Mom's Rain of Custard
Good morning, Tribe.
I hope you have begun your first weekend in 2014 with style and enjoying the things you love. Cap'n K and I (Cap'n K is my husband Keith) began with our Saturday morning tradition. We like to start the day slowly as we enjoy a cup a coffee together -- sitting up in bed -- quietly chatting about whatever feels important. We do this before our own interests separate us for the day, but we always come back together and regroup in the evening. Today, I plan to go to see the art exhibit of a good friend of mine.
In preparing material for today's blog, I realized two equally amusing ideas were converging in my mind.
1. My mom's rain of custard.
2. I have decided God is getting me back.
First, you need some background: There are people who think I'm reasonably intelligent. (I KNOW it's hard to believe, but it's true.) However, just when they begin to expect great things from me ... well, then I'll go and do -- or say -- something stupid. I'm ditzy like that. I come by this trait honestly. I get it from my Mom. My sisters have been known to show symptoms of the same ditzy-ness. (At least, Betty Jo and Cressy could possibly claim "blondness" for their scarier moments.) So, smart or not, don't EVER overestimate any one of us.
Both of my parents are extremely smart people. However, being around my mother is like living an episode of "I Love Lucy" because of the little predicaments she finds herself in all of the time. All. The. Time. My mother enjoyed a long career as a Registered Nurse. Although she is now retired, people still remember how she took care of them. She went to college to become a nurse in her late 30's. She loves science. She can sew. She can draw. She can write songs. My mother is a beautiful and extremely talented lady.
As intelligent and talented as she is, my dad and the rest of us have our hands full keeping her out of trouble. You never know what she will say or do. It is actually part of what makes her so much fun to be around.
My latest story about Mom happened this past week when Cap'n K and I came over for a visit. We were all hanging out in the kitchen area when Mom came in lugging a big box containing her new mixer. She was was so excited. She said that one of my aunts had made custard (as in - the holiday drink) and had a recipe that was easy and required no cooking. Mom had just gotten this massive new mixer and wanted to try the recipe.
As it turns out, the recipe made more than the bowl her new mixer could handle. Mom got all the ingredients except the milk into the mixer and the bowl was nearly full. I left the room for just a moment and when I returned, the mixer was running and Mom was using a dish towel to mop up little pale droplets of custard that the mixer was spitting out like a little sprinkler.
Apparently, these mixers can come with shields that prevent these types of messes, but Mom's mixer didn't come with one. Being the country girl that she is, Mom decided to improvise and she stood to the side of the mixer holding up a dish towel to keep the mess at bay. This was the scene when Dad came into the kitchen to make himself something to eat.
Mom was dismayed because she still had not added the milk to the stuff. She had three more minutes to run the mixer. I volunteered to grab another dish towel and stand on the other side of the mixer to help her. It was at this point -- as we were standing there holding up to dish towels like two people who were preserving the mixer's privacy -- that Mom mentioned she was actually supposed to be running the mixer at a higher setting.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Mom," I said. "It's already spitting stuff everywhere."
"Let's just try it," said Mom, as she turned the mixer up. The spitting custard soon became a custard rain. The custard rain was followed by much screaming and hollering for Mom to turn the mixer off.
She finished the recipe using a huge bowl and bringing out her faithful hand mixer. That's my mom.
After the rain of custard incident, I announced, "I think I know what my next blog will be about."
"Oh, you better not write about this," Mom said.
She knows me better than that. I can't resist telling a funny story.
Growing up, my sisters and I picked on Mom so much because she always provided so much fodder for amusement. We have picked on her relentlessly over the years. Because of this, I have become convinced of my second thought: God is getting me back.
On New Year's 2014, I had a group message with three of my four kids that began with "Happy New Year" and ended up with them picking on me. I was jealous of the fact that my kids were always using those emoji's in their text messages that were so cute and I didn't know how they did it. My daughter Amber (we sometimes call her "Amby") told me how to turn it on. Let the following series of screen captures show you how the kids picked on me as I enjoyed this cool new feature. (By the way, my favorite color is purple, in case you wonder about the mention of "purple" in the messages.)
They say that karma will come back and bite you. Well, I think it did. We still pick on Mom ... but now, I have kids who pick on ME, too. I guess that keeps me humble and keeps it all in the family.
The moral of all this? Be nice to your parents!!
I'm out of here for now.
Hugs to the Tribe!
Until later,
LA
I hope you have begun your first weekend in 2014 with style and enjoying the things you love. Cap'n K and I (Cap'n K is my husband Keith) began with our Saturday morning tradition. We like to start the day slowly as we enjoy a cup a coffee together -- sitting up in bed -- quietly chatting about whatever feels important. We do this before our own interests separate us for the day, but we always come back together and regroup in the evening. Today, I plan to go to see the art exhibit of a good friend of mine.
In preparing material for today's blog, I realized two equally amusing ideas were converging in my mind.
1. My mom's rain of custard.
2. I have decided God is getting me back.
First, you need some background: There are people who think I'm reasonably intelligent. (I KNOW it's hard to believe, but it's true.) However, just when they begin to expect great things from me ... well, then I'll go and do -- or say -- something stupid. I'm ditzy like that. I come by this trait honestly. I get it from my Mom. My sisters have been known to show symptoms of the same ditzy-ness. (At least, Betty Jo and Cressy could possibly claim "blondness" for their scarier moments.) So, smart or not, don't EVER overestimate any one of us.
Both of my parents are extremely smart people. However, being around my mother is like living an episode of "I Love Lucy" because of the little predicaments she finds herself in all of the time. All. The. Time. My mother enjoyed a long career as a Registered Nurse. Although she is now retired, people still remember how she took care of them. She went to college to become a nurse in her late 30's. She loves science. She can sew. She can draw. She can write songs. My mother is a beautiful and extremely talented lady.
As intelligent and talented as she is, my dad and the rest of us have our hands full keeping her out of trouble. You never know what she will say or do. It is actually part of what makes her so much fun to be around.
My latest story about Mom happened this past week when Cap'n K and I came over for a visit. We were all hanging out in the kitchen area when Mom came in lugging a big box containing her new mixer. She was was so excited. She said that one of my aunts had made custard (as in - the holiday drink) and had a recipe that was easy and required no cooking. Mom had just gotten this massive new mixer and wanted to try the recipe.
As it turns out, the recipe made more than the bowl her new mixer could handle. Mom got all the ingredients except the milk into the mixer and the bowl was nearly full. I left the room for just a moment and when I returned, the mixer was running and Mom was using a dish towel to mop up little pale droplets of custard that the mixer was spitting out like a little sprinkler.
Apparently, these mixers can come with shields that prevent these types of messes, but Mom's mixer didn't come with one. Being the country girl that she is, Mom decided to improvise and she stood to the side of the mixer holding up a dish towel to keep the mess at bay. This was the scene when Dad came into the kitchen to make himself something to eat.
Mom was dismayed because she still had not added the milk to the stuff. She had three more minutes to run the mixer. I volunteered to grab another dish towel and stand on the other side of the mixer to help her. It was at this point -- as we were standing there holding up to dish towels like two people who were preserving the mixer's privacy -- that Mom mentioned she was actually supposed to be running the mixer at a higher setting.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Mom," I said. "It's already spitting stuff everywhere."
"Let's just try it," said Mom, as she turned the mixer up. The spitting custard soon became a custard rain. The custard rain was followed by much screaming and hollering for Mom to turn the mixer off.
She finished the recipe using a huge bowl and bringing out her faithful hand mixer. That's my mom.
After the rain of custard incident, I announced, "I think I know what my next blog will be about."
"Oh, you better not write about this," Mom said.
She knows me better than that. I can't resist telling a funny story.
Growing up, my sisters and I picked on Mom so much because she always provided so much fodder for amusement. We have picked on her relentlessly over the years. Because of this, I have become convinced of my second thought: God is getting me back.
On New Year's 2014, I had a group message with three of my four kids that began with "Happy New Year" and ended up with them picking on me. I was jealous of the fact that my kids were always using those emoji's in their text messages that were so cute and I didn't know how they did it. My daughter Amber (we sometimes call her "Amby") told me how to turn it on. Let the following series of screen captures show you how the kids picked on me as I enjoyed this cool new feature. (By the way, my favorite color is purple, in case you wonder about the mention of "purple" in the messages.)
The moral of all this? Be nice to your parents!!
I'm out of here for now.
Hugs to the Tribe!
Until later,
LA
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