Bits and Pieces of Our Days: My cooking (sort-of-cooking), Next Food Network Star, and Ramona

First it was Atticus. Now, Anne-with-an-e has started classes, too. The rest of us are sitting back, taunting them cheering them on, and planning for the coming school year.

More to come soon about plans for Betsy's senior year, and Ramona's last year of elementary school.

(I was in a mild state of shock, however, when I realized that after this year, Ramona would qualify for various church/community activities that cover "junior high/high school, grades 7-12." Ummm? Eeeekk?!)

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With Atticus back to work, I've reclaimed my kitchen. In the first few days all I could handle was Little Caesar's, then tuna salad, and then I progressed to egg salad. (The egg salad totally counted as cooking because I had to boil the eggs. Heat and/or a dirtied pan = cooking.) 

This week I've managed to pull together teriyaki chicken with rice, and a Nikki Dinki-style taco salad (i.e., mostly veggies and beans, with a wee bit of meat) that got rave reviews from my former cook. Today I'll be making homemade pizza dough and freezing batches of it.

I'm adjusting, people, slowly adjusting. And on the up side, Atticus still likes to cook on the weekends. (I know. I have nothing to complain about.) 

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Speaking of Nikki Dinki and Next Food Network Star, I forgot to blog about it this year. We were stunned by the final three. Sputtering, really. We thought it would be/should be Stacy, Nikki, and Damaris. I'm sure Rodney's a great guy but his charisma must be one of those magical, in-person things. I just wasn't affected by it through the screen, and did not feel Giada's crushiness (i.e., I would not "follow him anywhere.") And Russell -- also a great guy, but I'm trying to eat healthier, buddy! Your culinary sins will not assist me in advancing to the next round! 

The girls and I were out of town, at my sister's house, when the final episode aired. Kathy is a NFNS fan, too, and this was the first time we'd ever been together to watch an episode. But Ramona could not bear the thought (too sweet!) of watching the finale without her daddy. So we did the next best thing -- we watched as he watched, and we did play-by-plays over the phone, right down to the finger-crossing before they pronounced Damaris the winner. We were happy, y'all.

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We like to eat cupcakes celebrate baptismal birthdays.

We recently celebrated Ramona's. So hard to believe that eleven years ago, she looked like this:

Scan of an eleven year old photo ... sorry. 

I love baptisms, love to cry at baptisms, love to remember my own baptism, and I really love chocolate cupcakes. (So much for healthier eating. Ummm, Russell?)

Bit and Pieces of Our Days

The Post-Graduation Edition

Except that it's not exactly "post-Graduation" around here.

We have one more graduation celebration coming up. Same daughter, different town. Anne-with-an-e will join the larger, regional Catholic homeschooling group for its graduation Mass, ceremony, and reception.

We had the big local party here at our house, though, over the weekend -- family in town, ate lots of restaurant food, bid farewell to my parents on Tuesday, spent Wednesday doing laundry, and now we're looking forward to the next celebration of our grad (which, because it is out of town, will not require me to clean any toilets.)

*****

I love Instapaper. I love it almost as much as I love this pencil sharpener. And that's a lot.

*****

An impromptu tag-along to some friends' 4-H meeting last night led me to think about my love/hate relationship with 4-H, and crafts, and salt dough, and food coloring. So I was going to write about it here, but I just now realized that there's nothing to say about it other than the fact that I sometimes get crabby in the midst of it all, and then I apologize to my children, and ultimately I realize that it doesn't really matter whether or not I like arts and crafts. Ramona and Betsy do, and since I love them, I love their crafts, and I do what I have to do to help them out, inspire them, encourage them. Enough said.

*****

Blogging about 4-H made me think about tagging this post with the "4-H" tag, which made me realize that I haven't been tagging posts since Blogger morphed into the New Blogger and made me forget the tag option was there. This reminded me that I hate New Blogger with a passion that is practically an entity unto itself. Am I overreacting?

*****

Even though we dropped cable TV, we can still watch The Next Food Network Star online. It's a dorky family tradition, and the show has gotten sillier and sillier, as has the network, but we still have fun with it and it's an excuse to sit around eating ice cream with my girls and talk about Giada's scary smile.

What We've Been Doing

Saturday night: Big, noisy, community fireworks show. Big, traumatized dog.

Sunday night: Slumber party for Betsy, who recently turned 15 (They called it "The Feet Fifteen" party -- lots of toenails were painted.) Playtime for little girls while the teens were off being teenish. Lots of chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. (That's my girl, Betsy.)

Monday night: Sat around a fire pit in friends' yard while kids made s'mores, played Ninja, or lolled in grass and talked. Went home to a big, noisy neighborhood. Big, traumatized dog. Watched Next Food Network Star.  Betsy drew this on the whiteboard in the kitchen:

Tuesday: Finished reading Doomsday Book, by Connie Willis.  Loved it -- loved the holy and noble Fr. Roche, loved the ending, loved having a good cry.

Wednesday: Traumatized dog still doesn't want to go out for walks. I know a lot of people love shooting off fireworks all week long as a prelude to the Fourth of July, but I'm thinking of moving to a state that has made them illegal. Moving, however, would lead to big, traumatized children. So I'm striking that idea.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Where to begin?

I wrote to a group of friends earlier this morning that life has recently had me running, and careening around corners, skidding to stops, and then looking -- I'm sure -- surprised or stupid at the next thing that awaits me.

It's all good stuff -- writing projects and out-of-town friends visiting, a wedding in the family (Hi, Brian and Molly! You are officially the cutest couple of 2011!), the chance to see out-of-town-family, the chance to find out that, yes, you can find a dress for your fifteen-year-old just an hour before the wedding starts because you found a tarry stain on the one you packed for her, youth groups and magicians and birthday parties and slumber parties and our parish's first-ever Corpus Christi procession ....

All great stuff, so I'll try not to look so surprised. Or stupid.

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 The Next Food Network Star.  You know we're dorks about this show.  All I have time to say today is  that Penny has got to go. She's so annoying and mean.  I know Alicia had a rather odd voice but did you have to be such a bully?  The judges call it spunk, and a sassy attitude, and "knowing what she wants." I call it "I don't like you, Penny."

Vic Vegas? You are just too cute for words. Never judge a tough guy by his cover.
Jeff the Comedian and Daddy? Rooting for you and we don't think you're a pig monster.
Suzie? You are a doll.

My offspring's favorites:
Ramona's rooting for Jyll, Orchid or Jeff.  Betsy and Anne like Vic, Orchid, Jeff, Justin D. and Jyll.

Are you watching?

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My second baby, Betsy, turned 15 this month. Ramona will soon be 9. She was THREE when I started this blog. Anne-with-an-e will be a high school senior.

Remember my old post When They're Older?

They're older.

Here's the post, originally from about five years ago, just in case your kids aren't older yet:


I got to thinking about something last night, just after I settled a dispute between Anne-with-an-e and Betsy (or was it between Betsy and Ramona? Or had Ramona been annoying Anne? Ahem. You get the picture.) I was tired, and when one is tired, even the littlest irritations loom large. A few tiny disagreements suddenly feel like near-constant bickering, picking-on, finger-pointing and tattling. Oh, my, the behavior of children. I mean, it's so ... immature.


I felt a little overwhelmed (did I mention I was tired? So much depends on a good night's sleep ....) Yes, I thought, this is the stage of life at which I'm currently parked:


My children are walking, talking, reasoning (mostly), sharp little tacks who constantly delight me but are also capable of draining my mental energy. They're all quite verbose (wonderfully, exquisitely so on the good days and "Do-you-ever-stop-talking?!" on the bad) and that's what can get me. It's not a physical exhaustion, but it can feel so. It's mental fatigue: the dragging of a mind forced to think of 17 different ways to say, "Be kinder," the sluggish tongue that must -- one more time -- wrap itself around the words, "Go tell your sister you're sorry. And please don't ever do that to her again when she's in the shower." It's the ambushed brain that can't take one more joke that involves body parts or functions.


 This is where we are, I thought. But when they're older ....


"Uh-oh, stop right there, missy," I told myself. "Don't start playing, 'When they're older,' because it's a lose-lose proposition."


"When they're older" is the trap that entices you to long for a different stage of life. I've sometimes fallen into it, but it's not a good place to live. Because, you see, if I live my entire life in the "When They're Older" trap, before I know it, they'll be older. And they'll be gone.


It goes something like this, looking back to infancy:


When she's older, she won't wake me up every night.


(But she also won't coo and gurgle in that delicious way. She won't linger at nursing and enclose me in her eyes, telling me I'm her reason for being.)


When she's older, I won't need to carry her everywhere and then my back won't ache all the time.


(She also won't be portable enough to be cuddled, held and snuggled no matter where we are or what we're doing. She won't fit neatly into one arm and I won't be able to scoop her up to celebrate that she just mastered skipping.)


When she's older, I won't have to listen to "Why? Why? Why?" all the time.


(She also won't have that same awed look on her face that she got when she saw her first penguin at the zoo. She won't study caterpillars and ants for extended periods and she won't be delighted by pointing out water towers, having just learned what they are. She won't have that squeaky voice that personifies "ironic" when she says "Awwwww, look at that babeeee! He's so cuuuuute!")


When she's older, I won't have to listen to body function humor.


(Well, I can just keep hoping on this one.)


When she's older, she won't pick on her sister. She'll be too mature for that.


(And she'll be too mature to sit on my lap, play hide-n-seek, wear her hair in ponytails, jump rope, get that incredible shine in her eyes when she kicks a soccer ball and she'll no longer be more delighted by my company than anyone else's in the world. She'll have discovered there are other things and other people who are important to her.)


When she's older, she won't be so moody.


(Oh, wait. That's a woman-thing. That'll continue. That's okay.)


I've always found "When They're Older" to be counter-productive. Oh, sure, it might seem to comfort me at the time (and don't get me wrong, there's a place for the "This too shall pass" philosophy) but most of the time, "When They're Older" is the opposite of comforting -- it's agitating. It forces us to live in and for the future. And when we do that, we miss so much of today. This Moment.


Rather, I must embrace that my children are just that. Children. They're going to be childish. And my sometimes-ambushed brain has to shore up to take one more joke, one more poor choice, one more tattle. I have to remind myself that bad days make it feel as if this happens all the time, but I know that it doesn't. Because on the same day there's been tattling, a poor choice and a joke that only a daddy can appreciate, there have also been cuddles and hugs and beaming looks of love. There have been discussions that run deeper than I thought a ten-year-old could handle and insights so moving that I've gotten a glimpse at the woman my daughter will become. There have been tea parties and read-alouds, girl-talk and cookies in the oven.


There has been the delight of "I'm so glad they're this age. I'm so glad for now. I'm so blessed by today. I'm so in love with this moment."


Today, I won't fall into the "When They're Older" trap. When they're older, they'll certainly be more mature.


But they won't be here.


And I'll miss them. So very, very much.

Bubbles, Ramona, and Wicked, Oh, My!

Recent goings-on:

While Anne-with-an-e, Betsy and I went to see Wicked:

Atticus took Ramona to the Children's Museum:

And I see from my archives that the last time we saw Wicked the kids were also looking forward to the new season of The Next Food Network Star.  We're predictably going to watch that again this year, too -- cooking and judging and drama, oh, my!

Bits and Pieces of Our Days (and Birthdays!)

Last week the girls had the opportunity to participate in a Missoula Children's Theater production. This terrific traveling troupe comes to town every year, but we never seem to have an entire week open to make it work. And an entire week is needed indeed: auditions take place on Monday, the kids rehearse all week, and then present two shows on Saturday. Whew!

Betsy played a wild boar (a Rodney Dangerfield sort of comedian boar) and Anne-with-an-e was a sarcastic billy goat. Poor Betsy got sick Friday night, but an antihistamine, some Tylenol and a little caffeine got her through two performances on Saturday. Today she happily collapsed into a heap for most of the day.

*****

I still have not blogged anything about The Next Food Network Star, much to Anne-with-an-e's annoyance.  Sigh. I have been admittedly remiss. I'm sorry, Anne.

Our whole family watches together every week (we're geeky fun that way) and we make predictions about who will stay, who will go, and who is dull and ridiculous. I must humbly admit that I'm usually right. (Although tonight I was wrong, mistakenly thinking that Serena wouldn't make the cut.) I can't say any of us were sad to see Brianna go -- she wasn't popular around here after she stomped on Serena's foot. And the girls were happy to finally see Cute-Brad-Who-Needs-To-Smile rise to the top.

But -- I'm sorry, Anne, I have to digress -- I still have the same complaint I have every year. If the Food Network really wanted to find the next great TV cooking instructor, wouldn't they ask people to demonstrate their strengths instead of putting them through these silly paces? Don't worry, Anne -- I still have a lot of fun watching with you. I simply cannot tell a lie. Food Network is irritating me with the ever-increasing manufactured drama here. The show is, perhaps, a new and more terrifying kind of Hunger Game.

*****

Betsy turned 14 this summer. It is simply not possible to believe the joy that this girl has brought into our lives for the last fourteen years. Betsy radiates joy and love. That sounds like a cliche, but it's oh-so-true. She once prompted a friend of mine to say, "I want to have a Betsy!"

Happy birthday, my sweetheart, my child.

*****

Ramona turns eight this month.

Eight.

Ramona is turning eight. She was three when I started this blog. This was my first Ramona post:

What a Princess Eats

Our three-year-old, affectionately known as Ramona around here, was trying on princess dress-up clothes this morning. I interrupted, in that irritating way mothers do, to ask if she would like some string cheese (aka "cheese sticks" in RamonaSpeak.)

"No," said Ramona. "Princesses don't eat cheese sticks. Princesses only eat brownies. Did you know that?"

I didn't know that. Hmmm . . . there happens to be a pan of brownies sitting on our stove top at this very moment. Coincidence? Or Divine Providence? Perhaps just a princess's sovereign right.

And, one of my favorite early Ramona quotes, from a couple of months later:

Ramona just turned to me, a pencil mark on her cheek, and said, "Recently, I crossed myself out."

Eight, dear readers. But still quotable. The other day, she found an old tape measure -- slightly worse for the wear, as a bit of the end was torn off.


"Hey!" she said. "This is great! I just found 59 inches of fun!"

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

* Whenever I sit down to write a blog post lately, I get sidetracked by reading other people's blogs. It's always "Just for a second ... before I actually start typing ...."  Then I read something fascinating on someone else's blog and think, "Why didn't I find that sooner -- like, before everyone else on the Information Superhighway found it? Then I could have blogged about it and sounded informed and enlightened instead of out of the loop."  Then I get discouraged and just go to bed.

[ETA: That sounds as if I actually get discouraged and that I'm spending my days in bed. I was kidding, for those of you who worry about me. It really just means I'm staying up too late and getting sidetracked .... ]

* Anne-with-an-e has insisted that I blog about The Next Food Network Star.  We always watch this show together and it really is a lot of fun. A rundown on our picks and thumbs-down moments coming soon.  (And by the way, my culinary point of view hasn't changed.)

* My friend from Chicago has headed back home so it promises to be a quieter week and possibly a week of more blogging. Unless I start to read other people's blogs ....

*Reading: Anne-with-an-e is reading Catching Fire, Betsy is revisiting Brian Jacques' Mossflower and Ramona is tackling The Phantom Tollbooth. I am nearly finished with Michael Pollan's In Defense of Food and Atticus is reading more Stephen Sears.

* Now that the 4th of July is over, I am in a very good mood. I have nothing against life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness -- I think all of that is pretty great stuff.  Mostly I'm just glad that our sweet mutt will once again claim the world as her toilet.

Ramona really WILL be the Next Food Network Star

We watched the finale tonight (Huzzah, Melissa! But, we expect to see a show from Jeffrey, too .... ) and afterward, the kids had a snack.

As Ramona sat with the food and drink of her choice -- raw broccoli and chocolate milk -- she suddenly threw her hands up in disgust.

"The show is over, and I just figured out my culinary point of view!"

"What is it?" we all asked.

She waved her hand over the combo before her: "Healthy and Unhealthy!"

I'd better get that application filled out.

What Kind of Blogger Am I?

This summer, I've been a relatively infrequent blogger. According to Google, which organizes my life for me, I'm averaging 4.7 posts a week, but from my perspective, they all feel slapped together. When was the last time I ruminated?

In June and July, rumination took a back seat to a blur of kids' activities, crazed 4-h frenzy, swimming, softball, horseback riding, visits from friends and/or going to visit friends ... and then there was the dishwashing -- because my kids insist on eating repeatedly. Something like six times a day, and that's not counting the popcorn popper.

And when I do have time to ponder lately (I'm switching from "ruminate" to "ponder" because ruminate can have that obsessive "chew the cud" connotation and you know how I feel about cows) I'm usually lying in bed without a computer at my fingertips (because I'm not that addicted) so by the time I get out of the bed and make it to a computer or a notepad, I've forgotten the seven brilliant ideas I had.

But the lack of lengthy, thoughtful posts has me thinking about exactly what kind of lengthy, thoughtful posts I compose when I do have the time to compose them. And it makes me think of all the various kinds of bloggers and the labels they wear, and I start to wonder, "What's my label?"

Am I a homeschooling blogger? A mommy blogger? A book blogger? A Catholic blogger? A political blogger? (A big no on that one, as I define my politics as: I'm Catholic.) Is this an author's blog, or just a blog by someone who happens to write? Is it a poetry blog? Is it the blog of someone who has too much time on her hands and posts things like this little bit of obsessive self-examination?

I guess all I'm really pondering is how much I dislike the labels in the blogging world. But it isn't just the blogging world, is it? It's the world at large. It's everywhere. I generally go blissfully through my life unaware of how others label me, or how they themselves are labeled. But sometimes, certain labels hit me. I was thinking of this the other night when our family watched "The Next Food Network Star."

One of the finalists is a stay-at-home mom of four young children. I love Melissa. She is one sharp mommy and I spotted that from the start. She has loads of cooking talent, and she's smart, adaptable, intuitive and creative. Last week, she recapped her life for them, and talked about having done a number of different things, including being successful and talented in business, but it wasn't enough for her, it didn't feed her soul. Her family and her cooking do feed her soul. One of the judges told her he was seeing her in a whole new way, and I realized it was one of the first times he had looked beyond her "mommy" label. She has been variously dumped into "mommy mayhem" and "harried housewife" categories, and I got really annoyed with the judges every time they said such things. If you happen to be a mom, and you talk quickly, suddenly you're a harried housewife and your life is full of mommy mayhem. Arrgh.

I identified with Melissa, not because I have a shred of cooking talent, but because I've done a lot of different things in my life, too, and it took awhile to figure out what fed my soul. Years ago, when I quit a job in the business world to go back to school, I told my boss that I was thinking of becoming a counselor or psychologist (obviously I didn't go that route, but I don't want to digress, so let's keep moving.) He rolled his eyes at me and said, "What a waste! If you'd said law school, I could see it, but counseling? Sheesh."

He had an idea that a woman with a brain should have a certain kind of life, a certain kind of career, and "the helping careers" just didn't pay enough for people with brains. Of course, I ended up taking a job (stay-at-home mom) that pays even less than counseling, and I'm sure that if I ran into that old boss today, he'd be even more horrified than he was the day he sat across my desk and told me I was making a huge mistake.

My point, if I have one, is this: although I understand the usefulness of labels to help us sort, sift and save time, labels can also be limiting and misleading. That's all. I have no idea what kind of blogger I am, what kind of mom I am, what kind of brain I have, what label I fit, or if it even matters. I suppose I just, since I had the time today, wanted to ruminate a little bit on blogging, labels, Melissa, and the assumptions people make about stay-at-home mommies.

Whew.

It felt good to ruminate.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Woke up at 5:15 a.m. and couldn't get back to sleep. I spent 45 minutes thinking that I should go back to sleep. I didn't go back to sleep. I've been up for an hour. I should have more to show for it.

*****

Saturday, a dear friend took Betsy and Ramona to the Ashfall Fossil Beds. Yes, that's right -- cool fossils right here in Nebraska.

*****

Saturday night we went to an anniversary party -- old college professors were there. I suddenly felt quite stupid. One of these guys can actually read hieroglyphics. I feel as if there are parts of my brain I haven't tapped for years. But the spinach/feta bites were delicious and gave me something to talk about (or gave me a reason not to talk as I shoveled more of them in my mouth ....)

*****

Yesterday, we picked up all the kids' projects from the county fair. They came home with loads of purples and blues and spending money from the ribbon premiums. They were thrilled with their accomplishments. The free Dippin' Dots (thanks, 4-H, for the food coupons) didn't hurt either.

We've done 4-h for three years now, and every year I say I'm going to drop it. June gets hectic, and we're always behind on the things we planned to finish. This year's stress led me to announce that next year "We are skipping 4-H!" and when fair day rolls around, "I'll just pay you twenty bucks apiece!"

Yes. I really said this. And I'm pretty sure I meant it. But, then, I take a look at everything my adorable kids accomplished:








Ramona's artwork and the sewing she did on her "I Love Jesus" banner? Betsy's gorgeous purple-ribbon cake? Anne-with-an-e's potato bread moving on the state fair? Can I really put a price on all of this?

I'm gonna have to up it to at least twenty-five.

*****

Did you watch The Next Food Network Star last night? We were aghast that they didn't send Integrity-Challenged Debbie home.

Grrrrrr.

*****

Dishing on the Next Food Network Star

Do you watch The Next Food Network Star?

Let me start by admitting that it's contrived and the challenges are ridiculous. But, this year, I promised my daughters that I would stop saying such things as, "Oh, that's just silly! If she had her own show, she would never be put in that position! That's not fair!" (I'm big on justice, and normally not so big on so-called reality shows.)

But.

I love watching this show. Last year, it became a family event, and so it goes this year (although, I've gotta say this: they need to cut the innuendo off right now ... this is supposed to be a G-rated show.)

Okay, so, here's our take so far:

Week One: We felt bad for poor Jen. Yes, her green beans were dull, and she was a wee bit Barbie-ish, but it must be awful to be the first one to go. Ouch.

Week Two: Good-bye, Brett, and good riddance. You were a creep to Mommy Melissa. Enough said.

Week Three: Eddie, if you'd said one more word about your girlfriend and the night you had the apartment to yourselves, I would have applied my TV smacking skills to your head. That presentation was painful to watch, as were your mixed metaphors about recipes, foundations, hands and symphonies. Go fix your hair.

Last night, Week Four: We weren't surprised to see Teddy go. He should've been sent packing along with Eddie the previous week. His blatant lie about the dismal dessert that night was embarrassing to see (although, uh, Debbie? Questioning his integrity? After your Week One debacle during which you failed to purchase team members needed ingredients? Is this the pot calling the kettle black, hmmm?)

We were afraid that last night's DLT (Duck, Lettuce and Tomato sandwich) had saved Teddy, and would be the cause of Katie's demise, but we were pleased to be wrong. Especially since Teddy consulted crib notes on his hand. Really, Teddy? Really?

Our take on the remaining six finalists:


Jeffrey: You own a real estate firm? I just noticed that last night. I thought you'd have a cool job, like antique bookstore owner or Karate sensei or spiritual guru to guys with cool hair (not guys who think they have cool hair, like Eddie.) We felt sorry for you about the lobster. Those inadequate burners were not your fault. You're in our top three (four, if you count Katie, but we're afraid she'll go next week.)

Michael: Michael, Michael, Michael -- you seem like a really nice guy, and we know you have the talent. And we know you felt really bad when you walloped Debbie with that pan. Yikes. But, you're camera-shy (or camera-paralyzed, or just camera-worried) and that just doesn't work on TV.

Jamika: We just love to say your name. Ja-MEE-ka. You have a beautiful screen presence, and we think you could do this! We have not a single mean thing to say about you.

Katie: We like you, too! But, you have to resist talking about the health benefits of your food, and you've gotta cook it all the way through.

Debbie: We do not share Adam Gertler's crush on you (though we love you, Adam. You were one of our top picks last year.) You have a lot of talent, but we're still a little concerned about the integrity department. Didn't you milk that wallop on the cheek just a little too much?

Melissa: We're also rooting for the mommy of four! She personifies this quote about "ordinary" housewives. There is nothing ordinary about Melissa, who also happens to remind me of one of my best friends in the world, Heather, so I'm biased.

Whew. That was fun.

We now return to our regularly scheduled lack of gossip.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

Every year, our subdivision has a Garage Sale Day. There are loads of sales within walking distance of one another and we always hit a bunch of them. This year we snagged a great bicycle, a couple of games, a much-longed for Lite Brite for Ramona, and this guy (for fifty cents.) The girls have named him Steve:



*****

Today we attended an open house for the newly renovated Benedictine monastery here. The sisters spent eighteen months crammed into a tiny apartment complex while the monastery was being completely remodeled, and they've just moved back in. Being Benedictines, they naturally and hospitably welcomed the public today so that we could nose around their new home. The new retreat floor is lovely, and now I'm feeling the tug toward a retreat ....

But, ummm, next time? Remind me not to wear high heels on a walking tour of a four-story monastery.

*****

Last week, we saw Wicked and found it delightful. Fun and funny -- touching, too. And a visual feast. I liked it much more than I expected I would. We've been listening to the soundtrack -- songs designed to tug on you in all the right places. Even Ramona (who did not see the show) says of some of the music, "It's that kind that makes you feel every emotion in one emotion, like you want to laugh and cry at the same time."

*****

Tonight, we're no longer in Oz but will be found in the comfort of our living room watching The Next Food Network Star. Anyone else?

So can I. Pass the wine.

We watched The Next Food Network Star again tonight.

Aaron talked about how hard it can be to talk and cook at the same time (though, I have to say, I do this all the time when we have people over to dinner. I'm always still cooking when people arrive, so I chat and chop or talk and tear lettuce ... I am totally in the running for the next FN star. Except for the actual cooking part.)

As Aaron explained why he stopped cooking in order to talk, Ramona piped up.

"I can listen and drink at the same time."

Like mother, like daughter.

I'm listening.

Busy, busy, busy and the next Food Network Star

I've been so busy with life, and writing and celebrating Betsy turning twelve (twelve?! No, it can't be!) that I've had no time to blog.

It's another busy week, and I have a big writing deadline looming in the not-too-distant future, so my check-ins may be spotty.

But, if you watched the Next Food Network Star, were you surprised to see who got sent home? I can't say anymore, because my sister may be reading this, and she hasn't watched it yet. Watch tonight, sis, so we can talk!