Perfect Crockpot Chicken Noodle Soup

Today was a very busy but lovely beginning to our Halloween Festivities.  My husband and I went to a Farmers' Market that was featuring local artists and their Halloween wares, and even though it was over 70 degrees, it certainly put us in the spirit of things.  He purchased several fun little trinkets that I don't see going into our closet after the ghosts and goblins disappear.  Thankfully, our library holds year round oddities. 

In order to enjoy these little moments without any worries, I brought out the crockpot and made chicken noodle soup for the gang.  I cannot claim this recipe as my own, but I also cannot remember where I found it.  I just know it is delicious and it is a family favorite.  I don't have any pictures due to the fact we all sat down to eat as soon as we could.

Crockpot Chicken Noodle Soup
1lb. chicken (I use boneless tenders)
10 cups of chicken broth (I use Trader's Joes Organic Chicken Broth)
One stick of butter
Red Onion (my husband cannot handle white onion after some gallbladder issues)
One Cup Carrots
Three stalks of Celery
Bag of Frozen Reames Noodles
Salt and Pepper to taste

Add all the ingredients together except for the noodles and cook on low for 7 hours. Then remove the chicken and shred it.  After you put the chicken back into the crockpot, add the noodles and cook for at least an additional hour. 

I served it with crusty bread I bought at the farmers' market, but it is good enough to forgo bread or crackers. 

So, here are a few of my favorite things this week:

Watching:  Paul and I went to the drive-in last weekend and saw the original Halloween.  Something about a late, foggy night encourages the imagination.  I swear it was scarier this way.

Reading:  The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Listening:
Try out the I Heart Radio Halloween Station!  It has a really good variety of music, and it makes me happy.

Trunk Coffee Table

My husband joined Pinterest, and today he completed his first project for me:  my very own trunk coffee table.  It was really simple to do, and I think it took us just about fifteen minutes to complete.  Well, it took him fifteen minutes to complete.
We found a gorgeous trunk last week marked "unable to open".  That didn't sit well with my husband; he had it open within the hour.  I then went online and found the legs I wanted and solid bases called leg daddies.  With his handy, dandy drill he attached the bases, drilled the holes, and attached the legs.  Easy as that.  I now have a unique piece for my living room that is ours and ours alone.

I hate furniture stores, and I am so happy to have something that reflects who we are.

Very Easy Vegetable Bin Frittata

My veterinarian daughter, my carnivore of a husband, and a ten year old boy approves of this recipe:

Vegetable Bin Frittata

2 yellow squash cubed
mushrooms
1 yellow onion
red pepper
1 diced tomato
2 cups of cheese (this Sunday I used mozzarella, Parmesan, and sharp cheddar)
4 Eggs
3/4 cup milk
Minced garlic
salt and pepper to taste

 Preheat oven to 375
1.  Saute all veggies except the tomatoes (well, that is a fruit) in butter until tender
2.  Transfer to baking dish. I used a nine inch pie pan.
3.  Top with the cheese and tomatoes
4.  Whisk eggs with milk and the seasoning

5.  Bake for 50 minutes
6.  Let stand a few moments before slicing

I would have loved to include a picture, but it was a Sunday morning, and we were hungry before church.  It was gone in minutes.



Also, this is your recipe.  Open your bin and choose whatever veggies you prefer.  Add to suit your taste.  There is no one right way to make a frittata.  Throw eggs over veggie, or meat, and cheese, and there you go. 

Whose Job Is It Anyway?

Fighting for Cursive: NPR

I posted a story a few days ago on the demise of cursive writing and those who want to use legislation to prevent schools from doing away with penmanship curriculum.  NPR did a great job in covering this issue (which I seriously doubt you would find on CNN).  The reporter discussed how standardized testing is pushing cursive out of the schools.  Teachers who believe it to be important are struggling with finding time to cover the material since their focus is on test bubbles. Technology is changing the way we communicate, and this includes printing vs. writing.   My own daughter, who is 15, does know how to read and write in cursive, but many of my own students, of the same age, cannot.  This makes me write my notes in cursive in order for them to at least know how to read it. 

The comments that followed the post were extremely interesting and led to a discussing about how many students do not have the basic life skills because parents are not teaching them, and it is no longer in school curriculum.  My husband and I even discussed the "perfect world" scenario where schools and parents worked together to foster these skills so that our children can thrive.   The question remains, however, who is responsible for our children being upstanding citizens of the community.  I am biased.  I believe it begins in the home because I often see what happens when students are left to their own devices.  As a wise friend quoted just this morning, "I believe "parent" is a verb."   I cannot expect my two to thrive at school if I am not building the foundation at home.

I teach.  I love my students; however, I am not a parent replacement.  Public schools are under a time crunch with the curriculum, and some things are going to put to the side so that goals are met.  With that in mind, do I just complain about cursive being a dying art, or do I sit down and teach my son myself?  For me, the answer is clear.  

In a Rut

How do you climb out of a rut?  What is the first step?

I am 42.  Happy to be 42 because it sure does beat the alternative.  Happy actually in my life in general.  I have the normal concerns, but nothing that cannot be overcome.  We haven't had an easy few years, but we are okay, and isn't that the goal in life:  To let things explode and implode and still be okay.

I love my husband.  He loves me.

I love my kids.  They love me.

I have a good job.

So, what is the problem?  I'm dealing with a significant weight gain brought on by previous stress, real life situations, and frankly, age.  Also, I am trying to figure out if the weight gain is from the rut, or did the rut come first?  Chicken and egg, people!

Reasons why I am hitting the proverbial wall and ready to finally acknowledge said fat:

1.  I don't want new clothes.  I don't have the money for a new wardrobe.
2.  I am not ready for mom jeans.  I don't want to look like old ladies in elastic pants yet.  I still have time.
3.  I am still vibrant.  I am not old, so why should I live that way.
4.  I miss being healthy.
5.  I miss being cute.
6.  I want to be my best for my family.
7.  I am not ready to accept my rut.

This is not the first time I have written about wanting to change, but this is the first time I have faced the fat head-on.  I took a good hard look and I don't like what I see.  In the past, I have made excuses, and those can longer be part of my vernacular.  Fat is fat.  No use in saying anything else.  I am not curvacious.  I am not voluptuous.  I am fat.

This is no longer about me being cute.  I need to be able to walk without my joints hurting.  I need to live without being afraid.  Fat is a great shield for hiding and dodging life's real issues.

So, I declare, right from this minute on,  I will no longer:
1.  Give lip service to the universe.  Writing about good health is not the same as living good health.
2.  Think this is as good as it will get.
3.  Think that I don't deserve a bit more or that wanting more is shallow.

One more thing, my stomach size doesn't define me.  I am more than a number; however, if I don't get a grip on these numbers, I won't be able to live the life I want.

Today I make this decree:   I am beginning my climb. 

Words, Words, Words

I am a reader.  I was born to self-described readers, and I even married not one but two readers.   With great joy, I can now proclaim I am a mother to two readers.   We are a family of words.  Every person under my roof loves the written word and often writes on their own time.  We aren't great at it, and we may not win any prizes or make a living from it, but it is an important part of our self-expression. A more poetic person would write about how we wrap ourselves in words of soft comfort.

We are a family of talkers.  We share stories and events and ideas.  We sit around tables and tackle sex, politics. religion. and question what we would do if we had superpowers.  Words allow us to plan, hope, and cope with life's tribulations.  We entreat in prayers.  We yell to be heard.  We giggle through the absurd.  Our home's foundation is built upon the words we speak.

I heard yesterday that more affluent families speak more than poorer families, and this shows in their children's performances in Kindergarden.  Educational programs are now being set up in urban areas so families can learn to communicate with their youngest members and increase vocabulary skills (and test scores).  The gist of this research is basically this:  when you live in a culture of poverty, you don't waste words on idle conversation.  It is used for direct commands for survival.  Do this or don't do this is basically all the kids learned.  When reading a children's book,  a teacher realized they knew the word fruit, but they were limited in knowing what types of fruit were being presented on the page.    Researchers developed a recorder that didn't capture the actual conversations in test subjects but rather who was speaking and to whom.  Families can wear this in order to see how they can better engage their children.  Some didn't want to participate because of the "Big Brother" factor even though nobody would hear their conversations and all information is deleted after the data is collected.

As a teacher and as a parent I find this so-called word gap horrifying and fascinating all at the same time.  I was far from rich when my children were little.  In fact, I was living below the poverty line, but I was fortunate enough to have the skills needed to engage my babies.  I was educated, verbal, with a writer for an ex-husband and was blessed with a babysitting granny who had previously taught  language arts.  It wasn't perfect.  My oldest has a speech impediment which impeded her reading comprehension until she was in third grade.  I think our success came from talking to the children rather than at them.  If they had a play date, they were asked about it.  If we went to Disney on Ice, then we talked about our favorite parts.  If I didn't give them a cookie, then we talked about why cookies were bad before dinner.  Our conversations now range from video games, the argument for a pet, and the resolution of East of Eden.

Baby talk and speaking in third person were outlawed around the time they began to toddle.  I recently heard a parent speak in third person to her teen son.  He looked at me and rolled his eyes.  I don't think he is really listening now to anything she has to say.  After knowing more about the home life, I would say she is completely disconnected from her son.  In her eyes, he can still be pacified with a few sweet words, and then she can go and do her thing.  No real conversation.  One day, when he needs a word and some advice, where will he go?

My question is the "now what" of the word gap.  I hear and see the consequences of it every day in my secondary classroom.  They struggle with basic conversation and complain often about my use of big words (aspiration?).  I attempt to engage by talking, talking, talking, listening to replies, and then parroting back with different word choices.  For some, vocabulary is the least of their worries.  The words they are exposed to are often filled with vulgarity, hate, and fear.  They are weapons.  In cases, like these, vocabulary builders and frayer models are not the answers.

Some of them are already parents.  Most will be parents within the next ten years.  Now what?  How do we give power to their voice and words?  Now what?  How do we encourage a vocabulary that is needed for college and career readiness?  Now what?  How do we break the cycles that limits potential?  Now what?  Have we lost a generation of words?

Simple Stuffed Pepper Casserole

This came at the request of my husband.  He wanted stuffed peppers but without the work of stuffed peppers.  I researched a few recipes online, and based on what we had in the house, we came up with this:

Stuffed Pepper Casserole:

2 Green Peppers, chopped
1 small onion, chopped
2 Cloves garlic
A pinch of salt and pepper
2 tablespoons of Worcestershire Sauce
1 can of traditional flavored spaghetti sauce
1 can of sweet corn
2 cups cooked rice
1 lb. ground beef
1 cup of mild cheddar

Preheat oven to 350.

Brown ground beef with onion, green pepper, garlic, salt, pepper, and Worcestershire Sauce.  After you drain the grease, add spaghetti sauce, corn, and rice.  Simmer for just a few moments and then place mixture in your casserole dish.  Add cheese.  Back until cheese is melted and beginning to brown, about 20-25 minutes. 

That is it.  Almost too simple, and it was husband approved. 

Between this and the tomato pie I made this week, he almost believes I can cook.  We won't tell him any different. 

I Love How...

I love how, even when he is sleeping, he will reach out and place his hand upon me, making sure I am still here.  I am.

Just One of Those Days, Part II

Have you ever had "I don't feel good, and I want to pout day"?  I think we all need one now and then, and today was my day.  My husband and I argued before bed last night, and of course, as he snoozed, I analyzed every single word of a five minute waste of time.  I have to admit my stupidity; I wasted a full night sleep agonizing over a five minute argument, which in the long run, won't matter.  I feel lost when we fight.  It brings out my insecurities.  It brings out my irrational fears.  It brings that cruel, nagging voice in my head.  Today I needed to heal from it all, and I fortunately had the luxury to do so.  Funny how I can argue with him, but I need to step back and repair myself from myself.  I am the cliché...my own worse enemy. 

So, how did I celebrate my self-proclaimed day of rest and laziness.  First of all, I read and read and read.  I picked up Elizabeth Berg's The Year of Pleasures, from 2005 and read it all in one, selfish rush.  I almost wished I had saved it for the winter, because it would go perfectly with my favorite throw and a cup of hot chocolate.  It is a small read, and there seems to be so much the protagonist isn't saying.  It could have easily been expanded into a larger novel.  I read one review on GoodReads that said it was like a Hallmark novel, and yes, I can see this as a Saturday afternoon Hallmark movie, or even a woman's television drama.  It focuses on Betta and her grief following the death of her husband.  She is completely lost when he dies, and leaves Boston for the mid-west to finish the dreams they shared together.  My only complaint is that when it ends, it ends.  I really wish it could have been longer and allowed me to see their lives as they continue on.  Just when you fall in love with them, they are gone. 

The best thing about this book is my belief that I was meant to read it.  A friend of mine, just last Friday, asked if I had ever read Elizabeth Berg, and no, I hadn't.  She was once an Opera pick, and Opera and I don't always agree on literature; but A.'s description told me I had to give her a try, especially one book she just finished.  She talked about how the author captured the texture and the little beauties of being a woman.  The tiny details brought the characters to life for her and allowed her to identify with them. I went to a used bookstore Saturday and bought the book...because of its cover.  Yep, that clinched the deal for me.  I just finished A Homemade Life last week, and the cover was too beautiful to forget.  This cover has the same sense of peace and home.  I didn't fully realize it was the same book my friend loved so well, until later that evening.  I am so thankful to have found it, and it isn't going into my books to swap.  I now plan to go deeper in and annotate the lines that meant the most.  I will remember it for a long while.

Just One of Those Days

Seriously? Baby Steps Toward Aging.

According to Redbook, the chances of me getting pregnant naturally is 20%.  I am too old.  What?  How did that happen?  I don't want another baby, at this point.  I am good with two step-sons, one girl child/woman, and one boy who is growing into his own stinkiness; however, I like knowing I could if I wanted one.  I guess there lies the rub. 

I have truly enjoyed my early 40s.  Life isn't that horrible, and I have a husband to thinks I am beautiful and kids who love me.  Yet, here I am, facing my own mortality because I may/may not be fertile anymore.  I wonder what is really bugging me:  age, my definition of womanhood, or not being in control of these changes?  Maybe it is the fact my ability to grow a full beard is right around the corner.

I have high school friends who are now grandparents.  Good for them.  They love their grandbabies and love posting pictures on Facebook.  I am not ready for that, at all.  For some reason, when I think of being a granny, I picture the other side of the mountain, and I am clinging to the peak, with every ounce of strength in me.  When my own granny met me, she was only forty-six, five years older than what I am now.  I wasn't her first.  My other grandmother was only in her 30s when she was called "Mamaw" for the first time.  Something about that just ain't right.

Different time; different expectations, I guess.

Now, for my oldest, I don't want to see you rushing toward pink or blue.  Find yourself, travel, meet the "one", be satisfied with yourself before you even consider it.  Move slow.  Not for me, but for yourself.  I was twenty-six, when I first held you, and I now realize, I was still too much of a baby.  You are the best thing that ever happened to me, but I could have done better for you.  Life moves too quickly, why add to the rush.

Now, with that being said, don't wait until 41, unless you are wealthy enough for doctors to help.  Twenty percent, baby!

What Are You Watching: Summer Television

I use to love TV.  As a kid, my grandparents never bought a TV guide; they just called me.  I was usually more accurate.  As an adult, I just seem to DVR a few and then ignore the rest.  Dr. Who and Sherlock are favorites, but they flutter briefly across my screen, and then I must wait for the next season. Walking Dead is a must, but right now is a long time until October.  I do DVR Castle, but I don't rush to watch it every week.  I am getting into Grim this summer, and since school ended in May, I have watched season 1 and 2, and I am looking forward to 3 in October.  That is one good show, and I have inhaled it. 

Summer viewing is different and fun.  I can stay up longer with the kids.  I can actually sit down and watch without worrying about if my Things have their homework.  I can DVR and watch in my nightgown at 10 AM.  One guilty pleasure is Paranormal Witness.  We love to watch this show as a family, and then do our own commentary.  Have you noticed it is the weird and strange that lures us in? 

Speaking of strange and weird, I have seen two new shows this summer:  Mistresses, on ABC and Under the Dome, CBS.

Mistresses is like a bad train wreck.  The characters are cardboard and difficult to tolerate.  One actress is so wooden, I almost feel like I am watching a high school production instead.  The 4 female leads are successful, beautiful, and quite frankly, stupid.  I am wanting to watch the original British version to see if they are equally stupid;  I bet they are.  I think I am going to tune in for one more episode, but I may not follow up with this drama.  It just seems like an urban rip-off of Desperate Housewives, but less fun.  There is no comedy or quirk.  Well, one character does possess a few zingers and wants to be the comic relief, but unfortunately, she is morally reprehensible, so you don't really want to pull for her.  She sleeps with her married boss for better real estate properties to sell.  She uses sex as a weapon and leaches off of those around her.  I know, I know, some may say she thinks like a "guy", and I apologize to my guy friends for that comparison.  It is just a nasty stereotype for her character and men,  in general.  The gorgeous Australian husband is a plus, but beauty will only take you so far.  There has to be more to the plot and flat characterization.  I really wanted to like it because I am a fan of Allysa Milano.  At least the clothes are beautiful.  I guess that summarizes it:  Beautiful but no heart or substance. 

Last night, we watched Under the Dome.  Now, that did cause me to jump a few times.  It was gory, scary, and everything that makes you want to watch again; yet I don't know if I really care. The intrigue is there, and the acting wasn't that bad.   I think I will set up my 4 episode rule and see what happens. 

Oh, I know I didn't mention True Blood.  I am just catching up to last season, thanks to no HBO.  So, sssshhhhh on spoilers.  :)

Well, that is my TV viewing habits in a nutshell.  What are you watching? 

What I Am Listening To Today

Okay, to know me is to understand I am an old soul.  I am not dressed everyday in vintage, but it swirls around me in how I furnish my house, to the luggage I use, to the utensils I have in my kitchen, and yes, the music I play.  Now don't get me wrong, I love the modern stuff, too, but more often than naught, my Spotify targets crooners and long forgotten recordings from the '20s. 

Now with that background info. out of the way, it should come to no surprise that my new favorite album belongs to the multi-talented Emmy Rossum.  For those of you saying, "Hey, that name sounds familiar!", she is better know for her work in the film Phantom of the Opera and the television show, Shameless.  I discovered this gem by accident this week with a visit to Barnes and Noble.  As I cruised around the store with my pretentious drink of choice from Starbucks, I completely became entranced with the music playing.  I forgot about the book in my hand, and had to ask the clerk what CD was playing. The vocals are almost perfect.   I find her interpretations pure, sweet, and sometimes heart wrenching,  as in the case of "Autumn Leaves".   The songs are the old standards you will recognize, but instead of retooling the formula for modern ears, Ms. Rossum is content to play tribute to  the glamour and beauty of long gone days.  It works.  This is a CD my granny and I could have enjoyed together. 

This album is a perfect way to end a long summer day.  Sit on your porch, wine glass in had, and let the "Summer Wind" transport you away to 1944.  This is one is one "Sentimental Journey" worth taking.

Never Know What You Will Find

As I mentioned yesterday, my granny died in December.  It seemed liked the final chapter of my childhood just closed.  My parents are now in the house, and we began sorting through eighty-six years of memories.  Loving all things retro, I received the dishes from the 40s, 50s, and 60s.  Little odds and ends, have found their way into my home, but the real treasure came in an Aigner shoebox, circa 1978.

I was going through the linen closet, an odd place for some of the items she stored.  Her organizational methods were changing as she aged, and you didn't know what you would find and where.  It made sense to her.  I pulled out this and that, and noticed most items belonged to my grandfather.  I modeled my papaw's fez for my husband.  Squealed in delight as I found several books that we once read together.  Then just as I was going to close the door, shoeboxes caught my attention.  Pulling them from the top shelf, I wondered what I would find next.  To my surprise, it was years upon years of my grandfather's sermons.

He wrote out his ideas on index cards and clipped them with paper clips.  I remember playing under the kitchen table as he worked on Saturday mornings.  If he could finish in time, we would watch Bugs Bunny together.  One particular morning, I made a request.  I wanted my own sermon.  I wanted it to be specifically on King David.  He was/is my favorite Biblical figure, and I wanted my papaw to tell his story.  This was 1976, and I was four.

Papaw wrote my sermon, and he found it very difficult to write.  He wanted to make special for me, a preschooler, but he also wanted to make it relevant for his congregation.  I told my husband the story, and I wondered how if I would be able to find the sermon in this burgundy box.

That evening I put the box on my bed and just stared.  How would I find it?  There were hundreds of packets of cards, and how would I find that particular one.  The only hope I had was faith and a little bit of hard work.  I stuck my hand inside the box and pulled out one sermon, and then my little miracle took place.  In my hand was a sermon from 1976 entitled, "The Bible's Biggest Sinner".  It is was a sermon on faith and redemption and grace.  It was mine.  My sermon.  I couldn't believe it.  I had my papaw's gift in my hands. 

Miracles aren't always grand and earth shattering, and sometimes they are found in quiet, simple places.  A little burgundy shoe box is my miracle.  It was a reminder, twenty years after my grandfather's death, that I was loved.

So much....

So much has happened since my last post.  In the words of Dickens, "It was the worst of times; it was the best of times."   In the stress of dealing with good and bad, I lost the urge to blog and share.  I lost the urge to write, but with school out and the computer on, I once again want to explore, read, write, create.  I am not that good at it, but it is an outlet for me, and I feel like it does make me a healthier person. 

I think my grandmother's death in December silenced me for a while.  It was too traumatic and raw to even explore.  She died suddenly the weekend before Christmas, and my children and I were visiting.  My mother went to check on her and she was just gone.  I am so thankful my babies didn't find the body, but my daughter, who is certified in CPR, did rush in and tried to revive her, as we waited for the paramedics.  I want to protect her from the world, but when our world was falling apart, she stepped up and showed me the woman she will one day become.

It isn't all doom and gloom.  In April, I married the Flatlander.  He and I met April of 1993, so it seemed fitting to elope during our spring break.  We had a beautiful outdoor ceremony in Tennessee, on a clear, warm day, next to a waterfall.  It was simple, sweet, and just what he and I wanted.  We were fortunate enough to have all four of our children with us, and we celebrated afterwards with laser tag.  Well, they did.  A long dress usually isn't the best attire for such activity. 

Now, I am still using coconut oil at night as a face cream.  I am still making my own detergent, and Paul and I are now thinking about making our own candles.  No garden this year because of the lack of time, but I am still looking for new recipes to try.  In fact, I am making a peach custard pie tonight.  I found the recipe in Redbook, and I cannot wait to see the final product.

So, that is it for today.  Do I dare try again tomorrow?

Coconut Oil

DIY experiment continues with coconut oil.  I am using it in two different ways, moisturizer and body scrub.  I am using the scrub in the shower before I shave, and my legs have never felt smoother.  LOVE IT. 

I was nervous to use it on my face, but it has been wonderful.  My complexion looks dewy, which is amazing considering I am over 40.  My make-up is going on more evenly and lasting longer, and I didn't even get a period pimple.  All day moisture with very, very little cost.   You don't need to use that much at all because I little dab will do ya.  It does store as a solid, so rub it between your hands and it will melt quickly. 

Homemade Laundry Detergent Update

In my previous post, I mentioned I was going to make my own detergent.  Well, Sunday morning I pulled out the ingredients and went to work.  Purchasing the three main ingredients ran about 6.75.   I had to buy Borax, Super Washing Soda, and the old fashioned Fels-Naptha.  Even though I had to buy this, the Flatlander and I figured each Tide Pod is .30 per pod.   Making my own detergent took my cost down to .20 per BATCH.  I didn't take this lightly.  I researched the heck out of it.  I even found videos of people making their own batches.  With their knowledge, I took to my own kitchen.   Melting the Fels-Naptha was actually fun.  The house smelled wonderful and clean, and I loved the homey feeling that went along with it.  We had a bucket on hand, so it was easy for me to mix and store it.  The next morning, it was at a perfect consistency.  I only had to mix it with water in my plastic jug.  Since we have a HE machine, I am using 1/4 cup per wash.

Now, how did it turn out?

So far, so good.  The clothes look great and smell fresh without being perfumey.   In fact, when compared to a load of name brand detergent, I cannot tell the difference.  I think this is something we will continue.

I also am using a white vinegar rinse instead of fabric softener.  The clothes don't smell like vinegar, but they are soft and static free.  No heavy perfume smell and no dyes.  I think this is something I will also continue.



Here is the link I found on Pinterest:   http://parentables.howstuffworks.com/slideshows/nesting/easy-inexpensive-diy-recipes-ten-common-cleaning-products/

Long Time No Type

I know it has been months and months, but here I come, once again, with my hat in hand.   To be honest, I have been changing my focus and bearings.  No, it is still faith and family, but we are struggling with how to be less wasteful, gardening disasters (why did he plant that many tomatoes!?), and coming up with a quality life on a budget.

This week I am researching on how to do my own DIY cleaners.  Once again, God bless Pinterest.  I can kill hours trying to be a better person.  Anyway, tomorrow, the Flatlander and I are going to try our hand at making our own detergent.  I really hope it cleans well.  I found the recipe, and the source is from a Dugger Family website.  If anybody knows how to do laundry, it should be them.  I love my Tide Pods,  but with all of our laundry, it is costing me a fortune.  Here is the link:  http://duggarsblog.blogspot.com/2011/03/duggar-recipe-liquid-laundry-soap.html

Keep your fingers crossed for us, and I will let you know in our next post how it goes.

Easy Taco Bake

Today at lunch, I wanted a quick meal that would appeal to most of the people in the house (Thing One is not doing red meat).  She is getting turkey meat loaf later.  Now, my buddies have been pinning several different recipes for taco casseroles, including one using Doritos.  Since I didn't want a trip to the grocery store, I decided to just go with what I have, and it turned out wonderfully.

Recipe:
1 lb. Ground beef
diced onion
garlic powder
salt/pepper
packet of taco mix
Jar of chunky veggie salsa
1 cup sour cream
1 cup cottage cheese
Marxian blend of shredded cheese
Nacho chips

Preheat oven to 400 and brown meat with the onion, salt/pepper, garlic powder.
Drain grease except for 1 tbs.
Mix in the taco mix and salsa and heat
Crunch a lawyer of nachos into a casserole dish (sprayed with Pam)
Mix sour cream and cottage cheeses
Pour meat over chip and then spread the sour cream/cottage cheese
Put down a layer of cheese
Another layer of chip

Bake for 30 minutes or until the cheese is melted.

Yummy.

Life Past the Kitchen

Saturday was a day to remember.   I was inducted into the University of Kentucky's "Teachers Who Made a Difference".  This  touched me on so many different levels because this award was given to me through the nomination of a former student.  It is a reminder that every time we open our mouths, we can either build somebody up or tear them down.  Every day I become a memory for a child.  I am not only painting my canvas, but one for every student who walks into my classroom.

This award is really about how they shape me.  I know I am a better person due to my students.  They are the ones who are making a difference in my life.  I carry all them in my heart. 

Watching the other teachers in the room filled me with pride.  Young and old were joined together, sharing and rejoicing.  The applause was sincere, and we were united, raising our voices together in celebration.  In front of me, an elderly woman sat.  When they called her name, her steps were true, and her smile warmed the entire room.  I don't think I will ever forget her, and one day, I hope to like her.  I want to wake up every day with excitement for my chosen profession.  I want to feel a sense of accomplishment, as I enter my retirement years.  I want to say "job well done".