A Southerner in a Snow Storm

I had heard about the impending storm for over a week. When the locals get scared…I get scared.

No, that’s not true…I panic!

I made Steve stop for milk. We already had 3 dozen eggs in the fridge and a fresh loaf of homemade whole wheat bread as well. We raided two Redboxes plus the local library for DVD’s. Shannon school enacted early dismissal. Steve came home from work at 3pm. We ate pizza, swam in the hot tub, watched movies…and waited.

When the snow began to fall, I could feel my stress level rising. I didn’t know what to expect. It didn’t help that I was constantly checking the internet and every homepage mentioned the Midwest being slammed with a blizzard or the people buried in their cars as they attempted to drive home.

Blizzard. A word I had heard before but never fully understood… until today.

Swirling snow.

The word “blustery” came to mind…which Steve informed me was not really a word, but

I swear I read it in a Winnie the Pooh book long ago. Regardless of its validity, it seemed to sum up the scene that was unfolding before my eyes.

But, I had to sleep.

When I awoke, I looked out the window with hesitation; utterly afraid of what I might see.

Now, I have a fairly active imagination. However, remember that I had never experienced a blizzard before. In this case, my imagination failed to prepare me.

Loser

The scene before me was indescribable

…unimaginable

…white.

Where was my mailbox?

oh, there you are.

Where was the car?

I think that's it.

Why was there a white curtain hanging from the roof?What was this?

Oh yeah, my first blizzard.

Steve began an attempt to carve his way to his car while I spent an eternity outfitting the kids in snow pants, hats, gloves, scarves, socks, boots, etc.

Shannon reverted to her happy place and grabbed a sand bucket…she was at the beach, building sand castle. Or in reality, a snow castle. Adam… he became the quintessential 2 year old who quickly became annoyed by his gloves, which stifled his creativity, ditched them, froze within seconds, began crying in pain, snot flowing, and finally had to be carried inside by Mommy for some cartoons. Still not one to be content, he cried at the door, disappointed that he was not included in the excavation activities.
After we cleared our driveway and helped a neighbor do the same, I took a quick walk to the grocery store for some guacamole. Yes, guacamole. Something tropical. Something on sale. Something to get me out of the house. Steve made an appearance at work, grabbed a few projects and clocked out before the roads began to freeze for the evening. At home and we homemade snow crème and salted caramel sauce while we congratulated ourselves on surviving our first of many blizzards. Salute!

Mmm, snow creme. Whipped it up, stored it on the deck. What? My freezer was full. My deck is what I call my "Iowa freezer". Best way to get your soup frozen flat in a ziplock bag.

Emergency Preparedness

= preparing for the worst but hoping for the best

Weather is a weird phenomenon.

Two things can happen.

Either 1) there’s minimal fuss and then BAM! huge, gianormous, catastrophic devastation…or

2) Maximum, full throttle hype followed by…nothing.

Sure, I had heard that the largest blizzard in 30 years was on its way, but I couldn't shake the memories of a few weeks earlier when Steve and I planned a day trip to Chicago with Shannon. A weather prediction of icy rain was in affect. But until I saw it, I wouldn’t believe it. Woke up bright and early…nothing. Drove to Chicago…nothing. Played around the city and drove home…small snow flurries. The end.

What did I fear from a potential monstrosity of a blizzard…cabin fever. More specifically, childhood cabin fever. More specifically…Adam. The energy of a split atom. Or in our case a split ADAM. Get it. Oh, that was bad. Anyways…moving on.

But, we are told if we prepare we shall not fear. In an attempt to exhaust the energy reserves of my 2 year old…we crossed the mighty Mississippi and descended into Moline, Illinois…home of John Deere. Tractor country…aka Adam country.

For 2 solid hours I protected these iron machines from my boy. But honestly, it's a tractor...how much damage could a 2 yr old inflict? I didn't want to find out.

He received a few warnings from the volunteers, but in the end, I think his “tank” was filled and we both went home feeling fulfilled in our endeavors.

Oh and in this story, the weather man was right.

Meet our dog...

I have a secret, that’s not too secret.

I don’t want a dog.

There, I said it. I’m free.

Steve says I led him on when we were dating. It was my love for our family dog at the time, Digger, that blinded me to my true feelings. When Digger passed, my inner feelings surfaced and I haven’t been able to deny them since.

I have a two year old.

He’s messy.

He’s loud.

He chases balls.

He wrecks the house.

He poops.

He eats off the floor.

He…

sifts through our garbage to lick the last smear of chocolate frosting from the Dunkin’ Donuts box. Why do I need a dog, when I have an Adam?

Really, he’s all I can handle. And love. This little guy pushes me to my breaking point, but then goes and gets his head stuck under the stepstool he wedged under his bed. And when I walk into the room to see why he’s crying, all I see are two little legs poking out from beneath his bed as he yells, “Help, I’m stuck,” and I’m laughing too hard to help him for a few seconds. Really, he’s all I need for now. So please, be kind and don’t judge me harshly.

I am not a pioneer

Each Sunday I drive my Honda across the 74 bridge on my way to our chapel located in Illinois. Without fail, every time I cross the semi-frozen Mississippi in my heated car, wearing my ¾ length 700 fill down jacket complete with fur lined hood, going 50 miles an hour, listening to my babies fight over animal crackers in the basket while listening to primary songs…the same thought runs through my mind.

I could not have been a pioneer.

How do you sleep outside when it’s 4 degrees, wind-chill -12…on a good day?

Oh, the body odor.

Oh the dried, stale, moldy, tasteless food.

No question about it. The Lord knew this and reserved me for a time when my climate temp was controlled by pushing an arrow button up on the thermostat. When toilet’s would flush at the flick of a finger. When the neighborhood grocery story would carry toasted hazelnuts. When the internet would have daily Groupons. And when items, such as a food scale, could be purchased at Bed Bath and Beyond with a coupons.

You see bread...it’s my nemesis. Attempt after attempt. Failure. I studied at the hands of many a master. Try as they may, it was to no avail. I picked up a few tricks along the way, but it never added up to a success. I just didn’t get it. How did the pioneers throw a dash of this and a pinch of that into a bowl, mix, throw it onto an open fire and come away it sweet homemade goodness? No Nurtramill grain grinder. No kitchen aid mixer. No temperature controlled oven. Are you starting to see the picture...as to why I was reserved for this day and age.

My family would have starved…or disowned me.

I have 150 pounds of unused wheat it my basement. A classic tale…someone was moving…didn’t want to haul food storage…we benefited. End of story. But are you really benefiting if you don’t know what to do with the stuff?

I had read that a scale helps to take the guesswork out of baking. Steve bought me one for Christmas last year…and I took it back. We were decreasing our carb intake and it wouldn’t have seen much action. So, I requested on, again, this year. That’s right. Asked my husband to go re-buy a gift he had already purchased, then returned, again. He’s a patient man.But I knew I would use it this year. 150 pounds of wheat, in the basement, staring me in the face every time I went to do laundry. I commenced food blog stalking…looking for recipes by weight. Sure, the fancy ones that taught you to make pastries fit for the Bellagio listed recipes by weight. But 100% whole wheat bread…not so much.

It’s wasn’t until I ran across a Romanian immigrant’s blog where she tested a recipe from Whole Grain Breads by Peter Reinhart, that I felt I had found something I could tackle, and maybe even win. Oh, and I also purchased a digital thermometer. Remember, I am not a pioneer. My first attempt was a complete victory. Finally, success! But was it a fluke? Luck maybe? Second loaf….just as awesome! Whole wheat pizza dough? Yum! Cinnamon raisin swirl bread? Sweet! So far, no failures.

I have purchased a total of 2 loafs of bread since the New Year. Let’s be honest with ourselves…French toast is best when made with the cheap, white trash white bread (I read a statistic that the lower level of education you have, the less whole grains you consume…hence I renamed white bread “white trash white”…in case you were wondering) and the cheese just doesn’t have the same opportunity to melt into every nook and cranny of homemade whole wheat bread.

Facts are facts.

So I would like to thank all of those you helped me get to the point I am today. A pseudo pioneer. I would also like to thank my family for willingly consuming my creations. Now, I’m off to consume some oat bran bread complete with flax and sunflower seeds. Oh, and I made kiaser rolls:)

P.S. I just purchased a groupon to Barnes and Noble so I could purchase Reinharts book. Again...not a pioneer!

Reverse Psychology

Love the Berenstian Bears. Have since I was…um, 3 maybe?

Naturally I needed to instill some of my good taste in my kids. But sometimes those plans backfire.

We live in America, right? The land of sweets and sugar. Aka junk food. My kids love it. Heck, I love it, but I do try to exercise some restraint. Again, another thing I’m trying to pass onto the kidos.

I thought maybe the “bears” could help me with this one. I enlisted the Too Much Junk Food volume to explain it in a clear, more friendly and age appropriate script than my usual rambling.

It worked! They ate it up, figuratively that is.

Adam was particularly taken with the book and began studying it on his own. I was so proud of my little man and his wisdom beyond his years.

Then, I started paying a wee bit more attention to Buddy.

I noticed he was naming all the different varieties of snacks.

He was licking his lips.

He was salivating.

Oh, no, it backfired!

At least I tried! Pass the Cheetos (baked that is)

The Naked Cowboy

Adam’s never been to New York City.

I’ve never been to NYC for that matter.

But somewhere along the way, he connected with the Naked Cowboy.

For starters, boys love being naked. Most of my childhood memories of my brother involve him nude in the backyard (mind you it was fenced in and bordered a field). Because of my previous experiences, I wasn’t completely shocked with Adam’s consist refusal of clothing. But when he started adding props…that’s when things became a little uncomfortable.

Magic wands that blink. Pink feather boas. Starting to formulate a picture?

So, when he came riding into the living room naked on his stick horse, it was somewhat of a relief. Ah. Ok. This has been done before. Maybe he’ll have a career in the streets of NYC one day…as the naked cowboy…and not something else.

Here was another photo that caused concern…Adam, prancing around in my shoes. He likes to keep my on my toes.

Blizzard Warning in Effect...

Do your run to the store for milk and bread?

Refill the Karosene heater?

Fill the tank with gas?

If you’re in the Hodgen household, yes, you’ve done all items listed above. But, it’s not enough. To truly ward off the “chilled to the bone” feeling that accompanies the worst snow storm in 30 years…

you must throw on your bathing suit and jump into the hot tub.

A bubbly 102 degrees is just right. Does a body good. Defrosts the toes. Follow this up with some whole wheat pizza and a DVD and you’ve got the prefect cure for a winter storm.
School dismissed early today and cancelled tomorrow. My greatest fears realized…we’re entering the Shining…

But they didn't have a hot tub, so maybe we'll survive. Maybe...