Rachelle awakened us at 5:15 one morning last week with news that water was coming into her room presumably from a broken pipe. Lance leapt out of bed to discover the source. I tried to go back to sleep and pretend that I didn't hear Rachelle. We have had way too many water woes over the course of the 20+ years we've lived in our house.
If there is to be any type of household emergency, the likelihood that it will involve water is about 95%. Really. And we've certainly had our share of water problems over the years.
There was the time when we all waited in the car while a unnamed child finished using the restroom. The child closed the door, got in the car, and then we were off to run errands. We arrived back home over an hour later to find water pouring through the ceiling onto the garage and basement floors. Apparently, this sweet child had unknowingly played a nasty prank on us by lifting the toilet tank lid and flipping the fill tank hose up so that the water ran continuously out of the top of the tank. That little incident required us to pull most of the new carpet up upstairs, replace ALL of the basement carpeting, call our insurance provider, have Service Master come to the house and suck up the water and place fans strategically throughout the house, and cause Sara to get 7 stitches in the palm of her hand because she slipped and fell and tore her flesh on the exposed carpet nails.
Another water emergency occured when my sister, Melanie, was visiting. She awakened us on a Sunday morning to say that water pouring into the basement from the upstairs. Toilet trouble again, only this time it involved yucky toilet bowl water from the toilet being clogged. It was a smelly, yucky mess.
When Zachary was about 3 years old, he yelled upstairs, "Don't come downstairs, Mom!" When I asked "Why?" he replied, "Because there's water all over the floor." Apparently, he wanted to drive his tonka trucks through water so he dragged the hose in from outside and was watering the linoleum and carpet. Fortunately, only about 1/3 of the floor was wet.
A few months ago, Lance went into the garage to retrieve some boxes from the shelves next to the door. When he moved the boxes, he discovered that the sheetrock was wet and was beginning to rot. The upstairs bathtub had a leak we didn't know about. That little repair cost about $1,500.
I could mention other disasters at our house that involved H2O, but just know that we've had many, and we don't like them.
Now, off into the rain I go!
Friday, November 30, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Lemon Roasted Chicken
You asked for it, so here is the recipe for Lemon Roasted Chicken:
1 roasting chicken (frying chicken will do)
1 lemon
Olive or vegetable oil
Kosher salt
Spray a roasting pan with cooking spray. Discard the contents of the chicken cavity (giblets, neck) and rinse cavity well. Place chicken in roasting pan. Prick holes all over lemon, and place whole lemon inside chicken cavity. Slather chicken skin with oil, and then sprinkle kosher salt LIBERALLY all over chicken. Roast the bird, uncovered, in a 325 to 350 degree oven for about 2 hours or until skin is nicely browned and meat is cooked. Enjoy!
1 roasting chicken (frying chicken will do)
1 lemon
Olive or vegetable oil
Kosher salt
Spray a roasting pan with cooking spray. Discard the contents of the chicken cavity (giblets, neck) and rinse cavity well. Place chicken in roasting pan. Prick holes all over lemon, and place whole lemon inside chicken cavity. Slather chicken skin with oil, and then sprinkle kosher salt LIBERALLY all over chicken. Roast the bird, uncovered, in a 325 to 350 degree oven for about 2 hours or until skin is nicely browned and meat is cooked. Enjoy!
Monday, November 19, 2007
Cruel and Unusual Mother
I'm really not sure why I'm admitting this, but, apparently, I am a cruel and unusual mother--at least according to Mark. Normally, I'm the apple of his eye and the "favorite parent," but not tonight. Tonight is Mark's first basketball practice of the season, and Mark and I had a wrestling match of wits before it started.
Those who are familiar with Mark's antics can understand why I will NEVER, NEVER, EVER again sign Mark up for a sport he doesn't want to participate in. I learned that lesson the hard way--the very hard way. It was the spring of 2005 . . . I really want to forget it, but the memory rears its ugly head every year during baseball season, and I am so grateful that Mark isn't "doing" baseball. I could write pages about that fateful baseball season of 2005; but, suffice it to say, it was awful. Awful for Mark. More awful for the coach. Most awful for me. After we barely survived that season, I marched down to the Lake Washington Youth Soccer Association office and "dropped" Mark from participating in fall soccer. When school started, Mark BEGGED to play basketball. I resisted. He persisted. I made him take an oath and write his name in blood (not literally, okay?) that he would enjoy basketball and would participate and behave. He was mostly true to his word and actually liked basketball. Last year, he asked me to sign him up for basketball again. I did. The season was even better than the previous one. We were on a roll--or so I thought.
Again, this fall, Mark asked to play basketball. After questioning his commitment (which I have learned to do) and being reassured that that is what he wanted to do, I paid the $65 (or some similar amount) and enrolled him in basketball again. His new coach called last week and told us that the practices would be every Monday night at 7:00. Of course, I told Mark about this, and everything seemed copacetic. "Seemed" is the operative word here.
Tonight at dinner I announced that Mark needed to finish his favorite lemon roast chicken and then get ready for basketball practice. Watching his reaction, you would have thought I had told him we were going to get all of his hair plucked out strand by strand and then have him run naked through the streets of Redmond. According to Mark, I had never obtained his permission to sign him up for basketball again and he wasn't going to play. Deja vu all over again. Well, I know what is important to Mark because he has been "punished" with this form of punishment before, but I told him, "That's fine. I'll take you out of basketball. But, I will take the XBOX 360 away until basketball season is over, AND you will have to pay me the $65 basketball enrollment fee." Here's where he used the word "cruel" to describe me. Maybe I am cruel, but I'm so weary of this little game he persists in playing.
After many tears and protests, he went to basketball practice--under duress, of course. His father accompanied him and is currently sitting there watching every move he makes. I suspect (and, of course, hope) that this will all blow over and that he will come to his senses and calm down. He usually does in these types of situations, unless we reminisce about that awful baseball season of 2005. I'll keep you posted (pun intended).
Those who are familiar with Mark's antics can understand why I will NEVER, NEVER, EVER again sign Mark up for a sport he doesn't want to participate in. I learned that lesson the hard way--the very hard way. It was the spring of 2005 . . . I really want to forget it, but the memory rears its ugly head every year during baseball season, and I am so grateful that Mark isn't "doing" baseball. I could write pages about that fateful baseball season of 2005; but, suffice it to say, it was awful. Awful for Mark. More awful for the coach. Most awful for me. After we barely survived that season, I marched down to the Lake Washington Youth Soccer Association office and "dropped" Mark from participating in fall soccer. When school started, Mark BEGGED to play basketball. I resisted. He persisted. I made him take an oath and write his name in blood (not literally, okay?) that he would enjoy basketball and would participate and behave. He was mostly true to his word and actually liked basketball. Last year, he asked me to sign him up for basketball again. I did. The season was even better than the previous one. We were on a roll--or so I thought.
Again, this fall, Mark asked to play basketball. After questioning his commitment (which I have learned to do) and being reassured that that is what he wanted to do, I paid the $65 (or some similar amount) and enrolled him in basketball again. His new coach called last week and told us that the practices would be every Monday night at 7:00. Of course, I told Mark about this, and everything seemed copacetic. "Seemed" is the operative word here.
Tonight at dinner I announced that Mark needed to finish his favorite lemon roast chicken and then get ready for basketball practice. Watching his reaction, you would have thought I had told him we were going to get all of his hair plucked out strand by strand and then have him run naked through the streets of Redmond. According to Mark, I had never obtained his permission to sign him up for basketball again and he wasn't going to play. Deja vu all over again. Well, I know what is important to Mark because he has been "punished" with this form of punishment before, but I told him, "That's fine. I'll take you out of basketball. But, I will take the XBOX 360 away until basketball season is over, AND you will have to pay me the $65 basketball enrollment fee." Here's where he used the word "cruel" to describe me. Maybe I am cruel, but I'm so weary of this little game he persists in playing.
After many tears and protests, he went to basketball practice--under duress, of course. His father accompanied him and is currently sitting there watching every move he makes. I suspect (and, of course, hope) that this will all blow over and that he will come to his senses and calm down. He usually does in these types of situations, unless we reminisce about that awful baseball season of 2005. I'll keep you posted (pun intended).
Monday, November 5, 2007
Three-Alarm Dinner
In keeping with Murphy's Law, a few months ago while Lance was on a business trip, I awoke early on a Saturday morning to the sound of loud chirping. The chirping was coming from our hall smoke detector. I tried to silence the alarm by pushing the only button on the alarm I could find, but to no avail. I mounted a step stool and tried to release the battery, but the battery was stuck. I pulled and pulled on the battery all while listening to the tortuous chirping. Finally I wrested the battery free from it's enclosure but broke part of the housing off in the process. I quickly showered, dressed (of course) and made a quick trip to the store to buy a new battery because, of course, we didn't have the right kind of battery at home. I arrived home to find my children still sleeping all snug in their beds unaware of the loud noises coming from the hall. I climbed back on the step stool and inserted the battery into the broken housing. Voila! NO!!! The chirping continued.
With my nerves on edge and my anxiety level rising, the next logical step was to grab a baseball bat and beat the tar out of the smoke detector. I came to my senses just before I resorted to drastic measures and decided to call Todd Olson, a friend and owner of his own appliance repair business. Surely he could help me. Todd arrived just a few minutes later, and it was obvious by the grass on his boots that I had interrupted his weekend lawn-mowing exercise. He was gracious and said it was no bother to help me out. It took him about 5 seconds to disconnect the smoke alarm. By this time Mark and Zachary were awake and watched Todd do his magic. Mark quipped, "I could have done that." Yes, I could have done it, too, had I known the "repair" was that simple. Todd noted that the smoke alarm was defective and suggested we purchase a new one soon. He refused payment, but accepted the loads of gratitude we showered him with.
Fast forward to last weekend. I purchased a pack of 3 smoke detectors, and Lance attempted to install one in place of the broken one, but I had bought the wrong kind. He installed one in the kitchen, however, and my sense of security increased.
It didn't take long to test the effectiveness of the alarm. I broiled flank steak for dinner tonight, and each time I opened the oven, the alarm went off. It even went off after I had turned the stove fan on and opened both kitchen windows. The noise was deafening and caused Mark to lose his appetite. He retreated to the basement. Of course, there is a smoke alarm down there, too, just waiting for its chance to sound off!
With my nerves on edge and my anxiety level rising, the next logical step was to grab a baseball bat and beat the tar out of the smoke detector. I came to my senses just before I resorted to drastic measures and decided to call Todd Olson, a friend and owner of his own appliance repair business. Surely he could help me. Todd arrived just a few minutes later, and it was obvious by the grass on his boots that I had interrupted his weekend lawn-mowing exercise. He was gracious and said it was no bother to help me out. It took him about 5 seconds to disconnect the smoke alarm. By this time Mark and Zachary were awake and watched Todd do his magic. Mark quipped, "I could have done that." Yes, I could have done it, too, had I known the "repair" was that simple. Todd noted that the smoke alarm was defective and suggested we purchase a new one soon. He refused payment, but accepted the loads of gratitude we showered him with.
Fast forward to last weekend. I purchased a pack of 3 smoke detectors, and Lance attempted to install one in place of the broken one, but I had bought the wrong kind. He installed one in the kitchen, however, and my sense of security increased.
It didn't take long to test the effectiveness of the alarm. I broiled flank steak for dinner tonight, and each time I opened the oven, the alarm went off. It even went off after I had turned the stove fan on and opened both kitchen windows. The noise was deafening and caused Mark to lose his appetite. He retreated to the basement. Of course, there is a smoke alarm down there, too, just waiting for its chance to sound off!
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Scripture Study
For tonight's family scripture study, we read in 3 Nephi 28 about the desires of three of Jesus' disciples to "never taste of death" that they might "bring the souls of men unto" Christ. I explained that these 3 Nephite disciples, along with John the Beloved, are still alive and on the earth today. Mark was awed, and quipped, "Maybe they're the ones who wrote 'Stayin' Alive!'"
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