Take Me Back to Christmas Past

I wish there were a place where I could escape the stress of adulthood and drift into my childhood Christmases, even if just to watch invisibly as Scrooge and Marley did in The Christmas Carol. I want to look out on the night snow again through the big, cold picture window and see the blue sparkles dance on the frozen crystal sea in my yard. I want to be the first one the next day to make my boots crunch a path of little prints. I want to feel my heart pound when I see a red light in the sky and know that Santa is near. I want to feel the excitement again….the exhilarating apprehension that I just HAVE to get to sleep so Santa will stop at MY house! I want my Mom to dress me into my pink footie Carter pajamas after a steamy shower, then tuck me into my white islet covers with a soft kiss on my cheek. I can still feel the heaviness of the old hand sewn quilt she used to keep me extra warm in winter while the Iowa cold pressed its way around the worn seals of my old windows. I want to feel the scratch of my fingernail drawing a picture in the frost on the inside of the window, and can someone hand me a crayon and the Sears or JCPenney catalog so I can circle everything I want for Christmas? That Baby Alive doll that eats and poops, the Easy Bake Oven with brownie mix and Malibu Barbie would set me up for a year, and the Snoopy Snow Cone machine would really be a bonus.

I want to hear the old wooden stairs creak as I tiptoe downstairs Christmas morning to see what Santa had left me…I knew I was pretty well behaved so I just had to be getting at least ONE thing from that catalog! I want to see my Daddy wrapped up in his robe with his snow boots on, going out to shovel the sidewalk one more time. I want to see my baby sister’s naturally curly hair and smell the Johnson’s baby lotion on her poofy cheeks when I kiss them. I want to watch my big brother fly down the snowy hill on his toboggan, then laugh when he crashes into great grandma’s peony bushes creating a furry of leaves, twigs and freshly disturbed snowdrifts. Ahhh, and don’t forget the smell of Mom’s Christmas cookies baking in the oven, or the warmth of hot chocolate thawing out my esophagus… frozen from sucking in bitter wind during an afternoon of hard core winter play. I want to feel the awe as I listen to the story of a special baby born with a manger of hay for a bed. I want to hear a church choir croon "Silent Night" while I try not to scratch at my itchy, but pretty Christmas dress. Play the Andy Williams Christmas vinyl on the old wooden stereo that takes up a better part of the dining room. Listen to the subtle hissing of the humidifier attempting to moisturize the parched winter air. I want to feel light and free again, like I did as I danced and spun around in my socks on the shiny wooden floors of the old dining room while "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" played over and over through that old stereo….to feel carefree like no one is watching, or even better, that they all came JUST to watch me. I want to remember what it feels like not to worry about my weight, bills, employment, kids going astray, or losing people you care about. I want to revisit my world where grandparents' laps never go away, and their stories and songs never end. IF I could go back to those simple days in a little Iowa farm town, I may never leave again.

Tips for Tough Times

Like many Americans, we've already been trying to figure ways to cut back on the expenses of running a family so we can pay the bills, and it looks like tough times are here to stay for awhile.  Let's not blame the government or wait for them to fix anything.  In the true spirit of what it means to be an American, we need to take personal responsibility and implement our own plans to operate our homes successfully.  We need to redefine what a "need" really is.  For those of us who are now raising families, let's look back at the simplicity of our own childhoods and remember, we survived without having the latest and greatest of everything.  I've compiled my own list of some simple steps you can take to pinch some pennies in today's strained economy.  I hope you find them useful!

PUMPKIN SEEDS

I have never had much luck in roasting pumpkin seeds, but we tried a new recipe this year that turned out to be a hit. There are two variations, Honey and Spice or Hot & Spicy.  You can use seeds from any size pumpkin.  Save a few to dry and put aside for next spring to grow your own pumpkins!

Honey and Spice Pumpkin Seeds

2 cups fresh, washed pumpkin seeds, pulp removed

1 Tbs. real butter

2 Tbs. brown sugar

2 Tbs. honey

¼ tsp. cinnamon

¼ tsp. nutmeg

1/8 tsp. clove

1/8 tsp. freshly ground black pepper

Salt to taste

Preheat oven to 350 F.

Mix together dry spices. Set aside.

Use a dry, non-stick saute pan that is oven-proof. Over medium heat, toast the pumpkin seeds (stirring often to avoid burning) until lightly golden, 3-5 minutes.

Add the butter and cook until seeds are evenly coated in melted butter.

Add the brown sugar, honey, and spice mixture. Toss to mix well.

Spread the seeds into an even layer in the pan. Bake in the oven until the mixture is toasted and the seeds are crunchy. (Recipe said 12-15 minutes, but it took longer-continue to stir occasionally.) Transfer to cooling rack.

These did stick together when cooled, but easily pulled apart.

Hot and Spicy Pumpkin Seeds

Follow directions above substituting the cinnamon, nutmeg and clove with cayenne, paprika and cumin.

Not-so-Tradional Homeschooler

About this time a year ago, I made the decision to start homeschooling my two youngest children, then ages 9 & 10.  Was I mad at the school? No.  Did someone upset my kid? No. Were my kids having problems? No. In fact, they were honor roll students and to this day, I love the staff at our local school. So why in the world did I put myself on this limb? (Sheez...now that I look at it that way, I am wondering myself!!) Well, I don't have a rehearsed, cut and dry answer, and there may even be deeper reasons than those that just roll off my tongue. (pen, fingertips, however you want to see it.)  I still feel like I'm in a defensive position every time I have to answer that question, so I just haven't refined that "perfect" answer.  I'm sure you'll get the jist of it throughout my articles.

Homeschooling is something I have thought about for many years, since my oldest child, now 20 went off to Kindergarten. Every year as that first day approached, I mentally questioned if we were doing the right thing.  Most of the time, it felt very unnatural sending them away for the majority of the day.  Although, as more babies came into the family, a bit of a break appealed to me.  Ya, I know most of us think that "homeschool moms" are these doting angels who, having no life of their own just couldn't let go of their precious babies.  Not true, at least not completely.  We aren't all lonely housewives who cashed in all our personal dreams to stay home and tuck our goslings under our wings. 

Anyway, when my big girls were growing up, I didn't have the confidence or knowledge, (so I thought) to jump in to such a commitment, so my two oldest girls were both publically educated. That's another story for another day, but just for the record, I am not a public school hater and I don't feel that my girls "suffered" at the hands of public school educators.  Strike one against me in the game of "traditional homeschooler".

I'll be writing a lot about homeschooling, but if you're looking for the lady who wears long denim skirts, white Ked sneakers and her hair in a bun, you won't find her here because that is NOT me.  Now, I have nothing at all against those amazing people who honorably live out their convictions, but I'm just not wrapped up in the whole homeschool Mom stereotype.  I don't wonder why the rest of you aren't homeschooling, and I don't disassociate from those who don't homeschool.  I don't have a list of suggestions for you...this is a learning journey and we're in it together.  (I'm probably learning more than anyone.)  As you read about our homeschool, you may find encouragement, or I might scare you completely away from the idea.  Hopefully you'll see some humor since that can be a great catalyst to get through some bumpy times.  No matter what your opinion on education is, you are welcome here and I hope you'll be inspired, no matter where your kids go to school.

Welcome to the Boudreaux Times!

Welcome to the Boudreaux Family homepage!  This is a bit of an experiment for me, so you will likely see me changing things up quite a bit.  Life in a family of 7 is anything but uneventful, and I am often told, "You should write a book".  So, I guess my life's events are interesting, often non-conventional, though it's just become the norm to me. 

I will be inviting family to this page for updates on what's going on, just in case any of you are really that interested.  My guess is that most of you are too busy with your own lives to be keeping up with mine.  If I'm wrong, hey, that's great.  Don't be offended if this isn't always a "feel good....Leave it to Beaver" kind of atmosphere.  Life really isn't like that anyway and I intend to be quite honest and transparent.  Don't be judgmental here...just read and realize that no one has walked in another's shoes every step of the way, so no, you don't know what you'd do.  Maybe we can all learn from each other here and I might learn something from myself as my life's struggles and triumphs take form on a page or two. 

 I'm actually not sure where I'm going with this thing...mostly looking for a good writing outlet as a coping mechanism and as a tool to bring some concrete ideas to some abstract situations.   I'm also walking out a personal commitment to write more to improve and expand my skills there.  I'm not looking for a grade...this is not a forum for grammatically correct style...just whatever works to communicate the idea.  There will be discussion on politics and other "taboo" topics here.  I may be a bit opinionated, so if you disagree, let's just agree to do so and I love ya anyway. 

On with the Boudreaux Times....and happy reading!

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Can't We All Just Get Along?

We were less than a week, well, ok less than two days into our homeschooling this year and I was already in my first round of tears and hissing threats to quit under my breath.  At one point, I believe I assaulted a package of chicken flavored ramen noodles via my kitchen countertop. If you don't homeschool, you probably wonder why we do this to ourselves.  Welcome to the club...so do we (especially in those moments).  It wasn't that I didn't know what to teach or how, it was that my students made me start to really question my belief in creation with their primate-like tactics.   No wait, that isn't even a fair statement.  First of all, primate siblings may "fight", but they don't have the reasoning skills to calculate the most effective way to thoroughly envoke rage in a sibling.  They just throw poop at each other or something like that.  My kids?  Well I had one little girl who was very enthusiastic about starting school, and when her brother wasn't the nicely behaved classmate she expected him to be, the control freak in her came out.  Brandon, her older brother can smell weakness like a tiger stalking a  field of caribou, so once he had her completely agitated, he just kept going. 

"God help me"....that's the  extent of my prayer life these days.  I can't form a thought long enough for a more eloquent prayer, so as my eyes roll back in my head I just clinch my lip and say, "God help me."  This is one reason I wanted to homeschool....to take the sibling rivalry head on, not as in a collision, but as a ram butting it right outta the house.  I felt that we could work on strengthening family relationships when we have time together, and I can put aside the math a minute for much needed lessons on respect, unconditional love, patience and understanding.   Well the lessons are happening, it's just me doing the learning! 

Oh I savor those moments when I see a glimpse of improvement.  They have been few in this historical first week of school.  I have learned that my kids have an unspoken rule....."We can't both be good at the same time...it would give Mom too much hope."  So, once I get Beth calmed down after she melts down over her inability to control Brandon, she gets back on track just in time for Brandon to start making Star Wars "Wookie" noises...the likes of which I've never heard done so well...except on the movie itself.  I looked up from my lesson planner just to make sure that furry "Chewbacca" thing or a sasquatch hadn't joined us, but there sat Brandon...grinning ear to ear as if he'd just discovered the new talent himself.  I don't know what came over me....I just had nothing left for trying to figure out the "teacherly" thing to do, so I just gave in to my urge to start laughing.  Of course, the more I laughed, the more he "wookied", and finally, I believe Bethany even cracked a grin too. 

Sometimes, humor is all you have left and it ends up being the best idea anyway.

Quote of the Day

"Truth is like fresh cream....it always rises to the top."

Zeke, the Olive Throat Conure

Meet Zeke, our obnoxious, insanely jealous Olive Throat Conure. To be more specific, that’s one of the feathered species in the parrot family. We heard he was supposed to talk, but when we tried to teach him a few simple words, he just stuck up his middle toe at us and made some pitiful little peep. (I know what he was really thinking.) If he were a person, he’d be a stalker. He waits until the phone rings to let out his signature high octave, ear piercing screetch, just in case the kids aren’t making enough noise during my calls. It's his duty you know. I just wish I could train him to do that on cue during one of those calls I wished I hadn't answered.  It's usually at those times that he just sits on his perch and stares at me like, "What? You want me to be quiet, right?"  If you have company, might as well just go ahead and stash him, cage and all in the closet, unless of course you want the company to leave quickly. I guess that being a member of a big family, he thinks he’s gotta compete for his share of attention.

We almost lost our beloved Zeke one time. Mike, my husband tried to trim his nails…a feat most bird owners save for the birdie doc. But being a gung-ho do-it-yourselfer, Mike just had to break out the clippers, seizing the opportunity to use a tool while proving his prowess as a doting bird parent. He quickly discovered why most bird owners take the trouble to visit the aviary spa when the nails get too long. One little clip too close to the blood vein in the toe, and your bird can bleed out in a matter of minutes.

Once we captured the fluttering, butchered up victim of an all too prideful pet owner, I was assigned the blessed duty of holding him down by wrapping him in a hand towel so Mike could apply pressure to the wound. It's a tiny little bird toe...how long can this really take?  Can't leak that fast and really, how much blood is there anyway?  A few minutes of his needle sharp beak digging into my flesh almost convinced me to just call it done and call the pet cemetery. Can we get another towel for my bloody digits please?

Well, the old "apply pressure" trick didn’t work. We remembered Zeke's previous owner telling us to try baking soda in one of those "if this ever happens" conversations. So, after the box of Arm and Hammer was flung about the kitchen by a screaming, bleeding out green bird losing feathers like he was blood, we were able to apply enough to the offended toe to stop the bleeding. Tragedy escaped that time, at least from the bird's perspective. Thank God the kids were in school then. We had to answer some questions about why there was white stuff all over the kitchen that day, but no homemade cookies.

Handwritten Memories

I think laptops and Microsoft Word are the greatest things invented since sliced bread. I love being able to type nearly as fast as I can think and compose assignments quickly. But, just like everything else that’s good, there are cons too. In this case it would have to be that cramping feeling I get in my hand due to lack of use just writing out a check or filling out my daily calendar. My "typing" muscles are at peak performance, but the little muscles used to control a pen or pencil are nearly atrophied. I've decided to work on that. Not so much because I feel a need to have physically fit fingers, but because I think we're losing an art with the less frequent use of handwritten notes and snail mail letters. When was the last time you got something nice in the mail, like a handwritten card from an old friend who moved away? I don’t mean the quickly jotted thank you note for the wedding gift, but a nice long letter about much of nothing on a pretty piece of stationary. Have you ever found something written down many years ago by an older relative?

About eight years ago, my mother and I made a trip to our hometown in Iowa to clean out my great grandma's house after my maternal grandma was moved into a nursing home. We knew that the relative who somehow obtained power of attorney was NOT who my grandmother wanted simply because he would not honor long standing family wishes regarding antiques and everything else that filled up the seventy-year-old family home. So, Mom and I began our incognito "operation clean sweep" of the little, but important things that we could cram into my mini van. We knew our grandmothers wanted us to have the household contents from years of conversations about the sentimental value and origin of everything from the pie safe to the McGuffy Readers. I swear Grandma had some sort of vision into the future because she knew before we were grown up exactly which extended family members would exploit family treasures, and who would preserve them.

 As I looked around the old kitchen for a place to start my packing, I spotted an area that appeared to be untouched by human hands for decades based on the amount of dust on the ledge. Sheer curiosity took over as I climbed onto a ladder to access one of the old stained glass cabinets that seemed about twelve feet above my head. I reached in to pull out a handful of cobwebs, then a small package covered in dust, wrapped in brown paper and methodically tied with string that was probably white at one time, now an aged yellow. It actually had my name on it clearly scrolled in the handwriting I recognized as that of my Great Grandma VerSteeg, dated 1-21-71. The writing at the very top said, "Keep for Valerie to look at." In larger print towards the middle of the package, she wrote "Crisco Cookbook, Old Perfection", then "pickle recipes". Choppy notes following were: "Looked for Eggplant- ans. = a casserole tomatoes, onion, garlic, etc. Whew! For 1st time I'm trying cut eggplant in cubes, scatter a little flour over, stir and brown in skillet some, then put in covered bake dish and bake- wonder what it will be like. I'm baking fruit cocktail cake and whiting fish." I guess she got the inspiration for the package idea before she got to taste the eggplant experiment. I was only two and a half years old at the time when she scratched her pen on the outside of that paper sack. What insight she must have had to be thinking that one day I would find that package that she carefully tucked away for me, never to be opened again until a date of my choosing.

 Recognizing the immense sentimental value of my find and the sheer luck that it fell into the intended hands, I tucked it away into one of my own cabinets waiting for God- knows-what occasion to finally peel the old brown pages apart and see what Great-Grandma saved for me. My kids knew about the package and on holidays, they’d suggest that might just be the day to open the treasure. To their dismay, I declined for eight years, imagining that one day I would orchestrate some sort of "ribbon cutting" type event worthy of the occasion. So, the package began collecting dust all over again in its new home.

 While having coffee on the patio with my husband and a neighbor one Sunday morning just weeks after my fortieth birthday, we were thumbing through cookbooks and somehow the conversation led to me deciding to finally forego the formal ceremony idea and simply open the mysterious package. As goosebumps covered my arms, hours passed so quickly as we carefully turned pages of cookbooks and clipped articles, advertisements and recipes dated as far back as 1919. Discovering historical artifacts was quite a thrill, but the real treat was in the decorated borders of handwritten notes beautifully scrolled with Grandma’s blue pen. Using her love of cooking, she was sharing bits of history with me before I could even read. Small anecdotes about local townspeople and farmers from whom she had received handwritten recipes gave me a glimpse into an unknown family past. A recipe for chili came from someone named "Faye", whom Grandma noted employed my great grandpa during the winter months cutting ice from the Des Moines River. We found handwritten, perhaps lost family recipes for chocolate cake and bread and butter pickles. Cookbooks and newspaper recipes published in the depression years of the thirties and the war torn forties were personalized with Grandma's notes on the side margins. The pictures were hilarious with the women sporting their high heels and tiny waisted dresses just to advertise lard! I was amazed to find an advertisement for a feminine hygiene product whose selling point was that they didn’t use bicarbonate mercury or other membrane-destroying acids. (Of course the header of that clip indicated it was for married women only.)

There was indeed a "Crisco Cookbook" but it was so old the binding was skeletal at best, and the cover, title page or copyright dates have yet to be found. The first yellowed page starts with the story of Crisco, and the next page has an article about the importance of giving children Crisco foods to aid digestion and avoid nightmares. (Must have been before the days of false advertising or the FDA). There was an annual calendar of suppers, one menu for every day of the year, and these were 6-8 course meals prepared from everything inexpensive and frugal you can imagine. Ever had a dish made with calf tails? Obviously they wasted nothing in those times. We found a 1919 advertisement for something called "The National War Garden Commission" that showed Uncle Sam directing a full color "army" of fruits and vegetables. I had to look that one up on the Internet. Apparently the movement was started due to the shortage of men working on farms worldwide due to WWI.

 I'll be making a trip to the historical society to find out the best way to preserve or display some of grandma's treasures. I will also continue handwriting my personal journals and start writing even more seemingly irrelevant notes for the future members of my family. Who would guess that a choppy note on a piece of scrap paper about what I made for dinner could say so much about our time? I guess this little brown package was a sort of "time capsule" from Great Grandma Dessie to me. She didn't write down her deepest thoughts or anxieties. (Judging by these recipes, I don't think she had time to do much writing OR thinking...just cooking all day!) I know she didn't have a computer or even a typewriter to make her notes to me, and I'm kind of glad for that since her own handwriting helps me remember her, and in a strange way feel close to her again. I know my future generations will have plenty of Microsoft documents I've prepared to browse through. But I really hope I will hand write something that will one day make my nieces, kids, grandkids, and great grandkids feel as loved as I did the day I opened that little brown package and remembered the warm times I had in my great grandma's kitchen. Her faded handwritten notes will be treasured forever.