Easy make biscotti, or so she says...

Upon reflecting on the blessings that I have in my life, I realized that I have been neglectful toward my friends. I have a great group of friends that must think I have fallen off the face of the earth. This working mother thing is just as hard as I always imagined it would be (and then some!) I've been working about 30 hours a week (pretty nice for the 16 hour job that I was hired for.) As much as I hated to go back we needed to heat our house and feed our growing kids this winter. I must say it's nice to be back in the working world. I was lucky enough to return to the office where I started my career 22 years ago. I returned to a job where many of the people were like family to me, as many of them attended my wedding 15 years ago. Of course the world has changed since I left and returned. When I left there was ONE green screen computer system that we used. Now I cannot even count the number of programs I use. Today was the first office Christmas party I have attended in a long long time. For years my Christmas party has consisted of the broken candy canes and left over goodies from the kids school parties.

I've been looking for recipes that are quick and easy for my Christmas baking. One of my dearest friends Terri, (funny enough I met her at the above stated job, 22 years ago)gave me this recipe for Biscotti, that she'd made with her mother in law.

Dee,
This is very easy and I think they are delicious!
Terri

Chocolate Walnut Biscotti
4 squares semi sweet baking chocolate (I used Bakers RED BOX)
1/2 stick of unsalted butter
3 large eggs
1 C sugar
2 C All purpose flour
2 tsp salt
1 C walnuts

* Melt Chocolate and butter in a small pan
* Beat eggs and sugar in a large bowl with a fork to mix. Stir in chocolate mixture until well blended.
* Mix in flour, baking powder and salt. Add nuts
* Knead until all ingredients are incorporated.
*Cut dough into 4 pieces - put each section of dough on a piece of lightly floured wax paper - wrap and chill until firm. (about 30 minutes)
* Lightly flour hands and roll each section of dough into a log.
* Place each log on the greased cookie sheet - the logs should lay across the short side of the cookie sheet - this way all of them will fit on one sheet and the logs will be a bit fatter - (when it comes to logs fatter is always better than thin!!) LOL LOL
* Bake 30 minutes at 350.
* Carefully remove logs with spatula to cutting board. Use a large heavy knife to cut each log diagonally into slices.
* If you want them to be more crunchy - Arrange the slices upright on a cookie sheet and back 20 min longer.
ENJOY.

After reading it, I suppose my mommy ADD kicked in, I was tired. I emailed her back saying "Thanks but no thanks, few ingredients...but looks too hard. I guess if I saw it being made it would be easier." She emailed me back and I pissed myself reading her response. NOTE** If you are offended by cursing...STOP reading.

DUDE _ THIS IS FUCKING EASY!! Are you getting weak in your old age!!???? Melt the shit in the microwave - mix it with the dry stuff and the nuts. Scoop it out of the friggin bowl in 4 scoops. Put it in the fridge to chill. (While they're chilling you can wash the fucking bowl and put away the other crap).

Take them out - roll each one into a log and bake the fucking things at 350 for 30 minutes. Take them off of the cookie sheet and cut them in diagonal pieces!!

GEEZ US! You get all these cookies from one cookie sheet and one bowl.

I can't believe this is too hard for someone who rolls up chocolate cake in a dishtowel, lets it cool, unrolls it, frosts it, rolls it up again, frosts is again with a different frosting, draws lines on it with so it looks like a fucking log!!!!

OMG - WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY FRIEND DEE????????

To my friends who I have neglected--I'm soooo sorrry. I promise I will be back after Christmas when the kids are on vacation. To the working world--thanks for welcoming me back so warmly. And Terri? You slay me!
Off to make my biscotti!

White Christmas

Looks like it is going to be a White Christmas here on Wilde Lane. We got about 11 inches of snow yesterday into last night. I woke up at about 4:15 this am to a whining dog. I played possum and let the Man I Married take the dog out. Our mini doxie only stands about 3inches off the ground & hates snow. In this kind of snow we have to physically bring the bitch out. As soon I heard the back door click, I raced to the bathroom to pee and ran back to bed so he wouldn't know I was awake. Even after standing outside in 20 degree weather in his skivvies, he and his bitch were snoring again within four minuets. Don't ya know I couldn't get back to sleep? I grabbed a nice cup of hot coffee and tried to figure out what I should do to enjoy this heavenly quiet. I took a picture of my grill covered with snow, a treasured tradition for me. Silence. Sigh. I settled down on the couch nice nice with my coffee and was all set to watch tv...who plops their ass down next to me? The Man I Married says he couldn't sleep either, beats his chest takes command of the remote control and proceeded to flip between an annoying talk show and Suzie Orman. I don't want to listen to five people talk over each other to get thier point across (that will happen soon enough when the three kids get up) and Suzie stresses me out. She preaches that you should have eight months worth of living expenses. Shit, we don't have two weeks worth! She wouldn't approve me to buy a week's worth of groceries if I asked her. So now it's five am I'm not sleeping warm and snug in my bed. Suzie, the five talk show argue-ers (yes it's a word, my word, dash and all) and my husband have all aggravated the piss out of me already. I think I'll just take my blood pressure medicine and go back to bed. So help me God if he follows me.

Am I the only one who breeds socks?

Am I the only one who breeds socks? This laundry basket goes from the bedroom to the living room, back to the bedroom, to the basement if we have company, back to the living room, to the kids room...all the while the pile grows. In the winter it's the dumping grounds for odd mittens and scarfs. During the summer it is the dump for all stray bathing suits.
We all rummage thru the basket looking for a pair, and it seems as though there are never two socks alike. Why is that? I waste more time looking for a pair of socks, yet there is N O T H I N G that motivates me to fold them. Anyone else have this sock problem? In all honesty I think that friggen pile of socks only gets completly done three times a year, maybe. UNLESS...Mother Mary comes over (which is way under 3times a year, and she only lives 9/10s of a mile away.) She is completly appauled that A) they are not folded and put away (she had four kids I only have three, all her socks were put away you know) 2) that we even own that many socks (her kids had five pair of socks each, because she did the laundry every day, there is no need to have that many socks) and C) there could possibly be socks missing. Mother Mary swears that she has "never" lost a sock in 46 year. OK. Sure.

I actually think the reason why I have this basket is to prove a point. I don't quite know what that point is, but when I figure it out I'll let you know. I wonder what my kids are gonna do with thier socks when they have thier own homes? And will I be able to keep my mouth shut about what I did with my socks? Eh I probably won't.

Tonight I asked the Man I Married if he could kindly fold the socks for me. He said "sure bring them to the living room." Sounded too good to be true, and it was. I went out and came home to the basket intact. I guess I will move the socks to the corner in the dining room so I don't see them first thing when I wake up.

Watch out for flying objects!

I have to say the video of President Bush getting shoes hummed at his head is a lil' bit funny. Ok, so I actually found it very funny. As soon as I saw George dodge those shoes I had to wonder if he's had practice at that, because he did one hell of a job moving out the way that fast! Think Laura Bush in all her sweet southerness throws shoes at Georgie? Think she swears at him? I wonder. He must piss her off from time to time.

The shoe throwing reminded me of the early years in my marriage. I didn't know how to fight, I 'd never been married. The only way I knew how to fight was to yell. My dad was a yeller, so I thought I should do that too. Well, yelling didn't work. Crying didn't work ( I married the most unsympathetic man I swear.) So one time he pissed me of bad. I yelled, I swore, I cried...tried everything. For what ever reason I had a head of raw cabbage in my hand. I hummed it at that man's head, and he dodged the flying cabbage nicely. I can still remember what the living room looked like at the time, paneled walls and flowered curtains. I think that image will stay in my head forever. And HE cleaned up the mess, I know I didn't.

It really was not very nice of that man to hum those shoes at Mr. Bush. REALLY...chuckle chuckle. My kids know I dislike W immensely and asked if I was glad that the man did that. I told them in my best mother like voice, "No matter how much we dislike someone, violence is not an option."

But what if W had gotten hit with those size 10 shoes? And what if the man I married had gotten whacked with that head of cabbage? Think it would have smacked any sense into either one of them? Nope. I don't think so either.

I have not decided yet if it's a good think I cannot figure out how to post pictures or if it's a bad thing.

I know that pictures help make a blog interesting. Like dressing up the walls in a room. Who dosen't want the visitors to like what they see? Keeps 'em coming back for more. Here's my problem, being the Libra that I am, I can't make up my mind. I don't know if I want the world to see my world. Make sense? Here's the thing...I am a very private person, ok so it's more like paranoid. I don't want people to know what my kids or my house or my world looks like, lest they stalk me and find me. OK? So I said it. I'm paranoid. I look at other people's blogs and I wish I could be that open about sharing my stuff. I love to look at pictures in other people's blogs. I notice the pretty color on the bathroom walls that people hang things on, or the kitchen table where little boys make messes at thier mema's house. I guess that in some way shape or form, those houses are much like mine..ok most of them are alot cleaner than mine. But when I do see messes, I love it, makes me feel better than like I'm not the only one with a messy house.

I guess maybe it's a little stage fright?
Maybe once I figure out how to do it, and just do it, it will be fine?

Am I a bad mother?

So my question is this.. Am I a bad mother because I cannot listen to my 13 year old daughter who thinks she is Joan Biaz, sing?

My sister bought her an acoustic guitar for her birthday over the summer, and God bless the child, she has learned to play so quickly. She's played violin since she was 9. She was one of those kids who actually practiced. (First kid--over achiever.) So I guess violin, guitar same thing? I don't know music. All I know is she knows how to play the guitar. The strumming of the guitar doesn't bother me one bit. I can tolerate the guitar. The problem is when she sings. Oh dear Lord it is like a pack of wild wolves are howling to one another. This is the very same child who when she was five,would sing the song "Maybe" from the musical Annie, and bring tears to my eyes. Different kind of tears from today's tears. I would actually choke up when I listened to her. I would think to myself "her voice is so beautiful, she could be a singer when she grows up." I'm thinking, maybe I said it out loud? One too many times?

Her repertoire of instruments has grown since her birthday over the summer. My crazy sister was kind enough to give the child an electric guitar. My crazy sister lets the kids (now all teens) play to their heart's content in her basement at her house, amplifier and all. She's nuts. She says the noise dosen't bother her. Since there is no amp here, I'm safe from hearing the electric guitar. She also has a trombone that the band teacher at school gave her. We affectionately call it the butt trumpet. I must say I do enjoy when she plays that. It sounds so bad its good. The stupid teacher handed her the trombone and a VCR tape and called it a lesson. What she knows she has taught herself. Hey she must be doing ok, she got an A in band. Don't know how, as we don't have a working VCR in the house.

So tell me, does it make me a bad mother that it makes me crazy when she sings? Oh it's so bad.

Oh its been a week.

Let's start off the blog with a brownie, I really need it.



For the past couple of weeks I have been trying to make some new Christmas decorations to spruce this place up. So I had a day off and was able to spend the whole day to myself at the sewing machine. The house was fairly neat (never clean), laundry caught up, dinner in the crock pot. I was in a good place. As I was sewing I absent mindedly did not change the foot on the machine. Ya not supposed to zig zag with a 1/4 inch foot. So the needle snaped on that first zig. WHAP...that muther came humming at my eye. OUCH! I'm sitting there stunned that my sewing machine would do this to me. I then think "Sheesh I'm lucky I still l have an eye." I was afraid to go look in the mirror because it felt wet when my hand went to my eye. I was alone. I didn't think I was up to dealing with a river of blood. OUCH that hurt. It didn't end up being blood, it was tears. My eye teared up right away. I think I was crying too.



The needle in my eye? That was the good part of my day. About an hour later I got a call from the boy's teacher at school. I love this teacher she is as sweet as sugar...and great at what she does. She starts the conversation off with "There was an incident at recess." Crap crap crap crap crap...no mother of a boy wants to hear of an "incident." What did he say that was mean? Who did he punch? Did he chip his front tooth? She then goes on to preface the conversation with "We have been finding alot of used condoms out in the school yard." To which I say "OH NO. He didn't?" "Yup he did. He picked it up and was walking in from recess with it." The boy is seven. In the six years his feet have been on the ground I have been telling him things like: "Put that thing down its dirty, don't pick that up you don't know where its been. DROP IT!" So Mrs. B says "In his defense it was bright orange and looked like a balloon." Dear God up in heaven above, my girls never did things like this! She went on to tell me that she washed his hands and washed them again, Germ-Xd them, and washed them again, and Germ-Xd them again. I thanked her for calling. I called her back about four minuets later after I processed the word balloon and asked her to please ask this child if he tried to blow this dirty rotten object up. I know my son. He professed no he did not. She told me that she explained that what he touched was very germy and could have some very very bad germs on it and he needed to tell the truth. (Brownie anyone?)



Grrr.....Did I mention that I am a germ a phobe? As soon as that boy walked in the door from school an hour later, I stripped him and threw him in the shower. I washed his coat (the one I just washed the night before! Months can go by without washing the dirty rotten thing, now twice in one week).

In the meantime I'd called the pediatrician. I adore this man. He has been the boy's doctor since he was born. His last name is Silversmith, and the boy used to call him Dr. Zoozamif. We still refer to him as Dr. Zoozamif. He has guided me thru so much with this child. He said as a physician his opinion was that all diseases that could be on the condom were most likely dead. As a parent however, if it were his child he would run all the necessary blood tests now and then again in six months. For peace of mind I'd decided we needed to do blood work. He would mail me the lab script. Friday would be the day he would go for blood work. Shoot me now. That child has been a bad patient since the second he was born. (Shoving brownie in my mouth, excuse me)



Fast forward two days. I'd not heard from the school nurse or principal. I was so mad that neither one of them had the decency to acknowledge the situation. I started with the nurse, because I had a sneaky suspicion that she knew nothing of the "incident." She splits between two schools, and was not at our school at the time. I was correct, Mr. douche bag Principal never told her about it. I informed her, and explained this extreme anger she heard in my voice was not directed toward her, and it would have been nice to get a call from her at some point in the following 24 hours of "the incident." She agreed. I then called the douche bag of a principal that I have been dealing with for 10 years. Have I mentioned he's a douche bag? His response to me was "I did not assume that the item (the "item?" the "item?" say it asshole....the condom!!) was used when I heard what it was." NO? NO? PFFT. I said "come on Mr. Douche Bag...if it was YOUR son don't you think you would have to assume it was dirty? Wouldn't YOU have appreciated a call from the principal?" He then proceeded to give me six minuets and thirty seven seconds of lip service (I always look at the time counter on the phone when I talk to him, usually our calls are under a minuet--as I was the president of the PTO and talked to him often. He's not interested in talking.) After digesting his poor critical thinking skills, I called the Health Office in the administration building, and the director of elementary education (for what that was worth) and chewed their ears off about how this man should not be in the position that he is. I was pissed. (hurry if you want a brownie, they almost gone)



For three days I cried about this (did I mention that I stuck a needle in my eye too?????) Boy did that muther hurt every time I cried!!! I am now down to just some broken blood vessels in my eye (the one I'm lucky to have) and the boy had his blood drawn (I pleaded with my husband) and he agreed to do the blood work thing. I just couldn't. I can do alot of things but that torture was way too much for me. So that sweet sweet man I married actually came thru in a pinch! I know a couple of you are thinking "its about time!" Me too. Hooray for small miracles.

Oh did you say you wanted one of those brownies? Sorry I didn't mean to eat the whole plate. I proooomise to save you one next time.

The beginning of the end has begun.



December. It's already December and the year is almost over. Where did it go? 2008 was supposed to be the year I got myself "together." With the little boy starting first grade, my brood of three were now all in school full time. I was going to be able to look at my walls and floors and see them gleaming from being so clean. I was going to finally be able to sit on the couch and pop bon bon's like I'm supposed to. Only I see more dirt. The walls are now thicker with more crud, and the floors haven't been washed but twice. In the course of 2008 I returned to work after a 14 year absence. Hey Deb from the Edge...wanna swap? You can take my job, oh jobless one, since you offered up your husband! This job thing sucks. It is the second major demise to my hope of ever getting my house clean. (The first demise came 7 and a half years ago when "the boy" was born--he was born a house wrecker)



So I guess I should start thinking about what I can set my 2009 goals for...something that I can actually attain. Dieting? Nope that didn't work, I think I tried that in '97, '98, & '99. The new millennium was surely going to be the year the diet worked. NOPE. Gave that up. 2001 I think I just said "screw it" and didn't give anything up that year (sex included...the boy came along in 2001.) 2002 with the boy being here I gave up cleaning for the next five years. Oh you should see the pictures of this swill pit when he was home 24/7. On the other hand, when I look at those pictures I remember all the joy that little boy brought to my life. I digress, back to setting goals that I can reach. I stopped smoking, reluctantly I stopped swearing (for the most part--I do love a good swear from time to time), and I don't drink (I wish I did tho.)



Wait! I got it....Since I now leave my house (kicking and screaming) every day, maybe I should resume shaving my legs in the winter. I could get in an accident you know. Sometimes I think to myself "if today is the day they have to cut my pants off those rescue workers are gonna get a good laugh at my lazy ass expense." My son asked his father what that razor was doing in the way up on the tip top shelf in the shower. Man I married said "It's mom's she uses it on her legs." The little boy says "No she doesn't. Have you seen her legs Dad? They are just as hairy as yours." My sweet sweet boy. It's official. 2009 will be the year of the razor! Until then I will keep the leg hair braided.