Such a gourmet

Porter wanted spaghetti tacos, but we didn't have any taco shells.  We did, however, have hamburger buns from our Sloppy Joes (or Untidy Josephs, as the children call them).  So, he asked if they could have spaghetti sandwiches for dinner. 

Of course not!  What kind of mother do you... think.... I.....

Hey, wait.  Quite often,  spaghetti comes with garlic bread.  I made the sauce, and it has spinach and other vegetables stirred into it.  I also diced some meat and put it in the sauce, to add some protein. 

They ended up pretty messy, and fell apart, but dinner was a lot of fun.

Bon Appetit, kids.

SO behind....

This is the story of the Christmas tree. Of our driving into the middle of... well, nowhere, and cutting down a beautiful tree to put in our living room.

I went to the local forest service office to get our tree hacking permit. Because I am a rule follower... well, most of the time... I ask for the map of the approved tree cutting areas. Turns out that where we cut our tree last year was not a legal spot, but that's water under the bridge, and it was really pretty and a total accident, and we didn't get caught, so...

We get in the car, drive a while. Find a seemingly good spot to park the car. Remember, we're out in the middle of NOWHERE. About 30 minutes drive from any other real people. This will be important later.

Hop out of the car. My husband, because he is responsible, puts on the hazard lights. We bundle up, and go out into the great Rocky Mountain National Forest to claim our prize.

We find the perfect tree- right off the bat. I am all for cutting that sucker down and getting it on the car and us back home. But really, we can't cut down the first tree we see, and it really is rather big, so we talk ourselves out of it. And we go off into the bush to find the perfect tree.

We trudge around. And around. Decide that this area isn't for us, so we walk across the road, and look there. And we look. And look.

At this point, the kids are ready to cut pretty much anything down, but now that we have so much invested in it, I'll be damned if I'll settle for some loser Charlie Brown stick thin Christmas tree. Soooooo- we keep looking. We cross the road again. Totally different area, that has us scaling hillsides to find the perfect tree.

Finally, we decide.... we really did have the best tree with the first one we saw. So- you guessed it- we went and took another look. Man, that sucker is BIG. But so beautiful. Mike measures and it will fit. The kids are sold- but we remind them- it always looks small in nature, and big in the living room. They insist, and we decide that it is our tree after all.

So, yes. We cut down the first tree we saw. But it was an hour and a half later when we did it.

And we got back to the car, Michael and I managed to heave it on top of the car, we tied it down, and we were positively giddy at the prospect of putting it up. Load in the car, buckle up, turn the key....

and nothing.

Nothing. An hour and a half of safety flashers has killed the battery.

Mike gets out. Sighs. He'll start walking the probably 15 miles in a snowstorm back to town. It's 4 PM, on a Sunday. We've done NOTHING right- didn't tell anyone where we were going, left late, and forgot our cell phones.

The children and I settle in for what I predict will be a long wait. I feed them some granola bars and a little water. They want the heater on, and I launch into an explanation of why that's not possible since we can't start the car, and.....

Here comes Michael. In a car that he met just as he walked out of sight. They give us a jump, we delight in our good fortune, and drive on home.

The tree, when we get it home, is.... well.... huge. Jensen commented, as we hefted it off of the car, "WOW! IT GREW ON THE WAY HOME!!"

Part two will be the decoration. Which deserves another entry all of its own.

Hello, Newman.

Newman. He doesn't look mean, nasty, vicious. Oh, no, he looks like a beautiful rooster. But underneath that plumage, and disguised by his brilliant red comb is.... evil.

I bring him scraps from the diner. I make sure that his water is always clean and fresh. I feed his harem of pampered pullets, give them nice boxes in which to roost and lay. And every time I go up there and feed him a bucket full of lettuce, french fries, hamburger scraps, and hash browns... he tries to attack me.

Eventually, I think that I'll get through to him. We will bond someday, I'm sure. Perhaps over a large vat of home made chicken soup.