Fake Blood and Real Pain: Fly on the Wall

Welcome to a monthly Fly on the Wall group post. Today 4 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in our homes. Come on in and buzz around my house. At the end of my post you’ll find links to this month’s other participants’ posts.

I was upset with the men in my family for not helping me when I asked them to. Later that day College Boy sneezed.

Me: Bless you.
College Boy: Thank you.
Me: Oh wait, I didn't mean to say that, I'm upset with you, I take it back, un-bless un-you.
College Boy: Sorry, Mom, you can't un-bless a Blessing.

I had a bit of a disaster with some red food coloring and decided to play a little joke on my family. 

PurDude walks into the kitchen:

Me: Arrrgh. Ouch.
PurDude: What's wrong?
Me (showing him my hand): Oh ouch, I cut myself. I'm bleeding.

PurDude rolls his eyes and walks away.

A minute later College Boy comes in:

Me: Arrrgh. Ouch.
College Boy: What's wrong?
Me (showing him my hand): Oh ouch, I cut myself. I'm bleeding.

College Boy rolls his eyes and walks away.

Later Hubs comes into the living room and I'm sitting on the couch pouting.

Hubs: What's wrong?
Me: Neither of the boys believed I was bleeding.
Hubs: Were you?
Me: No.
Hubs (walking away): OK then, carry on . . . 

Hubs was outside doing some strenuous yard work, hauling tree limbs out into the woods. He came in cringing and walking a little funny.

Hubs: Do you have any frozen peas?
Me: Peas?
Hubs: Yes, that I can put down my pants.
Me: Pants?
Hubs: Don't ask.

I didn't. I did put a fresh bag of frozen peas onto my shopping list though. Because that bag went where nothing on my table will ever have gone before. Or something like that.

 

Me (looking around): Have you seen my reading glasses?

Hubs: Did you look in the fridge?

Me (rolling my eyes): I'm aggravated and you're making stupid suggestions like the fridge?

Hubs: Just remembering where you found them last time.

Touche.

I was baking a cake using grape soda in the cake, the filling and the topping. I wasn't sure it would be Hubs' favorite if he knew what was in it, but I also knew he'd like it if he just gave it a chance. I wasn't going to lie to him, but I wasn't going to be exactly forthcoming either. So I held off telling him about it, just until he tasted it.

Hubs: I like the flavor. It's subtle but there.
Me: It's the soda.
Hubs: The cake is so light and fluffy
Me: It's the soda.
Hubs (looking at it again, then looking at me): It's purple. 
Me: It's the soda.
Hubs: Not baking soda? Actual soda?
Me: Yes. It's good isn't it? Subtle flavor. Light and fluffy.
Hubs (pushing it away): I don't like soda.
Me: But you like cake.

When it comes to men and food, seems sometimes ignorance is bliss. Next time, like the mom who hides vegetables in the casserole, I'm not telling him at all.

Soda Pop Poke Cake

Payback is a bitch. Or not. Seems I wouldn't know.

I had a bad night and had fallen asleep on the couch the next afternoon. Next thing I know, I'm waking up to:

College Boy: Mom! Mom! Are you awake?
Me: I wasn't. You just woke me up. What do you want?
College Boy: Nothing, just wanted to know if you were up.

So I decided to get him back that night, I'd wait till he was asleep and stick my head in his room asking if he was awake. Vengeance will be mine. He won't be waking me up again.

At midnight I stuck my head in his door. He wasn't home. At 1:00 am I stuck my head in his door. He was on his laptop. At 1:45 I stuck my head in his door. He was watching TV. 

Screw it, I don't know about him, but I need my sleep. Instead of "payback is a bitch" I'm personifying "the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." I'm a walking (sleeping) payback fail.

I grew up a Red Sox fan. My grandfather's company had box seats and I just loved when it was our turn to use them. They were along the first base line, by the dugout.

I never outgrew my love for Boston sports and, in fact, one of my earliest posts was called I ❤ the Red Sox.

Now I live in the Midwest and I don't often get to see the games. Unfortunately the channels I get tailor their game choices to the local market. Boo.

Recently, between all the channels that show games, I was going to get the Sox on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I was so excited.

Me (excitedly): I'm going to get to watch the Sox five days in a row. That hasn't happened since the last time I was back home.
College Boy: Really, Mom, you're way too excited about this. You need to get a life.
Me: I have a life.
College Boy: Maybe you better put in for an upgrade.

I'm minding my business happily watching the Red Sox game and completely ignoring my family who are trying to torture me.

College Boy: Mom, the dishwasher is leaking.
Me (distractedly): OK.
PurDude: Mom, I just borrowed all the cash in your wallet.
Me (distractedly): OK.
Hubs: Karen, we just won the lottery.
Me (distractedly): OK.

College Boy to Hubs: She's addicted. We need to have an intervention.
Hubs to College Boy: Better wait til after the game.

 

I had bought some Rib Eyes I was making for dinner. Late in the afternoon PurDude went out, but said he'd be back for dinner. I asked if I should make dinner later, but he assured me he had no problem being home on time.

I was grilling the steaks out on the deck, they were almost ready and I hadn't seen PurDude. I was not happy. I grabbed my phone and texted him.

Me: DINNER IS IN 5 MINUTES!!!
PurDude: OK. 
Me: I'm pretty angry. 
PurDude: Why?
Me: These steaks were expensive. 
PurDude: You're angry because the steaks were expensive?
Me: I'm angry because they're ready and you're not here. WHERE ARE YOU?
PurDude: Upstairs.

I guess he had come in while I was out on the deck.

Me: Ummm, OK, nevermind.

College Boy: You know what I need?
Me: What?
College Boy: A lobster.

And as much as it made me laugh, coming out of nowhere as it did, I have to admit that I could use a hot steamed lobster or two myself.

Now click on the links below for a peek into some other homes:

Menopausal Mother 
Never Ever Give Up Hope 
Spatulas on Parade

Soda Pop Poke Cake

                                                                       ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:
1 box white cake mix
1 1/2 cups flavored soda (grape, orange or berry)

1 (3.4 oz) box vanilla pudding mix
1 can (12 oz) evaporated milk
1/2 cup flavored soda, same flavor as in the cake
OPT: food coloring if you want to enhance the color

1 cup heavy cream
3 TBSP powdered sugar

Directions:
*Grease and flour a 9 X 13 pan. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
*Beat the cake mix and 1 1/2 cups of soda for 2 minutes. Pour into prepared pan.
*Bake for about 30 minutes or until the center of the top springs back to the touch.
*While cake is baking, whisk together the pudding mix, evaporated milk and remaining soda. Add food coloring if desired. Refrigerate.
*Cool cake completely. Using the round bottom of a wooden spoon, make about 40 holes into but not through the bottom of the cake. Place about a cup of the pudding into a plastic bag, snip the corner and pope the pudding into the holes. Refrigerate the cake.
*Beat the heavy cream and powdered sugar until stiff peaks hold. Beat in the remaining pudding, then frost the cake.
*Store, covered, in the refrigerator. Bring to room temperature to serve.

The Hour Long Minute

I've been feeling the ravages of time lately. No, not my age, although I could write (and have written) a post or two about that as well. This time-suck is the dreaded minute. You know the one I'm talking about, the 60 seconds that invariably manage to drag by in about an hour. Those times when you feel compelled to grab onto that second hand and physically drag it around the clock.

Although it happens to us all now and then, this has been going on for me with frustrating regularity for over a month. It started, as far as I can remember, at PurDude's graduation. We were in line outside the hall, standing in 90 degree weather and I was, of course, wearing 3 inch wedges. Mine were black leather with gold accents, open toe, with a pretty woven wedge. You know, the kind that look great on so you have to wear them with that graduation outfit even though you'll still have remnants of the blisters 2 months later.

That's OK, I can make it, gotta suffer for fashion, right? And they're going to open the door in one minute. 

One minute that although literally lasting right around 60 seconds, felt like a melting, excruciating hour. Or two. And I had the frizzy hair and blistered feet to prove it.

More time-bending "in a minute" fun torture:

PurDude was streaming the Red Sox game to the TV. Boston was winning 1 - 0 when it froze. PurDude said he'd be back in a minute and went upstairs to check the laptop we were streaming through. Apparently Windows decided to update at that moment. He switched the streaming to his other computer and the game came back up. It was only a minute, felt like an hour, and we were losing 2 - 1 when we got the game back. Wait. What? What happened? (As a funny aside, PurDude has a friend from college who works for Microsoft. He texted his friend and told Riley he better fix Windows 'cause it ruined our game).

I'm almost home, just a minute away. But if I don't get out of this bra now, I swear it's going to dig into my skin so deep I'll need to have it surgically removed. If you, dear reader, are a woman, I've said enough, you know exactly how long that minute can last. Forget hours, years.

When you bake anything chocolate the house smells divine. As the time winds down and it's almost ready, mouths water. On Saturday we were at that point. All inhabitants of this house converged on me in the kitchen wanting to know when the cookies would be done. I looked at the clock and informed them all it would be just a minute. And then I stood there being stared down by 3 men for what seemed like an hour. And PS: good thing you can eat cookies hot because if that had been a cake this would not have ended pretty.


Nothing in my house freaks me out as much as spiders. Not even my kids, though there were times they sure seemed to make a full time job of trying. I was walking up the stairs the other day and hanging there by the window was a spider. I screamed out "quick, quick, come here and bring a tissue" to which College Boy answered "be there in a minute". I swear that minute lasted long enough for that spider to have gotten married, bought a house (in my hallway) and had twins.

I've had enough of this minute lasting an hour thing. I SO need a Chata Iced Coffee. Can you make me one? And don't you dare say "It'll be ready in a minute . . ."

Chata Iced Coffee

Chata Iced Coffee         
                                    ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients (per drink):
3 oz brewed coffee
1 oz french vanilla creamer
3 oz Rum Chata
1 oz cinnamon liqueur

OPT: scoop of french vanilla ice cream

Directions:
*Mix the hot coffee and the creamer. Refrigerate until cold.
*Remove from the refrigerator and mix in the Rum Chata and cinnamon liqueur.
*Serve over ice or with a scoop of ice cream.

Aloe and Snowflakes: Use Your Words

Today’s post is a monthly writing challenge. If you’re new here, this is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once. All of the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the recipient will take them. Until now.

At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.
I'm using:  swim ~ towel ~ aloe ~ snowflake ~ hot dog ~ Kool-aid  They were submitted by Dawn of Cognitive Script.

                          
We recently brought my younger son home from college. I'm still traumatized. Don't get me wrong, I love having him home. In my nice, neat, clean home. But what I saw up there, and especially when we unpacked back here, well, I can never un-see. I mentioned in an earlier post that I thought he was living in a house with a few friends. It wasn't until I got there that I realized he was living in a cave. A dark, disorganized, dilapidated cave. 

I know he's a boy, and I know boys will be boys, but I cannot believe the way he had been living. I am the most organized person on the planet. Apparently he is the least organized person on the planet. 

Somehow he had decided that he would only pack up what he needed or wanted at home for the next few months, then when his lease ran out in July he'd drive 10 hours back, pack up his 2nd floor room, and move it all down a thin staircase and out of the house by himself. So he was partially packed. Or so he said. 

In his bedroom upstairs were a half filled trunk, a half filled suitcase, and a body sized duffel bag I was too afraid to open. In his outer room were about 40 partially filled bags and 6 boxes completely covered in white dust and plaster (management had replaced his door at some point, who knows how long ago). It took me two days to convince him that he had to move his furniture out while we were there to help him, and that it made no sense to move partially out, then drive back for the rest of his belongings.

I did consolidate his trunk, suitcase, and bags before we left so we could fit everything into our cars. I didn't have a chance to go through anything, just noting that there was no rhyme or reason to what was where. Unfolded clothes were packed with toiletries, papers, whatever.

Once home (and after spending 2 days explaining that we would not be leaving everything in his unpacked until he moved out again), I worked with him to be sure he had everything organized. I still cannot believe what we'd transported home. 

I threw out about 10 pounds of trash. There were old receipts, plastic silverware, empty packaging. He had 3 bottles of aloe (which had apparently moved with him twice) from when he got a sunburn freshman year at a football game ("I'll skype with you, Mom, but don't freak out when you see me", just what every mom wants to hear). There were 14 sticks of deodorant, 10 bottles of hand lotion. Apparently the way toiletries work is that you use them once, misplace them in the morass and just buy another. Who knew?

There were about 50 batteries, a can of lighter fluid for the lighters he didn't have, and 3 packets of Kool-aid, which he does not drink. Had I found a half-eaten hot dog, I would not have been surprised. The body bag, I'm relieved (but bewildered) to say, was completely full of cords.

He had almost all of my missing beach towels, though I don't know why. And he had a new beach towel as well. Seems the one time he had an opportunity to swim, when he went with friends to Vegas for the weekend, he'd forgotten to pack a bathing suit and towel so bought new ones there. 

It wasn't until we got to the boxes that I realized he had packed them covered in dust, drove them home covered in dust and moved them into his room (yes, you guessed it) covered in dust. My turn to roll my eyes at one of my kids. I told him to take them outside and wipe the dust off of them so we could find what treasures lay inside. 

Later that morning College Boy and I were taking breakfast out to the deck. The outdoor dining table was covered in white. "What is all over the table?" College Boy asked. "Looks like snowflakes".

Loaded Egg in a Bagel Basket

Yes, it was plaster and dust. Guess I should have been specific, pretty much the only place I didn't want him to clean off those boxes in all of the outdoors would have been on my table. {{sigh}}.

If I ever, ever, am in the position to move this kid out of anywhere again (other than my house), the process will be simplified. Everything goes straight to the trash {{claps hands back and forth with finality}}. Done.

Here are links to all the other Use Your Words posts:

On the Border
 The Bergham Chronicles
The Blogging 911
Cognitive Script  
Climaxed
Part-Time Working Hockey Mom
Wannabe Linguistics 

Loaded Egg in a Bagel Basket

                                               ©www.BakingInATornado.com

Printable Recipe

Ingredients:

1 bagel
2 TBSP butter
3 eggs
salt and pepper to taste
1/4 cup cooked salmon, chopped
1 green onion, sliced

Directions:
*Slice the bagel lengthwise into thirds so you have 3 round slices with a hole in the center.
*Melt 1 TBSP butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the bagel slices and cook for 2 minutes. Remove from pan.
*Melt the remaining butter in the skillet. Put the bagel slices back in the pan, cooked side up. Crack one egg into the center of each slice. Sprinkle with salt and pepper and cook for 2 minutes. 
*Carefully flip the bagel slices over. Cook for 1 - 2 more minutes or until the egg is done to your liking. 
*Remove bagels from pan. Serve topped with salmon and green onion.