: Oh, c'mon. It's not that bad. I think it's actually kinda cool here.

Joe: No, I mean literally. As soon as we got into town, the smell became overwhelming. You had to have smelled it! Geez, it was like something had died and was rotting.

Me: Um, honey? That rotting dead smell? Was your precious little girl's FEET. She was changing out of her boots and into her cheer shoes.

All of us: *Uncontrollable laughter*

We now refer to Erin's feet as "The Barstow Stink." And poor Barstow... it did nothing to deserve such a reference! It didn't stink at all! Well, not until a certain little girl rolled into town one cold November day, that is....

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And that, my friends, is the post you've been waiting two months for. TA-DA! Stinky feet. It just doesn't get much better than that.

Stephenie Meyer? You ain't got nothin' on me. NOTHIN'.

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Scale who?

Sorry, forgot to take a picture of my creation, so this will have to do. I'm the one with the red lipstick and the smug look on my face, just in case you were wondering.

Tonight we had the best dinner.... a very scrumptious and rich braised pork. I just have to share the recipe with you! (It's from the newest Food Network Star, Melissa D'Arabian... I just love her $10 Dinners show.) And, I can honestly say, there's nothing about it I would change. It was so good and the house smelled delectable all afternoon while it cooked. (I also made mashed potatoes... red potatoes with the skin on, plus a stick of butter, some sour cream, a container of cream cheese, some garlic, chives, parmesan cheese, and salt & pepper. Go big or go home, right?! I would never want to skimp on calories... obviously.)

Here is the recipe. It's such a comfort food that I'm telling you: You have to make it this fall! I insist! Plus, it's totally inexpensive. I got the pork shoulder for 99 cents a pound, and that wasn't even on sale! (And two pounds could easily feed a family of four.)

Ingredients

2 pounds pork shoulder, cut into 6 large chunks
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons olive oil
1 onion, chopped
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 carrot, chopped
1 clove garlic, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 cup red wine
1 1/2 cups beef stock or broth
1 bunch parsley stems, tied with string
2 bay leaves
1 cup water

Directions
Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Pat the pork dry with paper towels and season with salt and pepper.

In a large Dutch oven, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat, and working in batches brown the meat on all sides until a golden crust forms. Transfer the pork to a plate. To the pan add the onion, celery, and carrot and sweat until softened, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the garlic and sweat another 2 minutes. Stir in the tomato paste and cook for 3 minutes to cook off the raw flavor and caramelize it. Sprinkle with the flour and cook another 2 minutes to cook off its raw flavor. Whisk in the wine and reduce it by half. Return the pork to the Dutch oven, then stir in the beef stock, parsley stems, and bay leaves. Add the water if liquid does not come up to the top of the pork. Do not cover the pork with liquid. Cover the pan and place it in the oven to braise until the meat is fork tender, about 3 hours. Taste and season with more salt and pepper, if needed. Transfer to a serving platter and serve.

The Climb

My son Chad goes to an after-school teen center on the Naval base where I work. A 16-year-old girl named Amber goes there, as well. She has been in the same daycare/school-age care with Chad since they were preschoolers.

Amber has Down's Syndrome. Excuse my ignorance when it comes to Down's, but I am assuming there are varying degrees--mild to moderate. I would venture to say Amber's case is moderate. She has a very hard time speaking and expressing herself, and is pretty immature socially. However, she is a beautiful girl in spirit -- so alive and full of life. You can't help but smile when you're around her.

I talked with her a little last week -- after getting the warmest hug, as always -- and found out she's Hannah Montana's #1 fan. I made a mental note to keep an eye out for something next time I went to the store that I could pick up for her. She lives and breathes this stuff!

Last Friday, the teen center got together with the elementary school center to put on their annual end-of-summer talent show. I was a little teary-eyed, thinking how many of these I've sat through and how, before long, my soon-to-be 5th and 9th grader will be all grown up and I won't have any more talent shows to attend. No more conferences, or field trips, or school events. No more needing me like they have for so many years. I had to refocus because thinking like that gets me absolutely nowhere fast! Snap out of it! Live in the moment, Susan, I had to keep reminding myself. And then things quickly changed perspective.

Amber got up on stage. Not meekly or mildly, but with a big, gregarious wave and a larger than life smile, exclaiming, "Thanks, everybody!" I had to wonder if she'd seen Miley Cyrus do that a time or two. Then the music came on -- "The Climb." In case you're not familiar, here are part of the lyrics:

I can almost see it

That dream I am dreaming

But there's a voice inside my head saying

"You'll never reach it"

Every step I'm taking

Every move I make feels lost

with no direction

My faith is shaking

But I gotta keep trying

Gotta keep my head held high

There's always gonna be another mountain

I'm always gonna wanna make it move

Always gonna be an uphill battle

Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there

Ain't about what's waiting on the other side

It's the climb

The struggles I'm facing

The chances I'm taking

Sometimes might knock me down

But no, I'm not breaking

I may not know it

But these are the moments

that I'm gonna remember most, yeah

Just gotta keep going

And I, I gotta be strong

Just keep pushing on

So, not only were the lyrics getting to me, but moreso, the emphasis she put into it. Let's just say Miley ain't got nothin' on her! She sang it with every bit of her heart. For a few minutes on the stage of that teen center, Amber was Hannah Montana.

But what got to me most were the cheers. Hundreds of children filled that center -- some younger, many the same age and older -- but all cheering her on, shouting her name, clapping and hooting and hollering. At times, they were waving their arms high in the air... back and forth, left and right. Every bit of it was sincere and heartfelt. It was as if Miley Cyrus herself were there, rather than a 16-year-old disabled girl who was having a hard time getting many of the words out.

They shouted for her during the entire song, many jumping to their feet for a standing ovation. It was nothing short of beautiful. I sat there unable to do anything but wipe away the flood of tears that was rushing down my cheeks. In those few minutes, I became so proud of those children in that room. I wanted to hug every, single one of them and tell them all how amazing they were, and how much inspiration and hope they gave Amber and, I imagine, everyone who was there that day.

And Amber, it goes without saying, provided even more inspiration and hope.

And that's when I realized... for quite possibly the first time in my life, the whole world just felt right.

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This little piggy stayed home, yo.

I was reading Suz's blog with pictures of beautiful summer feet on it, and what struck me was the commenters' reactions to her second toe being longer than her first.

As you can see from the above photo of my own feet (who were enjoying the seaside view, thankyouverymuch), my second piggy not only stayed home, but also decided to not grow any longer than her next door neighbor who went to pick up a few groceries. She didn't want to outshine the bigger pig; she's humble and unpretentious that way. She was all, "You know, I'm just gonna hang out here and stay home. I might listen to my iPod or post on Facebook. That's right... I'm chillaxin', homies."

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You might have just noticed that Second Toe is also very hip. Or, as today's young whippersnappers would say, "FLY".

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Or FLYYY if you're a 13-year-old posting on MySpace.

Anyway... apparently, those with Morton's Toe (such an unattractive name! Couldn't they have come up with something better?) take up nearly half the population. Next thing you know, our humble, on-the-smallish-side second toes will be minorities! They'll need therapy. They might start doing drugs if they stop feeling like they're fitting in. They could go all goth on us! Or even worse--they might become permanent hermits. I mean, they already obviously have issues if they're always staying home, while everyone else is out grocery shopping, or having delicious roast beef, or not (some are watching their girlish figures)... while others are having an absolute blast crying, "Wheee wheee wheeeeee!"

Mark my words--it's not going to be pretty.

What kind of second toe do you have?

Oh, and are you sorry you even read my blog today?

The customer's always wrong (in her world).

Last weekend, I went to The Dollar Tree. I love that store. There aren't many places I can go, load up my cart, and only be out twenty bucks!


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So, I was there with my husband and daughter, specifically to get a gift bag and a few other odds and ends.


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We went to check out, and I noticed the clerk seemed particularly cranky. I didn't think too much about it really, but decided not to give her my usual perky "hi!" She didn't look like she wanted any part of perky.

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I went to swipe my debit card, and as I was doing so and loading my bags into the cart, I realized that one gift bag I'd bought was completely crumpled across at least half of it. Not a little folded, not bent. Crumpled. And it honestly looked intentional. There wasn't anything in the bag that was squishing it; instead, it looked like it had been shoved into the bag with a vengeance.

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Calmly and pleasantly (honest!), I said, "Oh...um, could I please get another bag? This one got crumpled." Notice I didn't place blame--not "YOU crumpled it" or anything like that. I was continuing to be as polite as possible.

*

The clerk gives me a death glare (not even exaggerating here), and then slowly takes out the bag to examine it--I suppose to see if my request was warranted. She then tosses it behind the checkstand and curtly says, "I guess. If you want to walk all the way across the store to get another one!"

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I looked at her, blinked a few times, and said, "Oh, really?" (GAME ON, baby. You just crossed the line.)

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Then I asked Erin if she wouldn't mind going "all the way across the store to get another one." She happily took off to retrieve a bag.

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I finished my debit card transaction, then looked up at her and, again in the most polite (albeit semi-disgusted sounding) voice said, "You know, you were extremely rude to me just now. There was no reason to act like that when I was being reasonable and polite."

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She glares at me once again and then comes up with this: "Well, you didn't say you wanted the bag folded."

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(Whatever had I been thinking?! How could I be so foolish as to not request these things?!?!)

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I actually chuckled outloud and said, "You're kidding me, right? I had to SPECIFY to please not damage my merchandise? Seriously?"

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I waited. No response.

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I then said, "You know, you are really something. Thank you so much for that professional, heartfelt apology."

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And then I wheeled away, cussing under my breath.

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And I may have even wished on her a bout of chronic diarrhea for the remainder of the day. Just possibly.

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