Monthly Archives: January 2013

Say it Again, Sam

Have I told you lately that I love my job?

How many people are lucky enough to say that, and mean it?

And to top it off,  I got a call today from another university offering me summer employment teaching other teachers how to love their jobs, essentially. Does it get better than that?

Also, have I told you lately that I’ve made tacos for dinner? Because I could swear that I have, a lot. But my kids say no, it’s been ages. So that’s what we had.

I know. You’re super jealous.

Love, Mom

Emergency call for help:

Does anyone (local) have a copy of the movie “Arachnophobia” I could borrow? None of the rental places carry it.

My most favorite know-it-all, teenage son has developed an intense loathing for spiders.

Something about finding a nest of giant furry brown ones in his bed this week. Repeatedly. Can I really pass up the opportunity to scar him for life with a thematic family movie night? Seize the day, and all that.

Speaking of seizing the day to do things squeamish teens may or may not appreciate–the next time you’re at Costco, pick up some Simply Asia Sweet Ginger Garlic seasoning. It made great BBQ sauce last week, and a totally different, but still to-die-for, sweet and sour sauce tonight:

photo (33)

Pomegranates, Pride, and Remover


I just painted my fingernails.



Women subject themselves to this?

Who has time to let nail polish dry?! 


Also, what  is the point of 738 different available colors?

All I wanted was a reasonable shade of skin…ish color to hide my pomegranate-stained nails from my students. (One becomes self-conscious of such things when one uses a doc cam regularly in front of 100+ students a day.)

And–who owns nail polish remover?

Oh. Right. Women who subject themselves to this.

Now what?


I know.

I promised this wouldn’t turn into a food blog. But good grief.  As much as I love my classes this semester, and would love to write something profound and moving, all that comes out is a  pathetic sort of whimper.

And also chicken strips. Frozen vegetables. Grilled bratwurst. Tater tots. Yeah. That’s the most exciting components of dinner the past two days.

We did, however, hold an impromptu great-feats-of-strength demonstration after dinner last night–complete with one-armed push-ups, face-first falls into push-up positions (think Batman), planking, extended wall-sits, some sort of strange stork pose, and my favorite: the cliff hanger.

That’s right–we have definitely proven  that a teen boy can hang by his fingertips from a cliff (read: ledge above the stairwell) and, using only his arms, pull himself up over the brink and to safety. No toes allowed.

I may not be a stellar chef, but as least we’re getting in some face time. Yes?



I’ve made up my mind.

My superpower of choice: knowing precisely how much pasta to make per person, per meal without having any leftovers.

Tonight’s overabundance: Cheese Burger Mac.



Fishnet Stockings, Frybread, and a Few Too Many Emails

You know that nightmare where you get to school and you realize you aren’t wearing any bottoms? Like… you put on your nylons, but you forgot the skirt? And your shirt just barely covers your hipbones, so it’s super embarrassing, no matter how hard you tug at the hem of it?

I passed two girls in the hall at school today who brought that nightmare to life.

By choice.

Because apparently nylons now qualify as stand-alone items of clothing. Fishnet ones, no less.

Emphasis on less.

Maybe that explains why I’m feeling the urge to get all old-fashioned tonight; I’m making bread and we’re having frybread for dinner.

Come on; it’s been like… almost a month. Ish.

And the boys all came in and ate nachos and leftover chili from last night, anyway, so, yes,  there was protein involved.

I would upload a picture from my phone–of my daughter (who has come home from college this weekend because she needs what? Yes, you guessed it, all of it, I know you did) eating a 12-incher but then I’d have to go find it, and instead I need to stay right here until I deal with the 72 emails that I probably shouldn’t just delete flat out. You’ll have to trust me on this one.

Chilly, Inside And Out

It’s supposed to get horribly icy tonight. Snow and freezing rain. I’m countering it with an enormous batch of chili.

Is it strange that even though I love my job, I’m still kind of rooting for a two hour late start tomorrow?