The One With the Senior Moment

Dillon is a senior. I have been trying to get him to let me take some photos of him for days and days. They have an honors night at church tomorrow night with a slideshow, and I found some fun ones from when he was a baby...

and a child...

but not any senior photos, until today. We took about ten minutes, ran down to O’Neill Park, and got a few good ones. The smiley ones were all vertical, and I haven’t edited those yet. But I thought these were pretty cool.

 

Dillon noticed some berries in the freezer earlier. He said, “You know... berry cobbler would be part of my dream meal. Along with shredded beef chimichangas. And maybe using hobbits as waiters... they are so short they don’t interfere with conversation. Although I’m not sure I want them touching my food. They don’t really seem all that clean, do they?”

What a weird kid.

The One About Dillon

Dillon is funny. Most people don’t realize it because he tends to be quiet, but he is very funny. And sometimes surprising.

Yesterday we went through the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A. That turned out to be a mistake, but that’s a whole other story. So this was the conversation.

Perky voice from speaker: “Welcome to Chick-Fil-A. My name is Delilah. How can I help you?”

Dillon: “Oh, hey there, Delilah. What’s it like in New York City?”

Silence.

Okay, so that is probably not the first time she has ever heard that, but this is Dillon we’re talking about. So funny.

Later we were sitting there eating, and Dillon says, “Did you fold Skippy’s laundry? Because he wore the same shirt three times last week.” I was a little bit horrified by that and replied, “He did? I laid out his clothes for him every single morning.” Dillon: “Well, don’t worry about it. It was his camoflauge shirt. I’m sure no one saw him.”

Hahahahahahahaha! Oh, Dillon...


Be sure and check out my other blog for a great post from Garry.

The Useful One

Dillon is looking for a job. Just a summer job. The kid is only 17. It has long been DK’s dream that one of the boys would shoot for the stars and land a job at Quizno’s. For obvious reasons. So it got me to thinking. I have always thought that if you could pick careers for your kids, you should pick useful ones. You need one doctor. One mechanic. One dentist (preferably one that does orthodontia). But I have seven kids… and eventually they will all have spouses, right? I have something like 14 to pick out. So here is the master list.

1. Dishwasher
2. Cranberry bog worker (the outfit is super cool)
3. House painter
4. Pastry chef
5. Movie theater manager
6. Apple store employee
7. Owns a pickup (I know that’s not an occupation, but it is useful, bordering on vital)
8. Massage therapist
9. Piano tuner
10. Race car driver (in case you need to get somewhere fast)
11. Balloon animal maker
12. Beekeeper
13. Bail bondsperson
14. Hair colorist

And I guess I don’t care so much about the doctor, the dentist and the mechanic. We’ll get by.

The One With Craig, Megan and the Randomalia

This morning, true confessions.

First of all, I just have to get this out. I have never been able to distinguish properly between Craig’s List and Megan’s List. I realize now (don’t ask me how) that it is an important distinction. But it is not totally my fault. I know a Craig and a Megan, and they are married to each other. They probably each have their own lists, as well. Be that as it may, I was a little horrified when some nice lady from church mentioned that she had a current listing on Craig’s List. She always seemed so nice. I suppose they usually do. I saw a similar look of horror when I showed someone the studio monitor speakers I had bought from a guy in Irvine I found on Megan’s List. Even as I am typing this, I am not positive I remember which is which, so for now I think it is probably safer that I stick with eBay.

This one is not my confession, but Dillon’s. Apparently yesterday in Seminary, he whipped out a pair of underwear. Not his own. Also not really his fault. Dillon, who is 17, is the nicest big brother in the world, and still shares a room with Skippy even though he doesn’t have to… mainly because Skippy wants to. Dillon even does Skippy’s laundry along with his own, and when he pulled his clean sweatshirt out of his backpack at Seminary, a pair of 6x Spiderman boxer briefs fell out of it, right onto the floor. Dillon says he jumped on them so fast, he doesn’t think anyone else saw. (So I thought I would share it just in case.)

Last but not least, I had a really weird beach experience last week, which I have been pondering ever since. I think that the next time I go, I am going to take my own “PROHIBITED” sign. The sign would include, but not be limited to, the following:

No old men in thongs
No public urination (ten feet from where I park my towel)
No asking for bongs. Bring your own, or do without.
No reenactments of “Endless Love” with girls under 14
No wearing your nasty briefs instead of swim trunks
No lying on top of each other, especially if you are unattractive to begin with (sorry if that one sounds discriminatory)
No No NO lying on top of each other if you are the aforementioned guy wearing the briefs instead of a swimsuit. I’m serious, Fruit of the Loom... give it a rest.
No playing of guitar and singing after consuming too much alcohol, or if you are tone-deaf, or both

That’s pretty much it. I am not that hard to please. Thank you for helping to keep the beach happy for all of us.

The One Where it Isn’t Me This Time

Yeah. Not. My. Hand. Not this time. I have messed up my hands more in the last year than I have in the twenty before that. But this time it’s not me. It has been a week since I posted, because my life is boring, and this week has really been about everybody else, anyway.

So the burnt hand… belongs to this one:

I know the photo’s a little blurry. It’s an iPhone photo of a picture on the wall as you walk inside the band hall at the MCRD in San Diego, where LCpl. McD is the most junior band member. Yesterday, he cleared a huge hurdle, passing off the 32 songs he is required to memorize in his first month in the band. Most often, they don’t pass the first time, and paperwork follows them around for the ensuing month. So Ethan was extremely happy and relieved to pass. This is him playing on Friday... they did some pretty cool stuff. (He is clearly visible in this shot. Click it big, and maybe you can pick him out. Think French horn.)

So yesterday he passed his big test. And then this morning while ironing his uniform the iron fell on his hand and he has second-degree burns. He is SIQ today. Sick In Quarters. Believe me, I can feel for him… but it could have been worse. A lot of the guys in the barracks drink until they get stupid and start burning themselves on purpose with cigarette lighters.

Dillon sounds like he has pneumonia. He went to seminary this morning, but now I have to take him to the doctor for asthma meds.

This is a picture of something Skippy made me this week.

Do you know what it is? It is a window. So that I can watch him. Haha! I love that. I will just be sitting here working on music, and he will come in and say, “Mom, do you want me to bring you your window?” Awesome.

Cam is getting ready for a trip to Catalina Island to do science camp, kayaking, etc. at Cherry Cove.

I have a recording job coming up this weekend that looks to be pretty challenging. I may be pulling a couple of all-nighters to finish it. This is the third project that I am “producing” in my home studio. Yes, people pay me money to do it! How cool is that? This one is in French, so I probably won’t know what is going on half the time, but I am good at faking it.

I know, boring post. But look what I have to work with.

The One With Elder Jones and the Foosball Game

Why am I smiling, you ask? Fun day? Well, let’s see… I played the organ for a funeral. Draw your own conclusions there. Shopping spree, then? Not this time… I actually screwed up and accidentally overdrew my bank account today. House all clean? As if. Actually, the fact is, I smile a lot. Not in pictures so much, I will admit. I love a good pensive expression, pout or smirk. But I actually spend much of my day laughing. Often at the expense of others. So this is just real life. And here are a few things that made me smile today. First, phone calls from a couple of different friends I haven’t talked to in awhile. I haven’t been exactly stellar at friendship lately, so it is nice to see I have retained a few diehards. Oh! A really fun blog story over at Fruit of the Carolyn… start with Part 1 and work your way up. And, I found a Lindor bar (my favorite chocolate) that DK brought home for me the other night, and which I had forgotten about until this afternoon. It is a little like finding a $20 in the pocket of a jacket you haven’t worn in awhile... except that it tastes better... that said, you wouldn’t really want to find one of these in your pocket after a few months. A package from my mom with dried pears, walnuts, a new shirt and a bunch of other cool stuff. I love packages. Oh… and that little secret project I’ve hinted about… that is making me smile.

My project is a leap of faith. It is requiring me to get back some confidence I have lost over the last couple of months (along with some of the flesh off my hands). I was reminded today of a particular incident that happened a couple of years ago, that involved my son Dillon, our foosball table… and one of these awesome missionaries. This picture was taken in my kitchen, where we used to serve breakfast to this many missionaries every single p-day. Those were such fun days. The previous Christmas we had bought a foosball table as a family present, and it was seeing a lot of use. Dillon was particularly good at it… he could beat anyone he played. The missionaries loved to play two-on-two tournaments on those Tuesdays. Some of them were pretty lousy at it, some were good, and occasionally one would come along who was really good.

One of those was a certain Elder Jones (in the picture he is the one with the craziest smile). Elder Jones was the sunniest, happiest missionary I have ever met. He reminds me that I used to taunt him that his girlfriend who was faithfully writing him would never wait for him (ask me later how that turned out). One Tuesday as they were all about to leave, Dillon ended up in a quick one-on-one game with Elder Jones. He had no idea just how quick it would be. Before Dillon even knew what had happened, Elder Jones smoked him in about a minute flat… 10-2. And then breezed out the door for e-mail time. Dillon was a little stunned. I figured he would just forget about it, but over the next hours, days and even weeks, he had to play constantly. He challenged everyone, perfecting his game a little more each time he played. It wasn’t a revenge sort of thing… it was as though it was his personal mission to improve. And better he was. After awhile, instead of trying to beat him, I would just try to get a single point before he shut me out. The funny thing is, I don’t think Elder Jones ever knew that ever after, he was famous in our house for his foosball prowess. Love you, Elder Jones!

I have suffered some humiliating shut-outs of my own over the past couple of months, mostly due to my own pride and thoughtlessness. I have decided it is time to take on some new challenges, improve my game, and dominate. You will be seeing the results soon enough.

The One With the Three Thousand Dollar Pizza

I am perfectly aware that most of you are just stopping by for the recipes this week. But I am sure you are equally aware that I don’t just hand them over. First I have a story, or a song, or an opinion on some subject or other. If you are impatient, and want to ignore my story, I won’t try to stop you. Just scroll down and take your recipe. Today is slow typing. I am using four fingers on my right hand and only the pinkie finger on my left. But that is a story for tomorrow (more of a cautionary tale, really). For today, the story of the $3,000 pizza. Where do you buy such a pizza, you ask? Why, Costco of course.


It was the Pizza Margherita variety to be specific, with tomatoes and basil. Dillon is severely allergic to pine nuts, and he asked before he ate, if there were any pine nuts in the pizza. I assured him there were not, and he ate a slice. In my defense, pine nuts are usually only found in a pesto-type sauce, and as you can see from the photo above of an actual Costco Pizza Margherita, this is definitely a marinara-type sauce. He asked as he finished the slice, “Are you sure there are no pine nuts? I can taste something…” (as he started wheezing ang clutching his stomach). At that point, I dragged out the box, and guess what was in the sauce? You guessed it: pignolias… piñones… yes, pine nuts. Pine nuts are really interesting little things. A quarter cup of them has over 20 grams of fat. That is impressive, don’t you think?

So anyway, Dillon chugged some Benadryl, but the damage had been done. Hives, head to toe. Asthma. Vomiting. But the most shocking thing that happens to Dillon is facial swelling. Did you ever see Will Smith in the movie Hitch, when he had the seafood allergy? Dillon’s is much worse. Shocking, in fact. More like the Elephant Man. DK rushed him to the ER that night, and for several hours he had the whole ER staff working on him. He was in critical condition when he arrived. Scary. A friend of ours works in the ER, and she said she couldn’t even recognize him. The $3,000 was the ER bill from that night. Expensive pizza.

If you are still with me, you have earned your recipe. We are going vegetarian and healthy tonight, with one of my favorites: Three-Tomato Spaghetti. One of my readers, Aleta, asked if I had any easy-to-make, diabetic-friendly recipes. This is a quick, easy meal with few ingredients, and to make it diabetic-friendly, prepare it with whole wheat spaghetti. I actually like this pasta even better warmed up the second day… I like the way the spaghetti absorbs the flavors.


And unless you are inviting Dillon over to dinner (I can’t afford an ER trip right now…), try this side dish with your spaghetti… it really makes an easy, beautiful side dish with just about anything. I thought I didn’t like asparagus until a couple of years ago. Turns out I just don’t like bland or overcooked asparagus. This, I love. If you’re scared, just leave off the pine nuts. You big chicken…


And since these photos are of my actual dinner tonight, I am off to eat...

Three-Tomato Spaghetti

Asparagus With Pine Nuts

The One With Skippy in Shirt Sleeves

This is my day today. No, I’m not being metaphor- ical here. This is actually a picture looking out the backyard. I sent Skippy out the door in short sleeves into what I thought was a sunny day... and five minutes later there was thunder, lightning, hail and rain coming down like bullets.

It pulled Dillon out of his late-start slumber to ask, Mom, what is all that? All what? The noise! Um... thunder? Let’s just say that here in southern California thunder storms are a pretty rare occurrence. It is a strange day when we share Casey’s weather in Dallas. Although, we are not on any kind of tornado warning. I hope.

And now I leave you to ask yourself, did she just do a whole post... about the weather? Yes. Yes, she did. Because I love this kind of weather! And don’t worry, Skippy will be fine. It’s not that cold. And it’s not like they’re going to let him play outside with kites and metal poles and stuff...

Number Three: The One With the One She Never Has to Worry About

I’ve been a mom for a few years now. You could say I’ve been around the block more than once. If there is one thing I’ve learned, it is that you are always worried about someone. In fact, I think the best you can hope for, as a parent, is that by this time next year, you will be on to worrying about the next child, and your current woe is, if not forgotten, at least a fuzzy memory.

Dillon is my 16-year-old. He is smart, funny, quiet, doesn’t like to be embarrassed, and… almost never a worry. I have to modify that with “almost” because only a stupid parent thinks their kid never has any problems. But Dillon worries more about other people than himself, and…I’m not sure how to word this…but he sort of effortlessly maintains the highest of standards. Effortlessly is maybe not the best word. He has created a moral oasis for himself. If there is a line you shouldn’t cross, he doesn’t walk it. Not only does he not even go near the line, but he somehow manages to exude sort of a disinterest about it…like he never noticed the line was there to begin with. He spreads that to his friends so that they all think it is cool to stay far from the line.

If he has a weakness, it is pranks. I don’t know where he gets that…I seem to recall something about a whole soccer goal ending up on the roof of the elementary school. Hmm. That, and he shuns homework. I do know where he gets that.


Oh, and Dillon and I have a thing. We watch “The Biggest Loser” together while eating an ultra-high-calorie meal. His taste runs toward Rubio’s, like a shrimp burrito and several fish tacos. There is something decadent about stuffing oneself while others are deprived, and worked out until they cry and/or throw up.

Well, that is Dillon. And I am off…to worry about one of the other ones.

The One With Me Vs. the Glass Mannequin

Okay, I will admit it. I am just the teensiest bit competitive. Even with my own kids sometimes. I really enjoy beating Dillon at a game of HORSE. I like beating Skippy at being the first to buckle my seatbelt when we get in the car. And I really, really like to get more blog hits than Ethan. As in all the other cases where I am inappropriately competitive, Ethan informs me all the time that it is not a competition. But those hits show up right next to each other in my stat counter, so how can that not be a competition?

In February, I had 849, and Ethan had 785. But there were a few days there, where it was touch and go…I haven’t had a computer very much for a couple of weeks, and the hits naturally decline when I don’t write anything. I am under a distinct disadvantage, too, because I do not have a following of over 50 teenage girls… nor can I muster the same drama as Ethan’s tortured 17-year-old soul.

I mean, I write a post about picking Skippy up from school. Ethan writes a post entitled “Prince of Hell.” I write about emoticons, which is sadly, one of my more exciting topics, and Ethan counters with “Comprehension of Damnation” and “The Essence of Hell” (oh, and by the way, Ethan, Axe called, and they want to use that name for their new body spray). Me: “The One With the Kitty Backpack.” Ethan: “Melancholy,” and “What’s a Boy Got to Do For a Tip?” Do you see my problem? This kid generates so much teen angst that Romeo and Juliet would blush. Even the blog title is telling. I am “The Welcome Mat,” and Ethan is “Glass Mannequin.” What does that even mean?

Oh, and in the course of writing this post, I noticed that I have been removed as a follower of Ethan’s blog. Maybe I was bringing up the median age…but it was probably just one too many snarky comments. I’ve been known to leave such a scathing remark as to cause him to delete the entire post. He also un-friended me on Facebook for the same reason. But not to worry on that count…we use the same computer. He doesn’t very often forget to log out of Facebook, but on those rare occasions when he does, I change his status to say something like, “Ethan takes himself way too seriously,” or “Ethan apologizes for all his overly dramatic status updates.” All of that extra effort I expend…and I don’t think he even appreciates it. In fact, the other day, he was describing someone, and he said, “They are mean, but in a nice sort of way. Kind of like you, Mom.” I take exception to that. I consider myself to be nice. But in a mean sort of way. Anyone who knows me, will attest that I am far more sarcastic and sharp-tongued in person than I am in my blog. Do you see? I’m taking one for the team, here, by suppressing my gift of cruel wit, and Ethan doesn’t suppress anything. If he feels it, thinks it, or maybe even notices it lying by the side of the road, it is going right out there on his blog.

But, as I mentioned, despite his loyal young female following, the score in our “non-contest” was 849-785 for February. Okay, so Ethan had even less time to post than I did. He was working 30 hours a week, graduating early from high school and finishing his eagle scout, so that he can report to Marine Basic Training in two weeks, where he has been accepted into the Marine Band, playing French horn. And in the interest of full disclosure, he is edging me out for March. But hey, the month is young. All I need are about 40 more adoring followers who hang on my every word, and who think I am going to look fabulous and brave, yet tortured, in a uniform.