Homemade Macaroni & Cheese. Because orange powder does not equal cheese in real life.

Sooo... Everybody loves some good mac and cheese, right?  The J family is no exception.  However, although zj eats it on occasion, no one at 154 Hidden Court really likes that boxed stuff that comes with the bright orange powdery stuff this is pretending to be cheese.  Does ANYONE really like that stuff?  It's kind of like filler.  You know, like the political section of the newspaper...

Anyway, homemade mac and cheese is easy to make and it's SOOOOOOO much better than the boxed stuff.  Come on.  Try it.  You'll like it.  I promise.

WHAT YOU NEED: 

5 cups cooked macaroni - I like the elbow kind, but I'm a traditionalist.  You won't screw it up TOO badly if you use some other shape.

1/2 stick butter or margarine.  I did not say this was good for you, just that it tastes good.

1 heaping tablespoon of flour.

1 - 1 1/2 cups milk.  Or if you have a deathwish, use cream instead.

2 cups of your favorite shredded cheese.  I usually use a combo of American and  Cheddar.  But any kind will do.

Salt N Peppa - if ya wanna.

WHAT YOU DO:

Cook the macaroni, drain, rinse and set aside.

Meanwhile, in another large pot, melt the butter.  Slowly whisk in the flour.  Let it cook for a minute, whisking the entire time so the flour doesn't burn, brown or stick.  Slowly pour in 1 cup of milk, stirring constantly.  Let it warm up to a bubble, then begin to add in the cheese, a bit at a time.  After all the cheese is added and melted and bubbly, turn the heat all the way down to the lowest of the low and stir in the cooked macaroni.  If it's not gooey enough, add in some more milk, a little at a time.  Season it if you want to.

Eat it up.

Superhero Tuesday.

Wow.

That's all I can say.

Wow.

 I raised this creature.

This is all my fault.

So, let me tell you about Day 1 of being a stay at home Mama.

8am:  Slept in.  What???!!?!??  I haven't slept this late since that time in college when I drank a fifth of Wild Turkey.  Oh well, zj needs to learn how to get his own breakfast, anyway. Survival skills are important.

10am: Fed both the boys breakfast - hey, I don't judge your parenting skills - stay the hell out of mine.  Decided that today would be the day to start weaning cj off the bottle.

10:30am: Got a text from my sis B.  "Are you doing ok?"  I texted her back: "What, do you think I'm going to go crazy or something?"  Her response: "Yes."

11:30am: Made lunch. Yeah, yeah, I know.

12:00pm: RJ left for work, then I put cj down for a nap, and let zj play in the pool.

1:00pm: Decided to take up jogging.

1:03pm: Decided to give up jogging.

1:06pm: Took back up with jogging, but at a MUCH slower pace.  See the widget on my sidebar to track my progress :)

2:00pm: Worked on the alphabet with zj.  We made it all the way through "A."

2:45pm: Folded some laundry.  Sent zj upstairs to put some of his clothes away.

2:48pm: Heard: CRASH! THUMP! WHAAAA! "Mama, help me!  I think I broke my bone!"

2:49pm: Determined that zj had jumped from the fifth step onto the floor "in a different way" than he normally does and that he hurt his foot.

2:50pm: Texted RJ:  "I think z broke his foot. I am the worst stay at home Mama ever."

3:30pm: Determined that zj's foot was probably just bruised.  Whew.  Remembered that there was something else I was supposed to be doing... What was it?  What was it?  What was it?

3:31pm: Got cj up from his nap.  Oh, now I remember.  There are TWO of them.

4:00pm: Played X-Men with the boys.  Had to give it up because cj kept eating the Hulk.

5:00pm: Started drinking thinking about making dinner.  I have to have a hot meal waiting for my man when he returns home from a hard day at the office, right?  Perhaps a steak?  Or maybe a delectable chicken entree?

5:15pm: Determined that a trip to the grocery was in the near future.  Thawed out some hamburger meat and made Chili Casserole Surprise, which was totally made up and contained a can of diced tomatoes that expired in 2007.

6:30pm: RJ returned home from work.  I passed the kids off for a minute and got another drink. started looking in the classifieds for a new job.  took a minute to reflect on how my first day as a stay at home Mama was really going.

7:30pm: Fed everybody.  Bathed everybody (well, not RJ - this is not THAT kind of blog).  Put cj in bed, and read a chapter out of a big boy book to zj.  He loved it.

8:30pm:  Continued to drink at an alarming rate.

9:30pm: Decided I would try it again tomorrow, then passed out  went to sleep.

 

I'm not smart enough to Twit. Tweet. Twitter. Whatever.

True story.

I got onto the whole social networking scene a little bit late.

I signed up for a Facebook account a couple of years when one of my cool friends - yes I have a cool friend, thank you very much - sort of shamed me into it.

I used it exactly twice, then promptly forgot that I even had an account for about a year, until one day, my much younger, much cooler, much hipper nephew sent me a friend request.

It came to my email address, which I guess I had registered way back when, or I would have never seen it. So I accepted the request - it would have been rude not to - and for the next six months, I had exactly two friends, and I was happy.

Then my friend Natalie found me, and somehow through it all, I found out that Facebook had... games.  You know, word games.  For nerds like me.  It was heaven.

I acquired a few more friends along the way, totally by accident.  Natalie gave me a hard time on a regular basis, posting things on my wall like "I heard a crazy rumor that some people use Facebook for social networking."  Whatever.  I had the new high score in Word Twist.

I finally got the hang of it, though.  It was fun, in a sort of stalkerish way to "catch up" with people from high school and college, former employees and coworkers, and a strange smattering or distant relations.

I'm a pretty smart girl, so I thought I might give Twitter a try, too.

Bad call.

I absolutely cannot do it.

It's too hard.

It's not the site, or the technology, or anything like that.  It's just that I can't ever remember to run to the computer every time I eat a banana, watch a tv show, take a nap, or get caught at a stoplight so that I can tweet my current situation.  'Cause that seems to be what it is all about -  a minute by minute account of everyone's life.

And I keep forgetting to update.

And since I have a crazy obsessive disorder that makes me do everything exactly perfectly every time, or not at all, I have given up.

And even though nine year olds the world over have mastered it, I am not smart enough to Tweet.

And I'm not even going to try any more.

The heart wants what the heart wants.

zj: "Mama, can I live with you and Daddy forever?"

Me: "Well, someday, you're probably going to want to have your own house."

zj: "But Mama, I want to live here with you and Daddy in this house."

Me: "Don't you think that someday, a really long time from now, when you grow up, you'll want to maybe live in your own house?  You might want to get married and have your own little boy some day."

zj: "Mama, why do people get married?"

Me: "People get married because they love each other, and they want to spend the rest of their lives together."

zj: "Mama, why did you and Daddy get married?"

Me: "Mama and Daddy got married both times because we love each other."

zj: Mama, why do you and Daddy love each other?"

Me: "Well, Mama loves Daddy because he is nice and smart and because he loves Mama back.  I  think Daddy loves Mama for all those same reasons."

zj: "But why does Daddy love you and not somebody else?"

Good question...

Me: "Well, we don't really get to choose who we love and who loves us back.  It's like we can't help who our heart loves."

zj: "Mama, what does 'can't help' mean?"

Me: "It's like something that you can't control."

zj: "Oh, like when I'm naughty and you tell me to control myself better?"

Me: "Yeah, something like that."

zj: "Mama, can you help it that you love me and Cooper and Daddy?"

Me: "Well, I like that I love you and Cooper and Daddy.  I don't want to help it."

zj: "Well, I don't want to get married.  Ever."

Me: "That's fine, too.  Some people don't want to get married and that's perfectly ok."

zj: "Is it because they can't help it?"

Me: "No, I think it's because they choose to."

zj: "But Mama, you just said we don't get to choose."

Me: "Well, what I meant was that we don't get to choose if we love someone or not, but I guess we can choose if we decide to marry them or not.  I think."

zj: "Mama, I choose to never ever get married so I can stay here and live with you and Daddy and Cooper forever."

Me: "I think that's a great idea."

Superhero Tuesday.

The boys don't need to go to college, right?

I mean, which is more important - buying more Superhero Squad figures or saving for the future?

You can clearly see which way we are leaning.

Natalie - Send Paul. Need Pool.

As clearly, there are a few... technical difficulties with this one.

Nine days and counting.

Soooo....

I quit my job a while back, but in some strange situation that would only happen to me, instead of only giving two weeks notice, it has been more like two MONTHS notice.

But that's fine, right?

It should have given me plenty of time to make plans, tie up loose ends, and leave everyone and everything in a good place.

Instead, it has caused my OCD to kick in at work big time.

I only have nine shifts left.

I absolutely, positively, without a doubt have to take care of that funky sign that has been outdated and out of place since sometime in the spring of 2005.

It also seems urgent that everything is clean before I leave.

I mean, it's a bookstore, right?  Books are dusty.  Ergo, the bookstore gets dusty sometimes.  But now, well NOW, I have to make sure it's clean before I leave.

This seems like a similar problem I had at home that one time I went on vacation...

Oh well.

But back to me.

To be quite honest, I am in the early stages of a full-blown, complete, total and utter meltdown over this.

See, I like my job.  My soon to be former job.  Unlike half the world, I have usually enjoyed the work I do, the people I work with and the sense of satisfaction I get from it.

But...

I love my kids and my family more.

An right now, I think they need me more that my job does.

Which is why I quit.  Obviously.

But...

I can't keep from thinking that I may have given up the only job I will ever be good at.  The only job that is really a fit for me, my personality, my strengths and abilities.

So in a few years if I choose to enter the workforce again, or if I might need to enter the workforce again, what the hell am I going to do?

I imagine that I'll just walk up to my old store, ask for the current manager, thank him or her for the years of service, then politely ask him to get the hell out of my office.

Yeah, it's scary living in my mind, ain't it?

I've worked at this job, for this company, for nearly half my life.

For longer than I've managed to stay married to RJ.  Either time.

It has been a constant in my adult life.

Have I mentioned that I don't deal well with change?

So anyway, here I am.  WIth nine shifts left to get every single thing in absolutely perfect order before I go.

Wish me luck.

Superhero Tuesday.

My house in infested.

This is MY shower.  MY. SHOWER.

The other day, as I was getting in, I stepped on an Ironman and almost died.

Is there a spray for this?

Other people's junk.

There was a time in my life when frequenting yard sales, antique stores and flea markets was a top priority.  

Adorable frog-themed ashtray? Mine.

Mah-jong set with only 6 tiles missing?  Must have it.

Retro Fiestaware dishes with just a few small chips? Ate my burrito off of it that night.

But in the last few years, I have had more and more kids and less and less time to indulge in one of my favorite pasttimes.

Taking a toddler into an antique store is just a bad call.

As a matter of fact, it had been YEARS since I had frequented a flea market of any kind.

But the other day, RJ and I were out and about without the kiddos, and we had an hour or so to kill, so we stopped in at the local Peddler's Mall.

At one time when I was a single girl with some cats, I furnished and decorated my entire house with Peddler's Mall finds.

I thought myself to be cool, hip, retro, and vaguely kitschy, you know, in a really inspired sort of way.

I expected to walk in, walk right up to the coolest thing in the place, claim it for my own, then brag to my friends about the really great "find" I had made...

But I'm so not sure if I've changed that much in the last few years, or if the selection was just REALLY bad that day.

Because all I saw was piles and stacks and shelves of other people's junk.

It all smelled slightly musty and dusty and old.

None of it appealed to me in the slightest.

It all just looked like more junk that would take up more space in my house and life.

 I used to have to try to talk myself out of what I considered to be the more extravagant finds.  A lamp in the image of Elvis that plays Love Me Tender? $20? So pricey, but where are you ever going to have the chance to buy THAT again?

But not this time.

There was not ONE thing in the whole darn place that appealed to me in the least.

I feel like the same person I was five years ago, but clearly I am not.

I commented on this to RJ, who has never been a huge fan of flea markets and such, and asked him if he thought the selection was particularly bad.  His response?  "Well, it looks pretty much the same to me."

Hmmm...

Superhero Tuesday.

Just admit it.  You are totally jealous of my mad toilet paper roll craft ideas.

It's ok.

Somebody's got to be this great.

All work is moving stuff from one place to another.

Laundry, waiting to be moved from basket to drawer.

Glasses, waiting to be moved from counter to cabinet.

Once upon a time, I knew a guy who was certainly in the top five craziest people I have ever met.  He just happened to be married to one of the top three craziest people I have ever met, but that's a story for a different day.  Anyway, said crazy guy talked quite a bit like David Carradine in Kung Fu.  You know, before he went all erotic asphyxiation on everybody.

He thought himself very sage.

I thought him to be slightly creepy and very, very, very insane.  You know, like, no-direct-eye-contact-for-fear-of-setting-him-off insane.

But one day he surprised me a bit.  He said something that truly wise, and that I still remember some-odd years later.

He said in his Kung-fu master voice, "All work is moving things from one place to another."

He stood there studiously for a minute to make sure everyone around understood just how wise and profound he was, then he shambled off to eat corn chips and drink beer, which was his second favorite past time, right after pretending to be a Shaolin Monk.

But think about it for a minute.

It's really true.

Maybe I should have been listening closer when he talked.

Crazy people have important things to say, too.

Oh just you wait. I'm so going to be THAT Mom.

Oh yeah.  THAT Mom.

The one who makes happy face cookies straight out of the refrigerated section from scratch and serves them up on styrofoam plates because it is my God- given right.

Just wait.

It's coming...

There's an old soul in that baby.

As I have mentioned a time or two on this blog, my boys are very different.  It was noticeable from almost the moment that cj was born that he was just not like zj.

Or me.

Or RJ.

See, we're a bit of a high strung family, the J family is.

RJ is sort of high strung.

I'm easily irritated and have the patience of a gnat.

Zj got the worst of it from both of us, to the gazillionth power, along with a heaping helping of unstoppable energy.

Then along comes cj.

The first time I held him, a sense of calm came over me.

He just has that effect on people.

A friend of mine once held him for 30 minutes, commented that if all babies were like cj there would be a lot more babies around, then promptly got herself pregnant.

He has been, (knock on imaginary wood), the easiest of babies to raise so far.  He slept through the night at six weeks, and ever since he was teeny tiny small, he has cooed himself to sleep every night and has woken up singing every morning.

He has Ghandi-like patience.

If zj demands my attention - as he often does - cj will just sit and amuse himself with a block or his own hands if maybe I've forgotten to hand him a block.  He will patiently wait his turn.  Every time.

It's strange to have a creature in this house that is not demanding.  I sort of don't know how to act around him.  I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But I don't think it will.

Sometimes I see a look in his eyes that makes me believe that he knows more than a 11 month old baby should know.

Like maybe he ended up in this family for a reason.

If you subscribe to one reincarnation theory, he's in the middle of this crazy family because there is some lesson he has to learn from us.

Poor kid.

In any event, he's here, he's ours, and we're his.

And I can only hope he can get something out of it for himself.

Poor Kitty.

Zj has always had a bit of an active imagination.


Once when he was in the threeish age range, I went to pick him up from the sitter's, and the sitter met me at the door and pulled me outside onto the porch immediately.  


Oh dear God I don't care if he bit you again.  You are the adult here.  You are bigger.  You are getting paid to be bitten, so learn to deal with it, already.  I certainly hoped that he wasn't misbehaving again, that naughty boy.  


She put her hand on my shoulder and asked, quite seriously "How's your cat doing?"


Whaaa????


Blank stare from me.


She tried again.


"Your cat?  Is he going to be ok?"


Blank. Stare.


"Because Zachary told us today that Kitty was very sick and had to go to the doctor and I was just worried that maybe Kitty was not going to be ok.  I know how much he loves Kitty, and I'm just worried."


Me: "We don't have a cat."


Uncomfortable laughter.  "Oh of course you have a cat." (Like it's possible I just forgot or something).  "Zachary tells us about Kitty all the time."


Me: "We really don't have a cat."


"Are you sure?"


Me: Well, let me think.  Oh, THAT cat.  Of course.  I just forgot about THAT cat for about three years or so.  THANK YOU SO MUCH for reminding me we have a cat.  "Yes, I'm sure we don't have a cat."


"But Zachary had told us all about Kitty.  Kitty is white and fluffy.  Last week, Kitty scratched him.  Today, Kitty had to go to the doctor.  I'm pretty sure you have a cat."  


Me: "We don't have a cat."


So apparently, he had been making up elaborate Kitty fantasies for weeks.  Oh, and morbid ones, you know, like with blood and gore and hospitals and such, at that.


Great.


This blog post's only function is to serve as a reminder of Kitty for zj, because someday I'm pretty sure his therapist will ask for additional information...

Happy first 6th Anniversary to me - oh, and of course to you, too, babe.

So, today is the first 6th anniversary that RJ and I get to celebrate.

For the past five years, we have celebrated our second first anniversary, our second second anniversary, our second third anniversary... and so on and so forth.

But today is our very first 6th anniversary.

How cool is that?

I know.  I take complicated to a bit of an art form.

We are the only couple I have ever known who has no good answer to "So, how long have you guys been married?"

I have finally settled on "Oh, on and off for about sixteen years."

Most people only hear the part that makes sense to them and congratulate us on our long relationship.

Whatever.

What most people don't know won't hurt them.

I'm not sure what exactly RJ says when asked the same question, but I have known him to tell random folks and total strangers that his first wife was a bitch.

Of course, he is correct.

I  tell people that my first husband didn't understand me.

Again, right on the money.

Someday, it will probably make a great story to tell the grandkids.

But for now, we are just going to celebrate an as of yet unattained milestone.

Six years.

And I still love ya, babe.

Here's to at least six more.

I'm pretty sure I have narcolep.. .zzzzzz.

True story.

I was driving home from work one day last week, and I fell asleep at a stoplight.

I.

Fell asleep.

At a stoplight.

I don't think I was asleep for long, but I definitely dozed off.

I awoke to the soothing tones of some horns blaring in my head.

"Hey, stupid!  Go, already!" 

Honk, honk, beep, beep.

Whatever.

Can't you people see I'm busy napping?

Anyway, in retrospect, it seems like a pretty bad place to nap.  A friend of mine often naps in her car, but it's usually when it's parked.  Like, in a parking lot.  Somehow, that seems safer.

Anyway, what I was about to sa...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....

Superhero Tuesday. The Trailer Trash Edition.

I have absolutely nothing against people of the trailer trash persuasion.  Hell, I'M of the trailer trash persuasion.  It is merely a universally understood descriptive term that denotes poorly shaved hair, sleeveless t-shirts, and tattoos.