Ravioli Lasagna

I made this great ravioli lasagna on Thursday for Lucy, KL, and the boys. It's a really great dish, you should try this one, you will love it. I found the inspiration for this recipe from a woman's day recipe using Italian sausage and ravioli. That was all I needed to get my inspiration to do what I wanted to do to make it my own. I hope you do the same. I'm very much a pantry cook, I don't keep much fresh stuff on hand which explains the ingredients, you could use fresh onion and garlic if you wanted to.

1 pound ground beef

1 pound ground Italian sausage ( I use Jimmy Dean Italian)

1 T. Onion Powder

1 T. Garlic Powder

1 T. Italian Seasoning

3 oz. can sliced mushrooms, drained

10 oz. jar Prego Ricotta Parmesan spaghetti sauce

10 oz jar Ragu Alfredo sauce

1 pound of Sargento, grated Provolone Mozzarella cheese

Family size bag frozen Ravioli with cheese and spinach or plain. (My pan needs thirty, 15 for each layer)

Fill a large stock pot with water and put stove to boil. If you cover the pot the water will boil faster. In a medium size skillet, fry meats until just brown. About five six minutes. Add drained mushrooms, seasoning, powders, salt and pepper and stir together. Cook two or three minutes more until the meat is browned. Add the jars of sauce and reduce heat to medium low and simmer to reduce. Your water should be boiling by now. When the water comes to a rolling boil, add the ravioli and boil 15 minutes. While the ravioli is boiling, your sauce will thicken. This is a good time to get your salad made. When the ravioli floats, cook for about two minutes more then drain.

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Get your 9x13 pan ready. Add 1/3 of your meat mixture to the pan, spread evenly. Place fifteen ravioli evenly on top of the sauce, then 1/3 more of the sauce. cover that with half of the cheese. Add 15 more of the ravioli, remaining sauce and remaining cheese. I sprinkled Parmesan over the whole thing and lightly sprinkled the dried Italian seasoning over just for color. Bake for about 30 minutes until the cheese is brown and bubbly. If time is not your friend kick up the oven to 400 that willI like my cheese very brown and crisp. Let it stand for about 10 minutes. so it can set up.

Serve with a salad and garlic toast. Just super. I did buy some sun-dried tomato basil bread from Panera Bread company and made garlic cheese bread with it. Simple. Melt about four tablespoons of butter and brush each slice with butter. Sprinkle with garlic salt and lightly sprinkle about a 1/4 cup cheese over all the slices ( buttered nine slices).

This picture is from the Woman's day article. I'm shortbus when it comes to taking my own photos. I am going to get better, dust off my digital camera and get my own photos going. this picture will give you the idea though.

Do try it's so good.

Mac Attack

Have you ever looked back on a painful chapter in your life and gazed into that chapter pain-free? If you have then you will most likely remember a lot of good things about that chapter as well as the really, really painful parts. Such is the case with the Deer Creek chapter of my life. It had intense pain, character challenging opposition, and heart wrenching betrayal--but it was also a wonderful and fantastic period in the same breath.
Deer Creek was a church began in an affluent, country suburb of Oklahoma City. It was very close to Edmond and Piedmont. People could build large homes on large lots, but had to drive to church. That was until Mac Layton, who was a developer in the Deer Creek area as well as a church planter, elder, minister, oh yes, and Jerk of all trades came along and started a church in his home. There were three or four "good" families who attended. To be considered a "good family" by Mac you either had to have a truck load of cash or tireless energy and dedication to work for the church free of charge. If you had both, well then you weren't just good you were a "sweet" family.
Deer Creek grew larger than the Layton home could accommodate so plans were made to move to the High School. Arrangements made Deer Creek met in the Cafeteria on Sunday mornings and in the Library on Sunday nights. Land was purchased and a building was in the works. The only thing they needed was a full-time Minister to work for this start up church. Darrel Rickard had agreed to come out of retirement and the the Pulpit Minister, and he came after the one person he knew who could "do the job." Me. I agreed to join my mentor in this endeavor and thus began the chapter of Deer Creek.
It was quaint working for this church because I had never worked for a church in this type of situation before. Until you have a Children's worship service in the A/V closet of an High school--you haven't lived! I officed for about six months out of Mac's home and didn't do much but reconnect with my old friend Donna. That's right, Mildred. She, her husband, and beautiful number on son had moved back to town and were building their home and new life. Part of that new life meant helping get the Deer Creek church off the ground.
As the building came along and final stages were being worked out I did things that most ministers would not consider in their job description. I did construction work. Nothing tedious, mind you, just construction work. Probably the kind of work assigned to people at construction sites that cannot be trusted with power tools or off the ground. I scraped the concrete floors until they were smooth as glass. Sweeping, scraping, sweeping, scraping. Painting, sweeping scraping, laying sod, sweeping, scraping.
Mac was there everyday overseeing the construction and making sure that it was done to his specifications and liking. He was a control freak and managed the construction of this church with an iron fist. He was also a tornado. He would blow in, destroy, and blow out. I can still hear the sound of his '82 Suburban shifting into park before it came to a complete stop and my heart will start beating fast and at times I break a sweat.
As much as I believe Mac personified evil in this world, there were some times that he had me flat rolling on the floor laughing hysterically at his bumbling deeds. Remember the tornado, blow in, blow out. First. When our cabinetry was installed in the kitchen it came without knobs. I was to be at work by 8 am sharp everyday, at 8:05 I was getting phones calls. I came to work one morning and walked in the door only find that Mac had been there all morning "working." As I walked in he whisked by power drill and knobs in hand, "Hey buddy, good morning." I'm sure that is what every lioness says to her prey right before devouring it. ZZZT...ZZZT...ZZZT...ZZZZT "Will come check this out." "What do you think? Nice knobs huh?" He had assembled all of the knobs on the cabinets in about 15 minutes-a record as far as I was concerned. "Looks great Mac, the Ladies will love it." As I tried to open the cabinet using this newly attached appendage it wouldn't budge. "Uh...Mack...the knobs aren't working." He had attached every single knob on the hinged side of the cabinet--every single one! When confronted with an embarrassing or confrontational moment Mac always cleared his throat. Not knowing how to exactly spell a throat clearing sound (I think I got the drill sound down, don't you?) you'll have to use your imagination. "[clear throat] Well what do you know about that. This is embarrassing." No, it's flat out hilarious! I nearly broke my neck making my way to the office to call Mildred. "You are not going to believe what happened..." To this day you can still see the poorly repaired cabinetry, just one of the many scars of Mac Layton.
The second occasion really personified the unbelievable tornadoishness of Mac. Every church of Christ must have a baptistery. We believe in immersion upon confession of ones sins. The baptistery at Deer Creek was replete with a bathroom and two changing rooms. It really was a nice space. The bathroom door did not have a locking door knob--Mack to the rescue. I was working in the church building by this time and was in my office. It was morbidly quiet in that church, you could hear a mouse flatulate from a 100 yards. There were times that eerie, creepy silence got the better of me. As I was working in the office I could hear this banging sound. Mack was in house and there was absolutely no telling what he was doing. Bang, Bang. Bang. I rose to see what he was up to when I could hear him yelling, "Will...Will..." "Mack? where are you?" "In the baptistery, come here." Mack had attached the door knob with a locking mechanism--backwards. He had locked himself into a bathroom whose knob he had installed! I wish you could see the tears running down my face--it is still that funny! Oh how I wanted to leave him in that bathroom--he's still be banging on that dang door!
There were many, many other tornado stories that really made living with this evil man worthwhile. Mildred and I can still tell Mac stories and laugh until our stomach's hurt. My time with the Deer Creek church was great and I miss many, many, many of the things about it. Everything that happened there was for a reason and helped me be the minister I am today. Were it not for Deer Creek the friendship that I have with Mildred would not have happened, so it is definitely worth all the tornadoes that blew through my life.

The Body Whisperer

Yesterday morning, number one Son was being defiant. He is quite proficient at being defiant and has really mastered it. Number one Son loves to get stuff out and build stuff, but not redo what he's scattered. He has ample energy to malign but seems to tucker out at the thought of putting back what his Mom and I feel is right. For the boys, they are comfortable in mess. If our home were atop a scrap yard they would feel right at home. There are times I feel like I"m living in a scrap yard as there is "scrap" everywhere. I'm sure Teensy will be a scrapper too, she's taking notes and watches very intently when her bro's on their missions of destruction and defilement.
Number one Son had scattered robe belts, braided belts, shoes, animals, and other ephemera from this room all over our room. Mommy had told him three times to pick up his things and take them upstairs without response or reaction from Number one Son. He was very busy watching Public Television and living with Clifford at the time and just couldn't tear himself away from Treasure Island. After all he had seen that episode at least ten times and just couldn't miss the "good parts." After the third extol from Mom it was time to bring in the big guns--DADDY. I told him twice with out response or reaction. "Titus, this is the last time I'm going to ask you nicely to pick up all of this stuff and get it to your room."....Nothing. All of the card were on the table and it was time to put up or shut up. I had to put up.
As I walked over to him like Oprah through the corn field he snapped back to Oklahoma and said, "Dad I am thinking about it. I'm just not ready to do what I want you to do. I want to do what I want to do." Too late I had him by his left arm and was lifting him out of the chair, then gave him a swat when--SNAP! I popped my neck! As he walked away destroyed by my correction but more by his defeat I stood in sheer and utter pain. The right side of my neck had seized up and was killing me. He was over his trauma by the time he back from upstairs, me I was walking around like Frankenstein in agony.
I knew I couldn't survive this and called my Chiropractor. I have just started going to the Chiropractor, right before Teensy was born. It's a bizarre field of medicine. My Chiropractor is a member of our church and a nice guy. He walks with the natural medicine, let your body talk to you field of healing. He did help me with back pain, and I was hopeful that he would be able to help me with this issue. "What's the problem--oh I see your neck." His office is an old Dentist office that was built in the late 40's early 50's by the standard old Dentist office setup. It still smells of "dentist" when you walk in and has that old nostalgic musty smell that people who love old things love to inhale. I really like the office and especially love the "old smell."
"Let's see what muscles need my help." He asked me to hold out my left arm and not let him push it down. As he started rattling off these geographic locations on my body, some would make my arm fall some wouldn't He knew exactly where to go from there. "Let me get the laser." LASER? He has this new fangaled laser that communicates with your body's light and corrects the problem by giving it the right light. See I don't' get it, and can't even begin to explain how in the world it works. It just blows me away. After several minutes of laser therapy, stretching, an ill fated crack which hurt like a motha' he said, "Sherrie get me a tens unit." What was going to happen next. The body whisperer had something up his sleeve. I didn't think I was going to like it. I think I failed to mention that I really don't care for any kind of rubbing or touching in a massage kind of way--PERIOD. The Body Whisperer's main mode of treatment involves lots of rubbing and a complete and total violation of my personal space.
This tens unit is machine about the size of a deck of cards that attaches to your belt. There is a plug in which has wires that lead to two triscuit size squares of electrodes which are applied to your ailing body parts. As his nurse stuck those things on the affected area she said, "OK, just tell me when you feel this." I felt it immediately, it was wretched. This machine sends constant pulses of electricity into your body and contracts the muscles, over and over and over. "Now Will, wear this all night tonight, don't sleep in it and don't take a shower in it. Why was it necessary to mention that you shouldn't shower in it? I got that default! How many people did it take for that to be part of the, "how to use the device which sends electricity into your body" speech. That is filed away in my memory drawer of the Huh file. Among the other things in this drawer: Who was the first person to see a cow, notice the udder and think, "I want to suck the liquid out of that and drink it." Or see a chicken watch it excrete an oval ball out and say, "I'm cracking that for lunch." Stuff like that. I wore the thing with trepidation knowing it would draw attention to me which I didn't want and more not wanting to reveal how it happened. That's always the first question.
During my stay in the office The Body Whisperer's nurse began talking about her baby. . She is very pregnant and expecting a baby in May. She is over forty and had not plans to add to her family--in fact believed that she could not have children at all. It was a total surprise to her the she was pregnant but, she had more than 24 hours notice though so no sympathy from me. She was talking about raising her baby on goats milk, kind of bizarre but then, "I would really like to use horse's milk. They sell powdered horse milk at the feed store and I've been thinking about that." Thank God I was lying on a table because I would have fallen over dead on the ground. Powdered horse milk from a feed store? ...for a human baby! What the...? I'm just not even in that realm of thinking. Very strange. Very strange.
The neck it somewhat better today, but still recovering. I have to go back on Friday and get another adjustment and laser therapy. There will be a new sense of creepiness in that office now, I'll have a squinted, half cocked confused speculation look on my minds eye. The first sign of a chicken foot and I'm gone!

A dunk without trunks

One Wednesday night in September of 1982 I was baptized. In the church of Christ you are baptized when you reach the ambiguous age of accountability. No one "tells" you it's time to get baptized you just come to know it. Much like salmon know instinctively to swim upstream at just the right time, church of Christ folks just know when to get baptized. My story of course involves many, many awkward moments peppered with intense fear. Most children tell their parents they are thinking about it, talk to their teacher or preacher--not me too awkward. How on earth could I let someone know that I was thinking something so intensely personal and draw attention to myself. I just couldn't do it.
Wednesday night's at Hillcrest meant many things. First it meant going on an hour long bus ride on the gospel chariot. My Dad drove Gospel Chariot #3. The Pope rides in a Mercedes--church of Christ kids in a 1962 converted bus painted green. This bus was near death and the fact that we made it to and from the church each week was truly amazing. The heater never worked and air conditioning was lowering the windows that had not rusted shut. All of the seats were metal frames with screwed on upholstered cushions. Most of the cushions vinyl was peeling, cracking, or exposing it's guts. There is an unavoidable urge to pick at the foam on the seat and leave the bus peppered with the debris of your obsession. We picked up the Gage kids, Reynolds, and five other kids. The Gage's and Reynolds were related, both lived in deplorable conditions and always unclean, unkempt, and somewhat smelly. The Reynolds smelled of clabbered milk and sweat, the Gage's smelled of bacon fat and clabbered milk mixed in with a top note of sweat. There were five Gage children and six Reynolds coupled with the five other children and we were loaded.
Wednesday night also meant abandoning our post on the North side and attending "the other side" of the building. We always sat, South side sixth pew from the front right by the first huge buttress that held up the roof. On Wednesday night you went straight to class followed by a devo, song, and prayer. By the time we returned to the building to park the bus it was pushing 9:00 p.m.
This particular Wednesday night in September we were standing to sing the invitation, you always stand to sing the invitation in the church of Christ for some reason, and I found myself inching past my Dad, Grandma, and Mom to go forward. I can remember thinking to myself, "I can't believe I'm doing this, everyone is looking at me, maybe I should just jet to the bathroom--God I can't let people know I go to the BATHROOM! I'll just get baptized." As I made my way to greet the preacher, Don, He smiled and sat me on the front pew. "What's on your mind, son?" "I am ready for baptism." "You are?....Well do you believe that Jesus is the son of God?" "Yes, I believe that." "Well, then that's all it takes." Song sung, Don stood up. "Be seated, tonight we are thrilled that this young man...[quick look to see who this was again] Bill- I mean Will is coming forward to confess his faith and surrender to the Lord in baptism." That's when it hit me--I was prolonging a service!
Baptisms meant at least three more songs, a prayer, and the actual dunking. I was always a little miffed that it took so long and didn't end on time and here I was the miffer. As the congregation began to sing the first of two "get ready" songs Don said," son just go back there and in to the closet and get ready. When you are ready just climb the stairs and we'll get you baptized." O...K...what door? What room? What do I do? I found the room, which was the custodial closet. Saw the baptism garment and stood there staring at it. It was a vinyl, plastic stiff jumpsuit all white. I didn't know much but I did know that when things get wet that are white you may as well not be wearing anything at all.
As I began to get undressed I realized the this jumpsuit didn't come with underwear. I couldn't get baptized without underwear, but if I did wear my underwear I wouldn't be able to wear them home which I couldn't go commando! What to do...What to do...second song is almost over and I am not even dressed yet. Oh Lord...what to do? I finally decided to go commando in the jumpsuit. Oh Lord, Lord, Lord I was getting baptized completely naked and without underwear!
The baptism water was very warm, like tub water. And when I stood in the water no one could see me because I was too little. Don said a bunch of stuff about sin and how everyone is a sinner bound for hell unless they do like me and get baptized. He squeezed my neck, asked me the same question about my belief in the Lord and then slammed me into the water. Up I came a new creature. A wet, naked, child of God with a super soaked white jump suit showing off all my creation!
After I got dressed and made my way outside there was a crowd of people standing around waiting to hug my neck. I did not want that kind of attention. I remember one guy hugging me and crying on my shoulder. He had a huge wad of skoal in his mouth and was infecting my breathing space with skoal funk. It was so disgusting. I can still remember his nasty skoal breath and tobacco stained lips with the tiny bits of tobacco in the corners of his mouth and hanging from his untrimmed mustache. The rest were kids and the old lady's of the church who were hugging me. I really wished every lady in the church wore the same cologne because when they all come onto one person they do not make a good smell--better than skoal breath though.
Had I known the kind of attention this very personal, between me and God, event would have brought upon me I would have held off until my death bed. That one event caused me to be a designated prayer give in class at family dinners, serve communion on Sunday night, work on Saturday at the church with the other "men" of the church. Holy Cow it was a huge thing to be baptized. Geez!
To this day I do not baptized people that I don't warn them to bring trunks for the dunking.

Something wicked this way comes

Growing up at the Hillcrest church of Christ was very interesting. My parents, once they began attending, never missed a Sunday morning, Sunday night, or Wednesday. Churches of Christ have very traditional meeting times, usually three times a week on Sunday and Wednesday all across the country. Sunday night's in the church were much the same as Sunday morning for me only I could wear jeans. The atmosphere was certainly more relaxed than during the morning service. One thing that always stood out to me were those people who didn't change clothes. Usually the older folks who got dressed once a day and only changed to go to bed. These folks usually smelled like the food they ate and you pretty much tell where they had been by the funk. One elderly gentlemen helped solve the mystery because you could identify the stains on his clip on tie and nail not only where he ate, but what he ate. On lucky days you could still catch a glimpse of lunch in the corner of his mouth! Beautiful.
In the church, as a boy or young man, you are not allowed to do much until you become baptized. About the only thing you can do pre-baptism is pick up attendance cards and occasionally hand out stuff to the congregation. That's about it. But, once you are baptized you get to start out serving communion. We serve communion every Sunday in the church of Christ and on Sunday night for those who missed Sunday morning. Serving communion on Sunday morning is major league while serving on Sunday night is farm team. I never understood why we just didn't take communion at night and in the morning, but these questions are not answered and anyone who pokes around asking questions is never heard from again.
I was baptized when I was 12 (that is a story in and of itself) and promptly got drafted for Sunday night communion. I was mortified! Just the thought of me standing up in front of that church was horrible, saying a prayer in front of that church--death! I cringed every time I had to do communion on Sunday night. I would always sit on the North side leaving a huge space from the end of the pew to allow the prayer leader plenty of room to assume his position. The North side was the lead team. North side prayer leader had to say, "If you were unable to partake [very important verbiage] of the Lord's supper this morning it has been prepared for you this evening. Please stand after each prayer and we will serve you." Then the prayer. After which time people would stand up and you would walk to your side and give them communion. I always gave my Aunt Opal communion. She was my Dad's aunt and one of the sweetest people in the entire universe. She stayed home every week and cooked lunch for her family and came to church on Sunday night. Her hands smelled of comet always she didn't have a single tooth in her head, just like my Granny. I usually had one or two others who would stand, North side was very faithful in their attendance.
There are only two times that stand out in my memory of serving communion on Sunday night. First, the night a lady drank communion after someone else. In the church of Christ communion is served in individual one ounce cups. The special trays hold each cup in it's own little space. On Sunday mornings every hole was full and you would put your empty cup back in the same hole and move on down the road. It is an unwritten rule that you drink from the fullest cup because some lady's don't drink all the juice as it makes them burp all through service and get their reflux all keyed up. Sunday nights were a different story. Usually there were 15 or so cups filled with the two outer most rings completely empty. The unwritten rule during this service was taking the full cup, partaking, then placing it in the empty outer rings. One Sunday night I had to serve three lady's. The first lady took her cup, sipped, placed the lipstick stained cup in the appropriate outer ring and sat down. On to the next. Again, this lady picked up the same cup! In the church of Christ reverence is translated as silence and you remain forward looking not making one sound. I could not break form and say, "NOT THAT ONE!" I tried to quietly whisper, "not that one" but she didn't hear me and drank from the same cup! Mortified. I am an unashamed germaphobe! The thought of drinking after someone makes me cringe.
The second most memorable involved a hostage situation, literally. This man and his family came to church for the sole purpose of him marrying his daughter. We do not indulge in this kind of thought process and tend to shy away from those who do sinner or not! The fact that he had a gun made it easier for us to oblige him. He was placed in a classroom, our classrooms surrounded the auditorium. Our preacher stood up and told the church that there was a troubled man in the building, the police had been called and we would only have one song, a prayer, and serve communion then all be dismissed as quickly and quietly as possible. HOSTAGE SITUATION...TROUBLED MAN...GUN!? In my church! On Sunday night! WOW!
I had communion duty. My palms were even more sweaty because I was freaking out at the thought of a shooting spree, that just didn't happen in the 80's period! People wouldn't be that kind of crazy for another twenty years! All of the Marlboro men were on alert and had cinched and hiked their pants set and ready to relive combat! As we stood there looking at the crowd my only thought was, "which one of these crazy people are the crazy person being talked about" It was a crap shoot, honestly. I had Aunt Opal and the basketball coach, Coach Busby to serve and that was it. As I stood there waiting for coach to decide which of the identical cups of the same juice to drink...it wasn't that hard even for a coach! A classroom door slowly crept open and out came this man. He was about 6'3" with dark brown crazy hair and wicked green eyes, cat green. He had on a red tattered t-shirt and a flannel shirt worn like a jacket, rustler jeans, and serial killer combat boots. His whole family, who were in the room with him, looked like people who are featured in a Larry Jones, Feed the Children commercial focusing on the poor of America. "That's him...that's the crazy man with a gun!" "Why is he looking at me? Why is he standing in the hall?" As I walked down the aisle he grabbed my arm. I nearly lost all control of my bladder and colon. I was a hostage for this twisted man!
What would I do. How could I, the one who has drilled every disaster known to man down the the Gothic lantern precariously hanging from the ceiling falling on someone, not have planned for a deranged mad man who wanted to marry his daughter come to my church with a gun and want communion from me? I had no reference point, no one to run to. Here I was in no man's land. There was a mad man grabbing my arm wanting communion...looking forward to a honeymoon with his daughter! Would I be drug into the classroom and join Brisco Darlin and his family for the wedding of the century? Would he take his bread and juice and cap me--the first of many victims in his twisted plan of matrimony? "I just want communion...I'm not going to hurt you." I am sure I looked like a lemur--my eyes were huge! "yes, sir...here take it." My hands were shaking so hard I looked palsied. On our particular Sunday night service we prayed...served the cracker...came back forward...prayed for the juice then passed it. After that we had to pray and pass the collection plate. Normally this mundane task took about twenty minutes, however on this night it took a century. Horrible, just horrible. Cracker, done...bread, done! We also passed the collection plate in the off chance folks wanted to give. If you are standing up waiting to give and don't give not good! Crazy man didn't give.
I was never more scared than at that moment. I can still remember it like it was yesterday. Aunt Opal asked, "Honey, are you OK? you look like you've seen a ghost." "I'm OK, I just saw a crazy man and he touched me." Turns out that he was not on his medicine and easily surrendered to the authorities to get the proper medical attention he needed. He never married his daughter, and I've often wondered how Christmas went that year in their home.
I have yet to have a Sunday night more intense than this one, and hope I never do.

Who needs dynamite--I have kids!

I've been home with teensy and the boys since Thursday afternoon and it's been interesting to say the least. My wife has been working at a special consignment sale for children's clothing at our state fairgrounds and I have been keeping the children alive.
Teensy still needs a lot of attention being such a small tot, she has reflux and spits up in a poltergeist kind of way which causes all kinds of alarms on her apnea monitor. My pet name for Levi is Chubbers, Titus is Bub, you've met teensy whose given name is Emma. They are quite a trio. Chubbers is into destruction exploration. Bub is into construction destruction and Teensy is into clothing destruction and bed corruption.
Chubbers spends his waking moments being really cute, cracking himself up, and opening drawers just to spill their contents onto the floor. He really has a distaste for order and prefers a cluttered house. Toy baskets remain empty, drawers and clothing baskets-goners he just makes his way through the house upsetting our order. Our chaos is his calm. He's just the cutest thing around but there are times that I would love to duct tape him on the wall and just let him, "hang out" for an hour or two. He has this blanket that my wife made for him when he was on his way into the world. It's a blue chenille blanket with a vintage cowboy fabric on the back. He totes that thing around an sucks his thumb. I call the blanket sucky sucky, he knows where it is at all times. I liken it to the love relationship that Linus has to this blanket and look forward to Chubbers chenille sport coat! Chubbers is just learning to talk and has mastered the basic one-syllable words. I think he knows more than he let's on, but is just toying with us because he can. For now we love his gibber jabber babbling.
Bub is a brilliant witty little boy who really has the world by the tail. He is just full of wit and says the most hilarious things. Jeff Foxworthy's hosting a new game show on Fox and we were watching it Thursday night when, "Dad, I could be on that show. I'm really smart and know evryfing." "I think you would be good on the show too, bub. What subjects would you be the best at answering." "24th century for sure, I know a lot about that." there you have it a 4 and 1/2 year old expert on the 24th century! Bub likes to build things out of the couch pillows and afghans in our blanket chest (it's really an upholstered footstool I just like the idea of a blanket chest) and then walk into a world created by his imagination. Shopping mall's, train stations, space stations, puppet theaters you name it and he will build it. Bub doesn't like putting things away and leaves his messes all around the house. We have the hardest time getting him to pick up one mess before starting another. Bub is a caring and wonderful brother who totally terrorizes his brother one minute and then loving him the next. Chubbers doesn't know whether to hug him or duck and cover.
Bub is a constant snacker. he's always eating a spoon of peanut butter, or a granola bar, or a grape, or an apple, or jell-o. Again, not picking up after himself. On Thursday, Chubbers found a cup of jell-o that Bub left out and by time I found him his hands were red, covered in Jell-0. I knew exactly where he had been because little gobs of jell-o were left in his trail. Getting in touch with my happy place was difficult. Trying to remember how much I would miss "this" moment in twenty years just didn't' help. I was hacked. You know, you don't really need dynamite to destroy a house just two brother's under five!
Bub loves Dino nuggets. He usually eats them reheated in the microwave, I would rather he ate them baked in the oven. Something about easing my conscience knowing that this processed food was "baked" and not nuked. I'm saving that for my therapist. I made up some secret dipping sauce for him: Dino dipping sauce. He loved it! Just a bit of barbecue sauce (maybe a tablespoon) and a bit of honey (just a tablespoon or so) then ketchup. Stir it all together and you have Dino dipping sauce. it then became another food network star "dream".
One more chubber. Bub, Cubbers and I were on the way home from church one night. Bub wanted to open some powdered donuts and eat one before we got home. "No, it will make a huge mess in the car!" 4 1/2 year old's are much smarter than their parents ever though about being so he opened the bag and got his donut. True to form, he forgot to close the package and keep it away from chubbers. Chubbers went into stealth mode and managed to crumb every donut in the box and cover himself from head to toe in powder. He has very curly, tight hair and it was perfectly powdered. Again, finding the happy place was very hard to do.
I can only imagine what teensy will add to the mix and really try not to think about it, i just don't think I could take it. I'm sure I'll be reading my children's blog some day (there will probably be something much, much more cool by then) and saying, "I had no idea they did THAT!" She is already a tough cookie who doesn't take much off anyone without letting them know about it.
Children are wonderful and blessings I'm so thankful to have. Clean houses, full night's sleep, quiet, uninterrupted peace--saved for retirement.

Spring had Sprung!

When Mildred and I lived in the same town we saw each other at church and during occasional lunches, but usually just chatted on the phone. She cleaned a few houses for extra money and would usually like to chat during dusting. Mildred can flat clean a house! The one house that she cleaned was the Burtram's, whom we called Butram's. The lady of the house always had these incredibly annoying phone greeting on their answering machines. The one which grated my nerves the most was her shrill voice barking out in a pseudo-chipper southern drawl way, "Spring has Sprung." OHHH that annoyed me. To this day I still can't say that without thinking of her. Mildred must tell you about the topless conversation she had with Mrs. Butram. Mrs. Butram was of course topless and Mildred was just drop-jawed awkward. Talk about burning an image into your brain!

Spring is not my most favorite time of year. I do love seeing nature wake up and show off. I love the brown winter grass giving way to their new brothers of the lawn. Something beautiful about the brown grass peppered with the new bright green grass popping up. Trees budding, butterflies and bees buzzing around. Spring is awesome, but it is also treacherous. The Midwest means Tornadoes! I hate tornadoes and any bad storm period. I have always hated them and don't think I will ever stop hating them.

Spring storms are sneaky Pete's, they come at night like the angel of death. Why they don't just show them selves in broad daylight I will not know. Mean, ominous, black clouds building up their forces to wreak havoc on mother earth. I do not like when nature throws a temper tantrum. As a boy I could remember lying in my bed frozen with fear. I usually slept fully clothed with my shoes in the exact position where my feet hit the floor, especially when it was stormy. The thunder and lightning, rain and wind blowing and screaming into the night. I diverted all of my senses to my hearing grasping for the faintest sound of a tornado siren. During good weather nights I would have drills where I practiced evacuation to the bathroom. I would not be caught off guard.

When I was five our city experienced a horrible night of tornadoes. Lee George was our most trusted weather man. He was a tall thin man who wore very loud plaid 70's sport coats with very wide ties. His outfits never really coordinated with one another, but somehow rudely complimented them in a way that only he could pull off. Lee was throat clearer, and cleared his throat a lot. When he gave his forecast he would rock back and forth choreographing the weather map. During storm nights he seemed to be very tense and would usually give off panicked, "Take Shelter NOW!" Antsy weathermen just should not be allowed to exist.

This particular night the tornado had touched down about five miles away from the pink house. Dad stood guard on the front porch, Mom, Lucy, and I were in Mom and Dad's room behind a chair with a mattress over us. We sang Jesus Loves Me about fifty times all huddled up in a big ball of fear. The wind was howling and screaming, no trains, just a vicious bellowing eruption of nature mad at the world and out to right the wrongs of mankind. This tornado destroyed two mobile home parks, a hotel, an apartment complex and several other areas in town. It was the most devastating tornado in our history (1975) and none worse have come our way.

The other tornado experience I had was when I was in High School. I was in 7th hour Home Economics (that's a blog in and of itself) and we were about to be dismissed for the day. The sky was licorice colored with a faint green vale over the thick, churning, black clouds. I was pacing back and forth like a nervous cat--I had a bad feeling. Our school had converted over to tones and not bells. There all of these tones sounded for several things and then the secretary or principal would come over the speaker to tell us what that tone meant. I was watching the clock, 3:12, two minutes to go when, "Blew, Blew, Blahh---Attention students and faculty this is not a drill take shelter immediately a tornado is approaching. Take shelter this is not a drill" My heart sank the words, "this is not a drill" don't really bring out the best in me I usually freeze. We all left our desks as they were and headed out into the hall. I really had significant issues with the way in which we were to take shelter. We were to face the wall and curl up into a ball wrapping our hands around our necks. I was really uncomfortable with exposing my spine to whatever mother nature decided to make a projectile. Fortunately, we were right across from the auditorium. The auditorium was like most and angled down. There was a pit about four feet deep with stairs that lead to the auditorium. That's where I went to the pit. I didn't care what they said I was staying there. About ten minutes after the shelter siren we heard this rumbling, rolling, roar like a rocket taking off. The doors blew open students were screaming and trash cans were flying! I was at ground zero! I just closed my eyes and prepared to die. The good thing about tornadoes is they are over quick and there is not better calm than the calm after a huge storm. We were to stay in the shelter until the all clear from the county sheriff. I had to pee! Great now what am I going to do. All of the bathrooms were full of students, the students who went to the boys bathroom were obviously desperate to live I would not crouch down on that floor. It was my first exposure to faculty bathrooms--NICE!

Now that Teensy and the boys are here I have to put on a front that I am not afraid and that everything will be ok. Having just moved to this city, I don't know what county I'm in, what town are surrounding me or which little box i should watch on the radar. I'm screwed basically and just have to use my instincts and watch every window from top to bottom. Titus is a storm hater too, and seeks shelter in our bed when he hears the slightest noise. Chubbers and Teensy haven't shown their colors yet so we won't know if they are storm haters or not.

I will keep an eye to the sky and try to channel the Lee George mojo until June. So many storm stories to tell. So little time. I've had enough though I'm totally creeped out and ready to say...Until next time.