Little Pink Houses

Today I was having a conversation with a woman with whom I share a lot of friends. I don't know her well, but she comes highly recommended. We were talking about our shared love for both the country and the city. At about the point where I was going to proclaim that the suburbs feel like slow death to me she announced, "But I am so happy to live in the suburbs. The suburbs are perfect."

Sccrrreeeeaaaach..... (that was the arm of the record player scratching across the album.) WHAT?! Why? If one is in love with the city - or the country for that matter - WHY would they consider the 'burbs "perfect?"

She said it is all about balance. For her temperament, she knows that she might follow the temptations of the city, succumb to her charms. Or, conversely, she felt that the country might allow her to be too reclusive and turn inward.

Balance.


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If I could, I would spend all of our discretionary money on food. I love to eat and I love to try new food - Grant couldn't care less. That is good. Eating well is an expensive hobby.

In an effort to "meet in the middle", so to speak, I've been making some pretty good food here on the home front.  Last Friday night I made these:

Hot and Crunchy Chicken Cones

and they were beyond good. I mmmmmmm'd and ahhhhhhhh'd through the whole meal - and Grant squirted Ketchup on the chicken and ate it without fanfare. And that is ok with me.

Then on Sunday night I made my own version of:

Beef Stroganoff

except with meatballs instead of steak. It was really fabulous. Grant said it was "restaurant quality." The kids wouldn't touch it.

So then tonight, I was craving a cake that a friend made for me when I gave birth to Lucy. I researched that cake and came across what sounded like the best recipe. It turned out perfectly.

St. Louis Gooey Butter Cake

It took 3 hours for the dough to rise but when it was baking Annie had an allergic reaction to all of the butter in the air and needed a breathing treatment. I lost my appetite mid-nebulize.

When all the dishes were put away and the counters wiped, Little Lucy toddled down and said, "I hungwy." I made her a quick butter and jelly toast and sat her in her chair. She took a bite and smiled at me and said, "Mommy, this is the best dinner ever."

(And then I paraded around like a queen for the rest of the night. Because I take my compliments where I can get them.)

Really.  It's all about balance.

A Slice of Crap Cake

Grant and I got in an argument the other night. Well, let me rephrase that... I got into an argument with Josh, then Ben, and then I got into an argument with Grant.  And like all good arguments - it was mostly my fault.

I won't give you all of the lame details, but here is the gist: The hormones in this house are making me crazy and I can't seem to keep a level head when my junior highers are acting like junior highers.  "So What?" you're saying to yourself, right? "Everyone gets irritated by junior high kids." Well, I thought I would be different.

And apparently so did Grant.

Like so many things I have been wrong about in my tenure as a parent, preteen hormones seem so obvious. Your kid is acting like an irrational spaz? Send him to his room with a book. Crying all the time? Give them a hug and a journal. Encourage them to write. Take walks. Be honest. Empathize. Encourage music. Don't talk too much. Don't lecture. Don't take things personally. Make them laugh (if you can.) Relate.

Somehow, even though I know all of these things, the fact that I know my son is mentally flipping me off makes me mad. His tirades only stoke my own fires and our interactions become bombastic. WHO IS HE? and more importantly, who am I?

Anymore, I am left pondering both of these questions and for now I don't necessarily know the answers. Contrary to who I thought I was, I am not above freaking out. I do take things personally. I do not want to do "cool" things to make my kids laugh, like preparing cakes that look like litter boxes. I want my kids to learn how to be a level headed adult, but I am not doing a very good job of it myself.

I feel misunderstood. So I guess in some ways, the kids and I are in the same boat, aren't we?

Letter to Myself

Dear Sharon,
There is a lot of crap that you screw up on a regular basis. You are a work-in-progress with a bigger emphasis on the work rather than the progress.

However...

Today you made a cloud that looks pretty much like a real cloud.

(Instructions to Make Cloud Here)

And if you accomplish nothing else this week - just remember: You rocked that cloud.

Love, Yourself

Hurricane Sandy

Now, I am going to feel like a real jerk tomorrow if something terrible has happened and here I was making light of the situation.

For now, the seven of us PLUS the terribly ill behaved dog are huddled around the XBox in the basement. I am about to lose what little of my mind is left. We are all safe, however, and nobody is blowing away.

Cheers to As I See It!

Five years ago I started this blog to fight off a bout of depression.

I knew I could make my life appear prettier in pictures than I felt internally.

But time changes things, doesn't it?

I have grown up, gotten stronger, and gained some wisdom.

So join me for these next five years, ok?

Happy Birthday, As I See It.

Spoooooky

So I was just sitting here, right? Minding my own business. Just perusing the internet to bide my time when all of a sudden - out of nowhere - I got the most mysterious gust of foot odor.

And my feet don't stink. Ever.

Don't you think that is spooky?

And that is all.

Guest Post - Amy Ullum Kieffer

The life of a housewife is indeed grueling.  I have renewed admiration for you.

Friday I started my cleaning frenzy - not only did I wrestle with my carpet cleaner/steamer saturated my carpet to find that it didn't suck water anymore. I turn around and find that the 17 year old dog had relieved his bowels on the carpet in back of me as I was attempting to clean.

Today was very productive.  I vacuumed all of the christmas tree needles out of the back of my SUV (It is September).  Now that was a real accomplishment.  I changed the bed and actually washed the mattress pad (why?).  Now I have made my lunch just in time to watch General Hospital and set my drink on a coaster (yes we do have them - I found them in the bottom of a cupboard that I cleaned out amidst VCR tapes and your graduation from high school paper napkins)

I am exhausted.

Editor's Note: I might be wrong about this, but the term "Housewife" might be a little - shall we say - dated? Archaic terms aside, my life is pretty gravy - glad you got a little taste of the good life. Next time you play adorable, dutiful wife tell me ahead of time and I will send all 5 of my kids plus their curriculum to you. What is a clean house when you have smart kids, right?