Potato Bread

Sometimes I get funny text messages. Sometimes they make me smile. Sometimes they make me giggle. And sometimes, if they come at just the right moment, they make me laugh till tears trickle out of my eyes. I love it when this happens. It's one of the best things about being me. : )

The other day I got a text from Kid Four. Usually her texts are about boys and outfits. Or the navicular and scaphoid. But this one was about potato bread. Yes, potato bread. She sent it at 12:04am, when I was already in bed. So in the morning I awoke to this:

Kid Four:  "Mom. They don't have potato bread in the potato state!!!"

Here is where you should know that Kid Four is currently attending school in Idaho. The Potato State. And that the, "Mom", with a period after it, was written to sound like, "Dude." For some reason, first thing in the morning, this text was a really funny thing to me! And it made me smile.

Me:  "Ok, that's just weird."

Kid Four:  "I know! I'm thinking, I am a grocery shopper in the potato state. I expect to see the full spectrum of potato products on the shelves."

By then I was giggling. Aloud.

Me:  "Haha!! Will you please text me something funny every morning?"

Kid Four:  "Sure, but I'm being serious! At the checkout the girl was like, 'Did you find everything okay?' And I said, 'No. You don't have potato bread. I don't understand. This is the potato state. How do you not have potato bread?' And she freaking looked at me like I was crazy!!! She actually said, 'What's potato bread?' I gave up."

And that came at just the right moment. Because by then I was laughing. Aloud. And tears were trickling out out of my eyes. Probably because I could vividly picture how this entire scene went down.

And how Kid Four is So. Done. With. Drama.

Me:  "Hahahahaha!!! Oh my gosh, that is hilarious!"

Kid Four:  I'm glad you can laugh about my frustration!"

Me:  "Why were you wanting potato bread, anyway?"

Kid Four:  "It just sounded super good!!"

It is super good.

Me:  "This makes me wonder if potato bread actually has any potato content."

Kid Four:  "Haha, you would wonder that!"

It's true.
I would.
And I did.
So I went to my local grocer.

And this is what I found:

Several different brands of potato bread. 

There were more. I didn't photograph them. 

Because I can only stand so much attention from photographing potato bread at the grocery store.

All had the super cool dusting of what is most certainly potato flour, right? 

Except for the loaf below.

Which is also this.

 Butter Top Potato Bread?
Really?
This is so wrong.

But most importantly, the ingredients.

Can you see that?

Contains 2% OR LESS of.... potato flour. 

(I know. It's blurry. Don't judge. It was taken in the bread aisle. With a cell phone. And onlookers.)

Except for this loaf, which doesn't specify. Sketchy, if you ask me.

But look carefully at the bottom right hand corner of that photo. 

Then wonder as I did, "What really can you expect from Bimbo Bakeries?"

Lesson learned:

1. Potato bread can be found in our local grocer's aisle in several different brands. I do not live in The Potato State.
2. Potato bread does in fact have potato content in it. If you count 2% or less potato flour as potato content.
3. Potato bread doesn't really photograph that well.
4. Kid Four isn't really done with drama. And I happen love that about her. It makes me smile, and giggle, and laugh till tears trickle out of my eyes.
5. Some questions don't need answering. Like the one about Bimbo Bakeries. I'll be leaving that one alone.

Little Man & Chopin

Warning:

Proud Mother Moment Ahead

Okay, I'm not gonna lie. I was raised on some pretty amazing music,
and over the years I've fallen in and out of love with all kinds of artists and musical genres.
But one thing has remained constant.
I have always loved Chopin.

Well, right now I don't just love Chopin.

I LOVE Chopin!

Chopin was born in Poland, but lived and died in France. His body is buried in France.
But his heart is buried in Poland.
At his request.

I think this is kind of romantic and sentimental. And dramatic and morbid.

And all by itself is reason enough to love him.
But there's more to my love affair than that.

And here it is.

(Don't mind me and the fact that I still can't figure out how to get the first part of a video focused.
Or the part where someone clapped. Before it was over. Geesh.)

 Does this music not just melt your soul?

Over the past few months I've been able to hear this every day.
Several times a day.
Little Man and Chopin.

Ahhhh....

Honestly, what's not to love?

: )

Definitions

Sometimes I have deep thoughts. Sometimes they make it out right away. 

Sometimes they don't make it out at all. 

And sometimes they just mull around in my head until it's time.

Today it's time.

One Sunday, several years ago, I was in a church lesson and heard a story about a woman who had experienced some really challenging issues. One day she found herself at a crossroads in life, a place where she could choose a path of self-destruction, or a path of goodness. She chose goodness. And a Sunday discussion then ensued about crossroads. And "defining moments".

I thought and thought about what exactly defines a "defining moment". 

And what defines us. 

What defines me.

I thought about this for months. And years.

And came up with my own conclusion.

Fast forward to last summer when I took a late night run with The Man. Although the sun had long since fallen and given way to gentle moonlight, it was still sticky and heavy out, with temperatures near ninety. This can make for some hard running! But with good music and a strong resolve to keep my pace I was happy for the quiet and still that accompanies night runs. (In my perfect world, every race would be run in the stillness of night.)

But running with The Man is very different than running by myself. We run at different paces. And he tends to go out fast, while I go out slow. He always stays one, or two, or ten (....a hundred?) steps ahead of me. So in an effort to keep up I tend to push more than I want, before I want, prematurely tiring my lungs and legs. And sometimes the feeling I get of "being behind" exhausts me mentally.

This was how the run was going on this late night. And I found myself frustrated.

But I knew I had a choice. I could go on being frustrated, throw away my resolve to keep my pace, and ultimately end up with a run a wish I hadn't taken. Or I could swallow my pride, ignore being behind, get into a groove, and go home happy.

I chose the latter.

And I fell behind.
    Far behind.
        But I got into a groove.
            Where my mind drifted back to that Sunday lesson.

                And I wondered about elite runners and what drives them to finish first.
                And I thought about their races and how they train.
                And I contemplated what defines them.

            I came to a conclusion.
        Elite runners are not defined by the Big Race, or the Big Finish.
    Because by the time they get to the Big Race, or the Big Finish, they have already been defined...

By every run,
Every workout,
Every stretch,
Every sacrifice,
Every ounce of sweat,
Every small and singular step, whether miserable or triumphant, that gets them to the start line.

An elite runner makes each defining choice long before the race.

And while life certainly affords crossroads and paths, important life-altering choices that set courses, I have come to believe that we define ourselves in the smaller, simpler, singular acts that happen every day. The constant things that have shaped who we are, and determine who we are becoming. Like the woman in the Sunday story, we are defined well before we reach the "defining moment".

Others may judge me by my most important accomplishments. 

Or by my most devastating mistakes. 

But what I know of me is that I am defined in the becoming.

The Proposal

I happen to love that movie. : )

You should know that this is Kid Middle's man's hand. With an Oreo. In the faucet. He eats them like this.

I know. There is just no good explanation.

You should also know that Kid Middle's man is romantic. And sentimental. And he wanted to propose in a mushy and disgusting kind of way. But since he was at our house, do you think we could let that happen? Not a chance!

Because we are professionals at spoiling all good plans.

And Kid Middle is all kinds of stealth at figuring out surprises.

Possible proposal scenario #1 - The Country Club Plaza and a romantic stroll along the Riverwalk. Stop to talk on a quaint little bench overlooking brown, icky pristine water. Pull out a perfectly crafted love letter, a single red rose, drop to one knee, profess undying love, and pop the question.

Spoiler #1 - The custom-made ring was late in being delivered!! The Riverwalk happened. The rest of it did not.

Possible proposal scenario #2 - A quiet neighborhood park with a swingset that holds sentimental memories for Kid Middle. A romantic stroll to said park, followed by light-hearted swinging and playing. And meaningful conversation. Pull out a perfectly crafted love letter, a single red rose, drop to one knee, profess undying love, and pop the question.

Spoiler #2 - Kid Middle overhears directions to said park being given. Of course, she asks about it. We all choke and cough and cover it up. Except for Little Man. Who boldly says, "They're directions to that one park with the swings." And we officially have a ring, but no destination.

Possible proposal scenario #3 - An observation tower at a large and beautiful area park. A romantic climb to the top to overlook the-whatever-it-is-you-can-overlook up there. Pull out a perfectly crafted love letter, a single red rose, drop to one knee, profess undying love, and pop the question.

Spoiler #3 - I get distracted while doing an online search for directions to said observation tower. I have no idea how this happens. Really. I have never, ever been distracted before! And I accidentally leave the search page open on my computer.

You know what's coming next, right? Wait for it....Wait for it...

Here it is...

Kid Middle:  "So, how come there were directions to that one observation tower on the comp?"

Mushy, disgusting proposal comes to screeching halt.

Time for Plan D. That's right. D.

Here is Plan D. And how it went.

(Note: It was not mushy. Or disgusting.)

We had already a planned an afternoon of target shooting in the country, something The Gang loves to do. And since we all knew that Kid Middle's man wears a uniform we were especially excited to see what kind of heat he could bring. We strategically placed a grandbaby in need of attention in the house in the country, away from the firing range. And when Kid Middle went to take her baby-care shift the fun began.

We all stood back and watched as, unbeknownst to her, Kid Middle's man carefully shot out a connect-the-dots pattern into a large piece of cardboard.

This was fun for us. : )  And hard for him!

For starters, he had to deal with 5 anxious hecklers.
      And pre-proposal nerves.
         And a completely blank sheet of cardboard.
            And swirling expectations that he should be able to pull this off without even breaking a sweat.

Which he pretty much did.

And here is the rest of what you should know:

1. Kid Middle returned from baby duty.

2. Hecklers backed off and gave Kid Middle and her man some space.

3. Kid Middle's man creatively dragged her to a quiet spot in the woods where he had hidden the sheet of cardboard, and pulled out a marker for her to connect-the-dots.

4. She connected the dots. (Women have been doing this for centuries. It's nothing new.)

5. He dropped to one knee, professed his undying love (blah, blah, blah, blah, blah....), and popped the question. 

6. She said, "YES!" and emerged happy, giggling, and with a new sparkly on her finger. And her man on her arm.

And the rest is history!

PS. You should know that Kid Middle's man is still sentimental and romantic. Later that night he did in fact present her with a perfectly crafted love letter. And a single red rose. No one was around to photograph it.

When Kid Middle Met Her Man

For years Kid Middle has been dating boys. Lots and lots of boys.  For the past while our post-first date conversations have gone like this:

Me:  "So...how was the date?"
Kid Middle:  "It was fine."
Me:  "Fine? What do you mean by that?"
Kid Middle:  "It was good, I guess."

Long pause...

Me:  "Hmm. So, what did you think of him?"
Kid Middle:  "Eh, he's a cool kid."

(Or a fun kid... or a cute kid... or a nice kid... or whatever description of "kid" fits that day.)

Me:  "A kid? What does that even mean?"
Kid Middle:  "I dunno. He's cool."

(Or fun... or cute... or whatever.)

Me:  "Hmm."

Then silence.

And I have always been left to wonder, what the heck does she means by kid?
And why the heck is it so hard to suck boy information out of her?

But one day I got a different kind of call from Kid Middle. It went something like this:

Kid Middle:  "Mom." (Yes, she said it like a statement. A very urgent statement.) "I just went on a date with the most beautiful man."
Me:  "Really." (Yes, I said it like a statement. Except not urgent at all.) "A man?"
Kid Middle:  "Yes... a man."

And when she said man it was all oozy and junk.
Then she spilled. And spilled. And spilled. I could not get Kid Middle to shut up!
Suddenly she was an open book about all things man.

And I got that mother feeling that tells you things are about to change.

Kid Middle sent me these picture texts. And I learned stuff.

Stuff like that man wears sunglasses.

And a uniform.

Right then I knew we were in trouble.

(Leave it to Kid Middle to find the one man who would not be intimidated by her father...)

Life and the Blog

Sometimes the blog gets in the way of life. When that happens things like this happen:

I neglect the dishes in the sink.

I neglect the papers on the counter.

I neglect the dog.

And sometimes I neglect eating. 

Really. I do.

It's all because I like the blog. I like it a lot. Sometimes I like it enough to neglect eating.

I don't really have to like anything at all to neglect the dishes.

And sometimes life gets in the way of the blog. When that happens things like this happen:

I paint stuff.

Before

After

Before

After

(I acknowledge that you didn't really need to be told "before". Or "after". 

And may I take a moment to say how much I love the grey? It's perfect!)

I take short trips to Branson and see The Brett Family Singers. 

And my dad. 

And my daughter. 

And my grandson. 

And my two sisters.

 And all kinds of other important people in my life. 

(This is not all of them.)

I take long trips to Utah where lots more things happen.

(Not Utah, or anything that happens there. Just the best part of the very, very long drive to get there. 

I love these windmills!)

I come home from long trips to Utah and have company. 

Really important company. 

Including company I get to babysit. 

Yay!! 

Isn't he just amazing?

AND...

drum roll, please

Kid Middle gets engaged!!

Yup, that's right! Kid Middle is getting married! 

I know. It's just not right. 

I like to think in my mind that I'm 26. Which would make Kid Middle about 1.

And now I have all kinds of things to blog about! For at least a week.

I will stretch this out. Like jeans. And a really cheap sweater. 

So stay tuned for posts to come!

For right now, it's back to life. 

Because life didn't just get in the way of the blog this time. 

Life got in the way of...life.

Which makes me think. Maybe it wasn't really life that got in the way of anything at all.

Maybe it was living.

And isn't that what it's all about, anyway? : )