Category: Everyday

HoBBQ: Playing It By Ear.

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For the last seven or eight years we’ve hosted a BBQ once a week at our home. You bring something to grill and a dish to share, we provide the deck, an awesome music mix, and s’mores for the fire pit.

Four or five years ago a little guy we love (who’s not so little anymore), referred to our home as The House of BBQ. The name stuck, and so we now host the annual summer House of BBQ (#HoBBQ on twitter).

Except.

We are more than half way through July, now, and we have yet to host a massive HoBBQ event. It seems we’re in a season of introversion, of selective scheduling, of wagon circling.

We’re busy this year. Not necessarily in schedule, as we often go through busy seasons on the calendar. But my brains cells feel taxed, my creative juices depleted, my ability to handle large crowds…fragile.

We used to schedule dates in advance and blast them out via twitter, but this summer it’s been more like this…

Me: “You wanna BBQ tomorrow?”

Bryan: “I don’t know. I can’t think that far ahead.”

[The next day]

Me: “You wanna BBQ today?”

Bryan: “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Me: “Should we invite anyone over?”

Bryan: “I don’t know. What do you think?”

Me: “I can’t think that far ahead.”

[A couple hours later]

Me: text to friend: “we’re BBQing, want to come over?”

Friend: “When?”

Me: “now.”

You get the idea.

At first I felt panicked, guilty, like a failure for not being able to handle it. Folks emailed or called us out on twitter this Spring, asking when our first HoBBQ would be scheduled, and I just couldn’t imagine it happening.

But I think I just need some space to refill my cup so I have more to pour out.

So I just wanted to let the locals know we’re still here, and we’re still BBQ’ing.

Mostly.

Zugcycle Ride

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Bryan and I used some money we were gifted at Christmas this year to buy new bikes for ourselves. The kids have always had wheels, but we were getting left in the dust as we walked along behind them on the river trail.

A couple weeks ago we dusted them off for the first time and went for a family bike ride. And “dusting off” is not just a figure of speech, either. We store them on a stacking bike rack in our dining room, which means they don’t get dusted just like everything else in my dining room.

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I’m pretty sure I haven’t ridden a bike since I was twenty-two, so I was part terrified and part invigorated. But at least I know how to use my brakes, which is more than I could say for Ruthie. She narrowly avoided flipping herself over a parking curb at the bottom of a hill, but thankfully we all came home in one piece.

Zugtastic! Paper strength experiment!

Recently, Ruthie came home from school with a 8.5×14 sheet of construction paper and was tasked with folding it up and seeing how many books we could stack on top of it. Thomas really got into this, and emptied my bookshelf.

Just getting started - 8 books!

It holds at least eight books!

17 books!

TWENTY books!

Books as tall as Bryan!

A stack of books as tall as Bryan!

Counting all the books

I can’t remember how many books finally crushed the paper, but it was, like, TEN HUNDRED, according to Thomas.

Crushed under the weight of all the books

Before and after.

so this happened…

Waiting for a tow truck.

Yesterday on our way home from a weekend retreat in the mountains, our car broke down on I-90 in the middle of nowhere. Here’s a list of events as I remember them:

  • As we left Sundcadia lodge, The Teenagers we had with us said they were hungry. Ice cream seemed the best remedy, so we stopped at Dairy Queen in Cle Elum .
  • I ordered a small MudPie Blizzard after considering whether or not we’d be home before my dairy intolerance issues kicked in.
  • Bryan asked, Which way to the freeway? And I said, Turn left. And he said, Left? And I said, Yes, left. And he was all, Okayyyyy. And when we got to the freeway entrance I was all, SEE, I TOLD YOU IT WAS LEFT.
  • Five minutes into the drive Bryan says, Whoa! The car is overheating! And a billow of white smoke from the engine engulfs us and I’m all OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH THE CHIIIIIIIILLDREENNNN!
  • We pull over and I yell EVERYBODY OUT! EVERYBODY OUT! QUICK, EVERYBODY OUT! because I think the car is about to explode Hollywood style. And we all get out except for Ruthie who is crying hysterically in the way back while holding her hot fudge sundae because she’s stuck under a pile of pillows and sleeping bags.
  • I evacuated my laptop bag before rescuing my daughter. But in my defense I thought she was fairly self sufficient to save herself, and did go back to get her.
  • I am completely incapable of making decisions under pressure by the side of the freeway, especially when my husband is talking to me AT THE SAME TIME as the tow truck guy, but aforementioned husband will not simply talk to the tow truck guy himself because his ears are clogged with pool water.
  • Small town auto parts stores close at 3pm Sundays, or 5 minutes before you break down. Whichever comes first.
  • I began to wonder if my diary intolerance issues would kick in as we waited by the side of the freeway.
  • But I was thankful it wasn’t pouring down rain like it was the day before.
  • Enterprise Car Rental in Ellensburg is not open on Sundays, but Dollar is available 24/7.
  • God bless Rodeo Town Taxi who shuttles the drunk and stranded around Eastern Washington.
  • My kids screamed at every horse, cow, and barn between Cle Elum and Ellensburg – about 25 miles of open road. We are DEEP into the city life, people.
  • The guy who owns the Dollar Car Rental in Ellensburg is a one-man show. As we signed papers he said, “Just bring her back with a full tank and make good choices between now and then.” To which I said, “Sounds like you have kids that are driving age.”
  • We ate dinner at Perkins. Equally horrifying, the only cheese they have is American Cheese, and they do not serve beer.
  • This is where my dairy intolerance issues finally kicked in.
  • I drove home (see previous comment re pool water in Bryan’s ear), and we listened to dance music.
  • Thomas the Chatterer never stopped talking during the whole ordeal, ate pancakes for dinner, then totally crashed after a berry syrup sugar high.
  • Ruthie can hardly wait to tell her friends at school what happened.
  • This had the potential to be The Worst Day Ever, but it was actually kinda fun. Except for the part where Bryan was all Did you call the tow guy? Did you call the rental company? Did you find out when the auto parts store closed? Did you call a taxi? and I almost took a Dairy Queen spoon shank to his pool water infested ear.

The DON’T MAKE ME THINK Meal Plan

Meal planning has been a bit exhausting for me lately. I’m not feeling the love like I used to, and the details are getting lost in my brain.

I end up making several extra trips to the store each week because I forget one thing I need to make dinner complete. And of course you never buy just that one thing you run in to grab, so my budget is a little crazy as well.

Friday night I geeked out a little on my calendar and set up a two week rotating weekday menu.

At first I was a little depressed about this solution, thinking it was incredibly boring and predictable. But then I realized even more benefits that I hadn’t even anticipated. For instance…

  • I can set up automatic delivery for my Amazon Fresh orders, which saves me 15% on the items I need each week.
  • Setting up automatic delivery makes my budget a little more predictable.
  • I can shop less frequently at Costco because I know in advance what I’ll need for the month.
  • I can still be flexible if I need to, and just shift meals around on the calendar.
  • I can still be spontaneous re other elements of the meal, like side dishes.

But the biggest benefit I’m looking for is: DON’T MAKE ME THINK.

Happy Mother’s Day, Bitches.

Happy mom happy kids

May you enjoy the bounty of mimosas, hand crafted cards of love, and a day filled with no whining.

HAHAHAHAHAHA!

*wipes tear*

Just kidding about that last part. Can you IMAGINE?

But seriously. Sometimes I feel like Nancy Botwin, shrouded in a haze of smoke in the corner of a motel room, shouting at the musically enhanced sit-n-spin: “SOMEBODY TURN THAT THING OFF – IT MAKES MY ASS TWITCH.”

By contrast, a sweet young thing I know birthed a brand new sweeter thing and posted this to her Facebook page:

I think unconditional love is being HAPPY when your baby wakes you up in the middle of the night over, and over again until the sun comes up. With all my heart I say I love it and its the most joyous time… Thank you god for blessing me with my baby

By God’s grace I did not laugh or roll my eyes or otherwise poop on a new mother’s joy when I read it. (Normally I would, because obviously she’s so sleep deprived she has no idea what she’s in for) but instead I melted into a goo of love for both the new mama and my own children.

She reminds me that even if my children are trying to kill me with one drippy whine after another, they are lovely and perfect and mine – and a gift from Jesus, not a burden.

So maybe I haven’t gone all Nancy Botwin after all. Maybe I’m not shrouded in smoke with a twitchy ass, but do have smooth(ish) skin and (kinda) look a little bit cool, and smile every now and then…

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Well that’s probably a bad example…

March: In Like a Lion, Out Like a Sonofabitch.

Sick.

Every year I get cocky that we make it through the Winter without getting sick. And every Spring I end up losing a month of my life as the funk circles its way around the ZugHaus 2 or 3 times.

In 2008 I had Influenza with a side of pneumonia, and every year since then I’ve been sick in the Spring.

This year is no exception, and I blame it on Thomas. He was the first to get sick, and missed his own birthday party because of an ear infection. Then I was down for the count last week, and Bryan over the weekend. Then I was better for a week until it all circled back around to me again, and I spent most of yesterday in bed with influenza. Again.

But the bright spot in all this (because there has to be one, right?) is that Bryan figured out how to play Scrabble using the iPad as the game board and our iPhones as the tile holders. So I got to spend all evening in bed AND beat Mr. Smartypants at a word game.

WIN!

The Seattle Nice Is Alive and Well In Portland.

The Birthday Boy

Last night Bryan and I stepped into the bar of a fancy schmancy steak house to dine with the common people, but happy hour was in full force, and all the tables were taken.

Directly in front of the entrance was a large round table suitable for about eight people, and the server asked if we minded taking one side of the table while the couple behind us took the other side.

Sure. No problem. We’re community kinda people.

The table was huge and the room was loud, so there wasn’t really any awkwardness re the couple we ignored across the table. But they were only there for drinks and appetizers, and left after about an hour.

Almost immediately, another couple pounced on the vacated spot across the table. Well, a couple and her mother. I attempted to smile and make eye contact with our new table mates, but to no avail.

And then I heard the daughter say, “I’m just trying to spread out a bit,” as she placed her jacket on the chair between us.

I can’t explain why this alarmed me since she could very well have just wanted the chair to hold all her stuff, but my Spidey senses were alert as I sensed a hostile takeover on the horizon.

Sure enough, another couple arrived – the gal sat next to me and her husband sat next to Bryan. We were now a full table, and still no one acknowledged we were there.

I was beginning to think we were slipping into an episode of Portlandia.

And then the most glorious thing happened – more guests arrived, hovering around the table, and one of the young men introduced himself and shook our hand.

Him: “Hi, I’m so-and so, and you are?”

Me: “Uh, Jennifer?”

Him: “Great to meet you – how do you know the birthday boy?”

Me: “Ah, so this is a birthday party then!”

Him: *confused face*

Mother across the table: “Oh they’re not with us, we’re just sharing their table. But you’re probably more polite than we’ve been.”

Me: “True story.”

Mother across the table: “Well, we were just trying to give them their privacy.”

(notice how she’s still not talking to me?!)

Me (to Bryan): “I think that privacy wall was breached the moment they added ten more chairs to the table.”

Bryan (to me): “We should just start telling them about Jesus. That always clears a table.”

Me: *maniacal laugh*

So there we sat, eating steak and onion rings in the middle of a birthday party that crashed our table.

And then the second most glorious thing happened: Bryan struck up a conversation about mobile web development with the guy next to him, and they went on and on about shit I didn’t understand.

I did not mind this distraction, though, because by that point our dessert had arrived and I was able to eat three bites of Bananas Foster for every one of Bryan’s.

I don’t know who this Foster is, but I sure like his bananas.

As we were paying the bill, Bryan said he was going to hug the birthday boy and wish him a happy birthday as we left.

I dared him.

I readied my camera.

But in the end, he opted for a wave and a head nod.

Regardless, I think this goes down as one of our best dinner memories EVAR.