The Year of Figgy Pudding

In our family, Christmas cooking was territory mainly reserved for the women. Only those of the manly persuasion who bore confidence beyond the garage would dare to enter the hallowed kitchen at holiday time. My Dad was one such warrior.

As a five year old I remember being impressed that my Dad knew how to make popcorn. This was before hot-air poppers and microwave popcorn… real men used oil, kernels, a pot and a stick of butter. Dad also made Sunday morning breakfast to entice us to get out of bed and get ready for church. Every Sunday we were awakened by him yelling up the stairwell, “Breakfast is now being served in the dining car.” This wasn’t donuts from a box or a choice of Rice Krispies, Cheerios or Trix. Dad perfected Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes, Jimmy Dean sausage and scrambled eggs with tiny pieces of bacon mixed in. We knew Dad could handle himself in the kitchen… at least before 9:00 a.m.

It was a surprise to us, however, when Dad decided one holiday that we were going to have figgy pudding… whether we wanted to or not. I think it was so we could sing with meaning, “Now bring us some figgy pudding. Now bring us some figgy pudding. Now bring us some figgy pudding and bring is right here.” Dad had never contributed to the Christmas dessert smorgasbord with the exception of holding the title Chief Taster of Pumpkin Pie. In fact, figgy pudding had never made the holiday menu at our house. Dad figured that we didn’t know what we were missing, and it was time to find out.

Mid-December, Dad searched the web for figgy pudding recipes finally selecting one that contained a few short cuts. There would be no removal of stems from a pound of dried figs at our house. Instead there would be the sound of cellophane being removed from the Fig Newton cookies. The recipe called for a special glass bowl with a plastic seal-able lid. The week before Christmas while most shoppers were gathering last minute gifts, my father was locating and purchasing the exclusive figgy pudding bowl.

Christmas morning was filled with the traditional stocking opening and cinnamon buns. Shortly after the socks were emptied Dad slipped into the kitchen to start preparing his wonder dessert. As the heavenly aroma of molasses, buttermilk and cinnamon filled the air we began singing, “We won’t go until we get some. We won’t go until we get some. We won’t go until we get some, so bring it right here.” Even with short cuts, it was one of those all-day recipes that had the chef glued to the clock most of the day. Personally, I was salivating by the time dessert rolled around, but my three kids were highly unimpressed with the brown goop that Grandpa had concocted.

The final step before we could indulge in the brown delicacy was the beating of the whipped cream to top off the figgy pudding. As Dad jostled the electric hand mixer, our children began pleading to be excused from Grandpa’s figgy pudding. No way. Everyone at the table would be partaking. It was sort of a bloodline requirement.

Much to our amusement, the hand mixer died mid-whip. Smoke escaped from the slits above the power cord and there were no stiff peaks in sight. If the figgy pudding killed the mixer, what will it do to us? We all wondered in silence. The mixer was thrown in the garbage yet the mission continued.

Not to be defeated, Dad put away the dessert plates and retrieved bowls from the cupboard. He scooped the brown chunky, air-pocketed glop and topped each mound with runny, half-beaten whipped cream and served them with glee.

My children are usually quite fearless when trying new delicacies, but I don’t think Grandpa’s figgy pudding was a contender in that category. In turn, each one took a bite and made the most contorted facial expression possible while trying to swallow without chewing. We laughed until tears dripped off our cheeks into the soupy bowls before us.

My husband, who has a stomach of steel, did finish his serving but profusely refused a second helping… over and over again. My mother wasn’t able to stomach her entire bowl of brown goodness, but smiled sweetly as always. Dad and I were the only ones who LOVED the stuff. We were secretly glad that no one else liked it, all the more for us. For the next five days Dad and I sang together with gusto, “Now bring us some figgy pudding and bring it right here,” as we enjoyed his extraordinary holiday dessert.

Thanks, Dad, for that happy Christmas memory!

Oh the Wonders of Anesthesia!

My husband, who shall remain nameless, but whose initials are Rick Crosby, had surgery on his old, decrepit knee on Tuesday this week. He’s been wearing a knee brace to play hockey for eight or nine years, ever since a catastrophic skiing day with our family in Canada. Finally two weeks ago, he completely tore his ACL and limped even with the brace on until this week.  Now he snores on the couch while his polar pack keeps his elevated knee nice and chilly.

The night after surgery is ALWAYS entertaining with this man. I should know. This is surgery #5 for us. Our children found his erratic comments highly entertaining and I scribbled them down as fast as I could so we could read them to him in the morning…. AND for your reading pleasure today. Here you go!

(He is wearing a full-leg support stocking on the non-hurt leg.) “Why is my white leotard dirty? Lin, how come it’s dirty?” I explained that he kneeled on the floor in the van to get his heavily medicated self into the vehicle for the ride home. “Well that carpet in the van is FILTHY!” (Not really.) I told him that we have another one that is clean for him to put on later. “Oh! I have two pair. Is it two pair or two pairs? Two pair. Two pairs. Do you know, Lin?” (He only has one pair.)

(To our two teenage boys) “What did you guys do today? … I had surgery!” (No duh!)

I asked Rick if he needed some pillows to prop himself up. “Yeah, some pillows or a hockey bag.” (How comfortable!)

“Lin, are you getting my pain pills at CSV?” (It’s called CVS.)

“Can I have some more pizza?” I explained that he couldn’t because he was supposed to take eating slowly after surgery. “I am going slow! It took me forever to eat those two pieces!”

(While I’m at the store….) “Nora, just bring me a piece of pizza and I will pay you a dollar. Your mom’s gone. She won’t know.” (Nice!)

(We were having a party dinner for Nora because it was her Gotcha Day, four years since she joined our family.) “How come everything is purple?”

(Nora started opening her gifts.) “What is taking her so long?” (It had been eight seconds.) “Someone help her!… Keeve, help your sister!… Is she almost done opening her birthday presents?”

(Nora opened a purple headband.) “Is that a halter top?” (Oh my!)

I wanted to take a picture of Nora and her Daddy for Gotcha Day. When I finished, Rick asked, “Who else wants to get their picture taken with me?” Both boys said, “No, I’m good!” Rick yelled, “Keeve get over here!” So we have pictures of the boys both laughing so hard as they get their pictures taken with him.

“I’m really hungry. I haven’t eaten for 20 hours.” I reminded him of the two pieces of pizza he just ate and told him to drink his water. “I will! Holy smokes, this straw is HUGE!”

“Hey…. um… are the Oilers playing tonight?” (Edmonton Oilers, his favorite hockey team.) Austin replied sarcastically, “Yes, and the score is two to three and Gretzky just scored!” (Gretzky hasn’t played on the Oilers since the early 90s.) “The Oilers SUCK this year!” (He would NEVER say this, even though it’s true.)

I suggested that Nora go share a purple Tic-Tac with her father. “Yeah, I won’t choke. I’m good!” (Sure you are, honey!)

“What day is it?” Tuesday. “It’s cheap night at the theaters!” (You’re not going anywhere, Superman.)

“What year is it?” Austin, again, sarcastically answers, 1987. “Hey, that’s the year I got married.” Then he looked around at the three kids with this confused look on his face and said, “I must have had insta-kids!”

Our daughter called from Oklahoma to enjoy the festivities surrounding anesthesia. Her father explained all about Lady Mary Crawley from Downton Abbey and how she is the tall one with dark hair who is grieving because her husband died. (WOW!)

Then our daughter’s boyfriend got on the phone and Rick asked when he is coming to visit. He replied December 26th. “Oh! Boxing Day! That’s the day before wrestling day, but you’re not supposed to do that until you’re married!” (What in the world???? I apologize on his behalf, John.)

And the entire night he kept asking, “WHAT is so funny?”  You are, dear. You just can’t make this stuff up!

It’s TRUE!

That ago old adage that I’ve heard since birth uttered from parents, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you” IS TRUE!  Be warned.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.  Parenting is not easy, but it is worth it 27 gazillion times more than the pain it brings.  Yesterday was the first time I lived through “this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you” from the parenting side of the equation.  Details need to be kept to a minimum, but a HUGE decision was made by my husband and myself that not only affects one of our children, but is one of those examples to all of our children who will remember forever, “When mom and dad ask you to do something… they mean it.”

I think I cried more than the child did.  My husband called a couple of times throughout the day and asked, “How are you doing?” not how is the child doing.  The child will be fine… and stronger for it, we hope.  I was a mess.  I always want to be known as the dream builder, not the dream crusher…. but sometimes when we see discrepancies between what we have taught and how the child is behaving…. dreams have to be put on hold.  We have to go in reverse for a bit and re-learn a few character issues that were obviously taken too lightly.  Delay is not denial… I learned that from my baby sister.  It applies here.  Delay is also dumb when we are not getting our own way… which leads us back to character issues AGAIN.

This reminds me of when my mother, in a flustered and frustrated situation, would tell us, “Go to your room and holds hands with yourself.”  When I became a mother, I completely understood the meaning of that.  I changed it up a bit for the next generation and have been known to relay loudly, “Go to your room and pray to Jesus that He makes you nice.  And don’t come out until He does.”  It’s all good.

It’s all about character.  How you behave when no one is watching is KEY.  Priorities are KEY. Being obedient is KEY.  Not just for our kids, but for all of us.  Blessing follows obedience…. every stinkin’ time.  God is so good.

 

Father’s Day! Two-thousand-twelve (twelve…twelve….twelve)

Nora and her second Father’s Day with her Daddy.  Rick and his second Father’s Day with his Colombian princess.  She wrote him a beautiful card, “Thank you for being my dad. I love you!”  Brought tears to my eyes when I think of how blessed she is to have him as her Daddy.

During church this morning, I realized for the first time that I’m thankful to another father…. in South America… who fathered a little girl who was destined for our family…. and destined to do GREAT things for eternity through her testimony.  A father whom I’ll probably never meet.  But a father whose life impacted our family GREATLY.  Thank you, birth father, for your precious gift to us.  I silently said his full name and prayed a blessing on him.

We spent the day with my Dad up at my parent’s house with most of our family (minus one child who was camping) and my brother’s family.  The line of cards was the longest I’ve seen in a while.  Lot’s of love and sentiments.  Our family is blessed beyond measure with godly fathers for generations!

At lunch, we all shared a memory of our dad… the stories varied from saving a daughter from swarming ants, to removing socks full of fleas, to cleaning up a crib smeared with *unmentionable* smelliness…. and those were the first three stories.  I felt like we were stuck in a Green Acres episode down on the boondocks.  Seriously?  These were the only happy Father’s Day memories???  I jumped in next with a story of my dad fixing the most amazing dinner, in my humble 5-year-old opinion, of popcorn and sliced apples.  I was SOOO impressed with his culinary skills!  More stories followed of kids being swung up on the roof and slammed into the side of the house first….. dad reading the Bible every morning…. being chased and tickled… being impressed with dad’s ice skating skills…. and dads who dressed up like a woman and Peter Pan (with tights).  It was all quite amusing.  Nora told the story of the day she met her Daddy and he cried tears of joy and almost made her cry and then he made a funny gulping noise.  (Love it!)

Dads play such a critical role in the lives of their children…. as examples and role models for their sons… and as admirers, protectors and guardians for their daughters.  Thankfulness permeates my soul as I realize the quality of the fathers in my family… solid men of integrity and strength through good times and bad.  All following the heavenly Father and leading the way to Him. Thanks, Dad.  Thanks, Honey.  Thanks, Rob.

So blessed!

 

Keep Your Small Children Off the Streets!

It’s that time of my life again…. I’m getting old fast.  My little blond haired son who stuttered and yelled every word while he ran instead of walking anywhere…. just got his driver’s permit.  He was three-years-old about six months ago.  How does this keep happening to me?  In the past few years, every time he would comment on my driving (like suggesting that I could have made it through the light I stopped at) I would tell him to add two more months past his 16th birthday for a possible driving date.  Funny how he stopped commenting about six or eight months ago…. hoping I would forget all the months that were added. I have not.  What do you think I am?  Old?

Before my 15 1/2-year-old got his permit, I mentioned to my husband that I’m not real comfortable riding with my eldest son behind the wheel.  The last time he drove the van was in 1999 and HE WAS THREE!  He hit a fire hydrant and the van got a hole bashed in the rear bumper. Yes, he went in reverse AND drive!  It’s all still so clear in my motherly-horror-of-horrors-memory.  Back to my comment to my husband.  He responded as a more-than-confident father, “He’s a great driver. He’s a guy. He’ll do fine.  He’s my son.”  I rolled my proverbial eyeballs. Our 18-year-old daughter did an involuntary sputter/choke/laugh.  She then questioned, “What does Dad know that the insurance companies don’t know?”  GREAT question.

Thankfully, my eldest son actually IS a confident and safe driver so far.  We have not ventured onto the highway yet, but his success in parking lots and side streets is quite good.  I’m actually feeling more confident now than when my very nervous and cautious daughter started this process three years ago. 

Two student drivers down.  Two to go.  God help us!

Kung-Fu-ier

Not many kids’ movies make me laugh out loud.  But Kung Fu Panda did.  We have been awaiting the arrival of Kung Fu-ier for weeks.  Today is the day.  But we cannot go without Rick, as he makes the Kung Fu experience so much richer!  Last time, he laughed until he cried.  The big guy sat in the theater surrounded by children and wiped the tears from his eyes without shame.  Then all the kids laugh at him as well as the movie.  It’s priceless.  YES!  Tonight, the noodle dream is relived.

Yet Another Tribute to Mr. Thrifty

It’s Tuesday night.  $2 night at the cheap theater Silver Saver Cinema here in Phoenix.  Our youngest son doesn’t really have a tough task talking his father into accompanying him to the movies on Tuesday nights.  It’s becoming more regular that date night.  (I just realized that….. and that’s no good!)  Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary… Jack Black playing in Gulliver’s Travels.  They did invite me, but I simply could not bear to see a brilliant Jonathan Swift story blown to bits by Jack Black. That’s a big NO, THANK YOU!

So as Pop and his son are getting ready to leave, some thrift-mocking occurred, primarily showered on my dear husband by myself and my 17-year-old protégé  daughter.  I inquired if he was saving us money by taking the “IT’S SHOW TIME” large, refillable KFC-style popcorn buckets that he saves and stores in our closet. Seriously, I think some have been there for years.  Imagine the dust and bugs in them….. gross me out.  He laughed and said, “Not any more.”  WHAT?  Yes, he brought one the last time he and our youngest son did the $2 Tuesday deal.  He placed it up on the counter for his refill and the manager exclaimed, “So, you haven’t been here in over a year!”  Oh my word!  I’m so glad I wasn’t there.  I didn’t bother asking if they refilled it or not.  I thought those were refillable only on the same visit.  More-than-a-year later is stretching the same visit clause.  But even after the manager’s comment…… they are still in our closet.  Here, look:

Rick, if you read this blog, can you please answer a few questions for my readers?

1.  Did the manager refill the more-than-a-year-old bucket with popcorn?

2.  If he did not, why are they still in the closet?

3.  Were all the funny parts in Gulliver’s Travels in the preview?

Thanks, Hon. XOXOXO

Flashback Friday!

Well, tomorrow is Friday… but Flashback Thursday did not sound as good as Flashback Friday.  Anyway, our younger son who is the one sporting the orthodontic headgear has had the contraption on his face non-stop since he got it.  I didn’t think he would be this diligent, especially after the first night when he said it made his entire top row of teeth hurt!  Tonight I found out why he is wearing it every moment he can…. my husband calculated how much it will cost if he has to wear it for the full nine months…. and he told Keeve that he will PAY HIM if he gets it off early!  Bribery is alive and well in my God-fearing home. And can I just add here that money talks in this house!

This reminded me of another bribe-gone-bad from a few years back.  Both my boys were scheduled at the dentist on the same morning.  The dentist looked at our older son’s teeth and announced that one tooth, which was already loose, needed to be pulled.  He quoted me $60 to pull the loose tooth.  I phoned my husband to give him the update and he asked to talk to our son.  They talked.  Then hung up.  I asked what was going on!  My money-saving husband told our son that he would pay him $30 to pull the tooth himself!  A savings of $30!  Of course, our son was all for the $30 tooth pulling plan and started pushing and prodding the loose tooth.

Back I went to the other son in the next room and sat with him during his cleaning.  After a while, son#1 called out my name, “MOM!”  I went in there to discover a bloody hand holding the prized $30 tooth.  I was not surprised.

After cleaning #2 son’s teeth, the dentist reappeared in the room of son #1 who was still holding his freshly extracted canine.  The dentist was a bit surprised (and probably sad at losing and easy $60) and had a peak in my boy’s mouth.  His next comment made me laugh all the way home (just like the little wee-wee-wee piggy!)  “Son, you pulled the wrong tooth.”  It was all okay in the giant dental picture, as it was coming out soon and was loose as well. 

So we arrived home with the $30 tooth still in his head and a free tooth in his hand.  My husband gave him two days to pull the other one, or the $30 deal was off. At the end of day two the money exchanged hands and the Big Indian Tooth Fairy (my husband) was busy twice in one week!

Oh, the joys of parenting with purpose!

Happy B-day, Rickey!

Today is my husband’s 43rd birthday so I thought I’d share some photos of him at what he does best.  This first example is “Being Cool.”  See how he’s instructing his fine young men to be cool too.  It’s an important trait to master.  Being cool.  It’s also all about crossing your arms and pushing your muscles to look bigger than they actually are.  Being cool.  And sunglasses.  Not just any sunglasses… cool sunglasses, like the ones Rick is sporting here.  He purchased them in a women’s boutique in Sedona when the supremely awesome sales lady told him that men from Scottsdale buy her glasses all the time…. and, get this…. that he looks like Elvis.  She could have sold him bedazzled capri jeans for himself!!!  Being cool!

Here, we have Rick protecting his most valuable asset, his beautiful 16 year old daughter. Being scary, that’s what this is called.  It’s important when you have a 16 year old daughter.  Being scary.  Rick looks kind of teddy-bear-ish in this picture, but that’s because you can’t see his concealed weapon that he only shows to teenage boys. Being scary.  He has given his daughter a stack of his business cards to hand out in case any teenage boys want to talk to her.  It’s an easy out for her, “Here’s my dad’s number.  You can talk to him first…”  It hasn’t actually happened, probably because the truth about the concealed weapon has been leaked. Being scary. He’s good at it, if need be.

This is what he does best, here in this last picture of the photo tribute for his 43rd birthday… Being fun. The untranied eye may not be able to decipher it, but let me help you. See how his mouth is? He has either just said something funny, or is in the middle of saying something funny.  Being fun.  This may not seem like an all-encomposing-highly-important trait, but it is.  Being fun.  It was actually a requirement to marry into our family.  Being fun.

Happy Birthday, Rickey!  We all love you!

Lemonade $tand

Our youngest son is a true Christian rock band lover to the nth degree.  He has been listening to not-my-favorite-kind-of-music since he was three or four years old.  It is purely because of the guidance and counsel of his head-banger father.  I’ve tried to sway him to no avail. 

Next weekend there is a Christian concert not too far from our home and Keeve’s favorite band is performing: Kutless.  Yes, that’s their name.  Yes, it’s phonetically incorrect.  The other bands are Esterlyn and Stellar Kart.  (another K……. but I digress.)  Keeve started asking if he could go to the concert in December.  In December we said, “Sure, but we’re not paying.”  Thus began Keeve’s mission to raise $19 plus money to buy stuff at the concert.  This is monumental for him… as he’s truly MY child and spends frivolously, often, spur-of-the-moment, and without deep thought.  (It’s no wonder Rick changed banks three weeks ago and STILL hasn’t given me my new ATM card!)

Keeve is down one week and only had $13.  Which is really good for him, but not enough for rockin’ the house with Kutless.  So he decided he was going to have a lemonade stand out at the entrance to our neighborhood.  No clear-thinking, child-loving parent in this day and age would let their kid go three blocks away in Phoenix with a table, chair, lemonade, cups… and a ziplock baggie of money.  I had drama-driving-duty so Rick said he would sit in the van next to the lemonade stand.  (What a nice dad.)

When I arrived back to our neighborhood, there was my cute, freckle-faced son and his lemonade stand…. surrounded by 5 or 6 twelve year old girls from the neighborhood, who also find my freckle-faced son…. well, cute.  They were helping him by yelling, “Lemonade!”  It was hilarious.  Larisa was with me and she made the comment, “And he doesn’t even have his shirt on that says ‘Girls Love Me'”.  He had to refill his 3 gallon lemonade jug twice.

In two hours, with 5 assistants, Keeve made $24!  He told me that one guy pulled up and asked what he was raising money for.  Keeve told him it was for a Kutless concert.  The guy gave him $2 and didn’t take the cootie-juice.  What a nice guy….. probably a headbanger. 

Rock on, Keeve! (Now I know where my boys are getting their crazy hairdos from!)