Well, it's February. No need to thank me for stating the obvious; I'm good. We've been very busy little bees here at the Johnson household...major transitions are being made to accompany Baby #4, and we are basking in the glow of things getting done around here. Hurray for productivity!! I've been working like mad on some craft projects for the nursery, and I am getting dangerously close to being done. It won't be too long now until I have some "After" pictures of the nursery for all of you charming readers out there. So yippee skippee for the Johnsons, and to top it off, we have been enjoying an INSANELY mild winter for southeast Wisconsin. Temperatures in the 40-50's! Almost no snow! No fussing with mittens and chunky snowpants! The sun is occasionally shining! People bursting into song nearly everywhere I go! Well, not really. But heck, I sure feel like bursting into song when I step outside and my lungs don't freeze and chip off inside of my body within 10 seconds. You just might burst into song, too, if that was the case for you. It's been great. EXCEPT.
Except.
All of grand mildness of weather is resulting in one vastly irritating condition:
MUD. MUD. MUD.
And mud.
Due to the wonderful weather, the boys have been playing outside ALOT lately. It's quite simple, really. Melting snow + mini heat wave + sustained mild temperatures + little boys playing outside like small, wild, beasts = An incredibly torn-up, distressed, muddy muddy yard. It's mud like I have never seen, I tell you! I feel like we're living on a farm with all of the scraping and clapping of shoes together I've been doing lately. We've also had a few incidents which involve a child (whom shall remain nameless) sprinting through the house and up the stairs with about 4.25 inches of mud caked on his shoes, me scrubbing stairs, sweeping on a daily basis, and finding that this same child decided it would be a great idea to climb into his bed with his shoes on. THANK THE GOOD LORD that the bed incident did not involve 4.25 inches of mud; just some dried dirt. And dried dirt is about as easy as it gets these days.
I think that's all I have to say about mud.
And now it's time...the moment you've all been waiting for...here it comes...wait for it...
It's time for the BAD MOTHER MOMENT OF THE WEEK!!!!
Yayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...
Let's hear it.
Anyway.
Once upon a time, my two older boys were playing outside in a yard that most closely resembles a WWI trench, minus the lice, rats, and fleas. I think. I was industriously preparing this for dinner (very delicious, by the way. We all enjoyed it very much), and I could clearly see the boys from the kitchen window. I LOVE this about my kitchen. I also loved my fenced-in yard. I love it more than ever now, and I'll tell you why. I kept checking on the boys every minute or so by peeking out of the kitchen window, and things looked like they were going swimmingly. Like, swimming in mud. Can you tell I'm slightly obsessed with our mud issue at hand? Anyway, when I finished the casserole and plopped it in the fridge (make-ahead, folks. Key to sanity, survival, and long, flowing locks of hair. Um. Not the hair thing. But survival and sanity; yes.), the boys came inside and were bubbling with enthusiasm. The following conversation ensued:
D & D: "Mommy, a guy shared his french fries with us!!!!"
Me: "Um...WHAT?"
D & D: "A guy gave us some french fries!!"
Me: "Like, he reached over the fence and gave you french fries?"
D & D: (bursting with joy) "YES!!"
Me (to myself): "Breathe...breathe...breathe..."
Apparently I had not done an effective-enough job of instilling stranger awareness in the robust young hearts of my children as I thought I had. I curbed my intense desire to freak out and calmly explained to them that we never, ever, EVER take food or drink or anything from a stranger and then I explained why. I then proceeded to grill them throughout the day on why we don't take anything from a stranger, and I now remind them of "stranger danger" every time they get ready to play outside. I also spent the next 24 hours awaiting any effects of evil french fry poison to take place. Small vent ahead: WHY on earth would any person in their right mind give a child whom they do NOT know food over a fence??? WHY? I can't believe I was in my kitchen the entire time, checking on them every minute, and I MISSED THE EVIL FRENCH FRY. How?? How? I was ready for a commune after that. I was just about ready to lay down in our mud-infested yard and weep. But I didn't. And that's pretty much that.
Thus ends the BAD MOTHER MOMENT OF THE WEEK, brought to you especially by Mary J. Johnson, B.S. in French Fry Forensics.
And now for something completely different...
CALLING ALL HOME COOKS!! Who has a favorite freezer meal that is tried and true for you and your family? I have a decent handful of freezer meals that I love, but I am looking to add to that small handful! If any of you would be willing to share a recipe for a freezer meal, please share the wealth!
I think that covers it. Mud, Evil French Fries, and Edible Freezer Meals. Yep. Stay tuned for more adventures and more pictures, and enjoy your Thursday.
