Recipe Rally for CHBM

I didn't feel like writing much for a blog post today (again) so I saw that CHBM had their Recipe Rally on Tuesday so I thought I'd post a recipe for that. So I'm a couple of days late. Oh well.

I have to admit that it was the category of the recipe rally that caught my eye. Everyone in my family knows how much my Mom loves squash (which is not at all) so in honor of my Mom I participate in the SQUASH recipe rally!

Cheesy Spaghetti Squash

Pierce a large spaghetti squash several times with a fork or sharp knife to allow steam to escape. Microwave on high for about 10 minutes or until soft, turning over after 5 minutes. Let stand for 5 minutes.

Cut squash in half. Remove and discard seeds. Use a fork to scrape the insides of the squash to form strands; reserve one squash shell. Toss with 2 tbsp. grated Parmesan, 1/2 cup mozzarella cheese, 2 chopped plum tomatoes and 1/4 cup chopped fresh parsley.

Spoon squash back into shell and microwave on high for 2 minutes to heat through.

Makes 6 (1/2 cup) servings.


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You're welcome Mom. Hope you enjoy your new squash recipe.

Just trying

When I lived in New York, on Governor's Island, I took ballet lessons. I wasn't really very good, but what I lacked in talent I made up for in heart. This was evidenced by my selection, along with 3 other ballet students, to go on a special trip into the city to visit the Harlem dancers at their studio.

I was nervous and excited the day we left to go see the beautiful ballerinas. I sat on the edge of the car seat the whole way, watching the sights as we weaved in and out through dimly-lit tunnels and noisy traffic.

We reached the studio and my excitement was at a fever pitch. We approached the door to find a note.

The studio was closed. No dancers were there that day.

Crushed!

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This is written for CHBM's Angelina Ballerina DVD giveaway. Check it out!

2 Characters

"Hi, I'm Laura, but my Dad calls me Half-Pint" she said to the small blond with blue skin sitting in the next seat. "Where are you off to?"

Smurfette groaned inwardly. Why do I always get stuck sitting next to Miss-Perky-Talks-a-Lot on these bus trips? she wondered.

"I'm going home," she said curtly and turned toward the window.

"I'm going to visit my sister!" continued Miss Perky, apparently oblivious even to not-so-subtle hints. "She's blind and is learning how to get around now that she can't see!"

You'd think she'd sound less happy about her sister's bad luck thought Smurfette as she mentally calculated the miles until she could escape this conversation.

"Hmmmm," she murmured noncommitantly. Kill me now.

"I've got some cider we can share if you're thirsty," Laura offered.

Things are looking up. "That would be smurfy, thanks," said Smurfette, turning toward her bus-mate.

The bus hurtled down the highway as the two girls clicked their plastic cups together in a toast.

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I wrote this in response to CHBM's prompt for their DVD giveaway. Check it out.

Do you smell that?

CHBM is giving away some tarts...the kind you burn, not the kind you eat or the kind of women you like to make fun of.

So in order for me to get my chance to win I'm supposed to write a post about how a certain smell transports me to another time or place.

The thing is, there are so many. And they hit at times that catch me off-guard.

My husband and I were riding our bikes on trails in the downtown area. The trails took us along the river and under bridges. As we rode under one of the overpasses I was struck by the scent. It was musty and metallic and seawater all mixed together. I was, at once, transported to New York waiting for the ferry to arrive to take us over to Governor's Island (home).

Every Autumn I'm assaulted by the scent of it. You know it, all leaves and dirt and chilled air. It also sends me in a whirlwind to my childhood. Walking to school with the leaves whipping around me, new tennis shoes tripping me up with the unscuffed treads. Walking home from a Girl Scout meeting in the dark, hurrying past the shadowy trees and counting the steps until I reached the side door of our home...the lights welcoming me. Inhaling the scent of home. Safety.

Baby powder and I'm in my Grandmother's bathroom, after she's taken a bath. There's the soap stuck on a rubber cake of miniature suction-cups. There's the back scrubber hanging from a crocheted handle. There are the vinyl flower non-slip pads in the tub. Then, I can smell my Grandfather's aftershave and feel the sting of it on my cheeks the one time I convinced him to let me try it too.

There are so many...

Dreams

As a kid I had some fanciful dreams. For quite some time the dreams involved Magnum.

P.I. that is.

Those blue eyes and flashing grin. The moustache (which I no longer care for) tempted to be tweaked. His goofy mannerisms.

The dimples, oh dear God, the dimples!

Of course it might have had something to do with the car as well.


Tom Selleck actually has aged pretty well, n'est-ce pas? Really, he looks much the same. And, as far as I know hasn't turned into a freak like another former crush the "Night Rider" has. (The "Hoff"? Seriously?)

Oh, my crush on Magnum went pretty far. It involved daydreams and stories of our "dates" at the drive-in.

It involved bringing a garbage bag full of home-popped popcorn. (Because, naturally, Magnum was frugal!)

The thing is, I was dumb enough to share this info with my Aunts (and, apparently, dumb enough to bring it up years later!) which, naturally, they thought was hilarious. (Come to think of it, it was pretty funny.)

I also remember thinking that my 8- or 10-year-old self would totally have a chance with Magnum. Um. Yeah. He's older than my Mom.

I could totally snag him now!

Editing to add link to CHBM's writing prompt about Childhood Dreams!

I'm a winner!

I wrote about my memory of reading with my grandfather for a contest at CHBM last month.

I received my book prize yesterday from Kane/Miller Publishing. It is a really cute book and just so happens to fit perfectly with recent events at our house. The pictures are really vibrant and the story captured both kids' interest in moments after I started reading.

Thank you to CHBM and Kane/Miller!

Favorite childhood reading memory

The ladies at CHBM have another contest. This one is sponsored by CHBM and Kane/Miller Publishing Company. We're supposed to write about our favorite memory of being read to as a child OR our favorite memory of reading to your own child.

The prize is a book from Kane/Miller Publishing Company. We love books at our house. Books are one thing that I don't mind spending money on (much to my husband's chagrin).

My favorite memory of being read to as a child, hands down, is being read to by my maternal grandfather, K. (Obviously, my son is named after him!)

We lived in NY, but spent summertime in MN with my grandparents. Many times I'd sneak a flashlight and sneak into the area by the "pickle cellar" and grab books off of the bookcase there. Things like The Old Man and the Sea and other somewhat musty-smelling volumes.

But before I was in the bed in the basement, my grandpa would read to me. I'd have my bath and climb into his lap in the orange-striped recliner with 2-3 books. I'd snuggle into his chest and inhale his after-shave. He read stories like Put Me in the Zoo and Ten Apples Up On Top.

But he wouldn't just read the book. He'd turn it upside-down and feign ignorance. What do you mean the book is upside-down? He'd try to start reading from the end of the book. What? That's not right?

I can still hear his laughter. I can still smell his after-shave.

He's been gone for 17 years. But I still miss him. I'd love to crawl into his lap and tell him he has the book upside-down. Listen to the street sounds outside as we cuddled in the recliner next to the door. Try to escape his leg-locks after the books have been read.

I think my grandfather's enthusiasm for reading out loud had a lot to do with my love of reading. And since I've had my children, I've discovered how fun it is to read out loud to them. Of course, at night, they both want to be with Dad since they've been with me all day. But last night, M, K and I were in M's room playing Little People (there was a looong line of people waiting for the Ferris wheel which kept them both entertained for longer than you'd think). I found one of the books that my mom had kept from when I was little. I just opened it and started reading.

Soon I found myself shouting I'D LIKE A LOAF OF BREAD! and I'D LIKE A PIECE OF MEAT! It was so fun. The kids were giggling. How else can you read Mr. Noisy?

Funniest parenting moment

CHBM has thrown out another writing prompt that I thought I could handle...write about my funniest parenting moment.

The first one that comes to mind is the reason my blog is named Cool Zebras. So here is the (albeit short) story once again:

Incidentally, my daughter is the reason that I've named this blog "Cool Zebras". It's what I think is a funny story. We were taking a shower...she's 3, she wants to shower when I do...and after we got out she motioned toward my chest.

"Mommy, you have really big Zebras!"

I was feeling all special about the size of my "zebras" when she commented:

"You have a really big butt too."

Ego boost totally ruined! Kids, good thing they're cute.

My Legacy

My kids have parts of me. It’s a fact that they will come to terms with in about 30 years or so. When they reach their teenage years and people comment “X is just like your Mom,” they will cringe, scowl and deny any relation. These things I am fairly sure of.

Physically, my daughter looks like I did at her age. (Sorry, M!) But she inherited her beautiful blue eyes from her father. My son? He inherited my brown eyes (although his are much bigger and more handsome than mine ever could be). My daughter is tall, (as I was) but not as lean as I was as a girl. If only I could still be that lean. My son is leaner, like his mother was, once upon a time.

The ladies at CHBM have posed the question “What parts of yourself do you hope your child gets from you?” I assume they mean the non-physical aspects, since the physical aspects are a done-deal.

I hope that my children love their family as I do. My family was not overly demonstrative with their love, but I think I have (so far) fostered an openly demonstrative home. I let my feelings out. I cry when I’m sad, or mad, or just because I need to. My kids (especially K) often stop and say “I need to give you a hug (or kiss) Mom.” I can only hope that when they are in their 30s and if I am still around they will still come to me and say “I need a kiss Mom.”

I hope that my children love to read as much as I do. I remember hiding under the covers with a flashlight as a child because I wanted to continue reading after lights out. As an adult, I still read with a flashlight so I don’t disturb my husband too much.

I’m torn about whether I want my kids to acquire the trait of feeling things deeply. M, I’m sure already has. It’s troublesome in that, when I get really angry, I cry. When I get upset, I cry. When I’m really happy, I cry. Yeah. A lot of crying. Miss M has followed in my footsteps, and in some ways, so has K. Empathy has its good and bad points. There really is only so much crying you should do over Grey’s Anatomy.

I hope that my kids love dancing and singing as much or more than I do, and that they continue to practice these loves into adulthood. (So they don’t get big like me.)

I hope that my children are colorblind. Not that I want them to see only red and green, but that they see only people. (So far, I think, this is going well. M has never mentioned anything about a person’s skin color. She has named a (white) baby doll after a (black) classmate.) Maybe my terminology is off, I’m not sure. However, you can be assured, my heart is in the right place.

I hope that my kids see the glass half-full most of the time.

I hope that my kids love their parents as much as I love mine.

I hope that my kids love their children (should they choose to have any) as much as I love mine.

I hope.

Could I be a winner?

If I'm going to be honest, and I might as well be if I'm writing this blog, I'm pretty geeky. Oh, I signed up to be a part of the Crazy Hip Blog Mamas within the first month after I started blogging, but I'm really just faking it as a "hip" Mama.

Here's the thing. I like video games. It started waaaay back in the '80s when my parents brought home this newfangled device called an Atari 2600. My entire family developed what is called the "Atari thumb" from playing those basic games...Combat! Donkey Kong, Pac Man, Asteroids, Space Invaders. Even with the (by today's standards) HORRIBLE graphics, those games were addictive.

Later, my brother bought game systems like the original Nintendo, and Sega. I can't even tell you how often I spent an entire day and into the night playing Super Mario Brothers because I didn't want to quit and lose my great game. (Back then you couldn't save your game!)

This Christmas, my kids each received a Game Boy Micro. They were from their grandparents, but I bought them with money that those grandparents sent to us. M got a Finding Nemo/Monsters Inc 2 pak game while K got Super Mario Brothers.

I have a confession to make.

I think I've played their Game Boys (emphasis on the BOY as M calls it) more than they have. Okay, so Christmas Day "we" brought their Game Boys along. Um, I might have spent, oh, 2 hours or more playing their games. Oh yeah, and when they came to ask to play their games...I shooed them away.

Bad Mommy.

So now I see this contest at CHBM where the winner receives a Nintendo DS Lite and the Brain Age game. All I have to do is write a post on how this will make me a hipper Mom in my kids' eyes.

Hey, if I have my own game to play and let them play theirs...how much hipper could I get? Try playing a PINK Nintendo DS. Oh yeah, my daughter would be turning GREEN with envy.