Mama’s Boy, Always

THIS kid. 22 today.

The other day, Eric and I stood out at the pool deck and secretly watched him teaching. Not only is he good at what he does, he thoroughly enjoys it. And the kids & parents love him, too. THESE are the moments that make the long days in the CA sun worthwhile. Regardless of where life takes him (he’s still figuring that out), I hope he finds joy in his everyday. Remember this, always.

In the last 4 years, he’s learned that adulting is not always easy. There have been some hard lessons – some his fault, some caused by others. That with great power comes great responsibility. That there is no shame in going with Plan B… or C… or even D… That there will be heartbreak and disappointment and sometimes you are the cause and sometimes the effect. That he WILL fall and we will be there to say “get your ass up and move on.” Always.

We’ve learned that parenting an adult is not always a cake walk either. It’s a fine balance of rules, expectations, and limits. Of knowing which Anthony we’re talking to – the one that wants our advice vs the one that needs it. Of giving a boost instead of being a crutch. Parenting books and classes don’t prepare you for this stage.

We’re all still learning that being humble, kind, or just quiet is often the best choice. In the last year of having him back under our roof, there have been angry exchanges and testing of boundaries. But there have been many more amazing moments that remind me how fleeting this time with him is. The moments that make it all worthwhile.

Having him out on my pool deck the last 8 weeks has brought me more joy than I expected. I can prop my door open and hear him. He’s loud… like his mama. I pause on my walks to catch sight of him. We lunch together most days – his only break in his 15 hour day. Our daily commute and 7/11 stop. The way he gushes about the kids in his classes and how excited he gets when they draw him pictures and give him notes. Knowing how hard he’s worked this summer, balancing 2 jobs + school to finish off his degrees & save for a car. “Bye mama, have a good day.” A summer filled with everyday moments of happiness and pride.

He’s always been my mini-me; stubborn, strong-willed, passionate, opinionated, independent, sarcastic, anxious, impulsive, protective… He’s a mama’s boy through-and-through and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Remember THAT, always.

Shoe-ly you Must be Kidding

It’s been a while since I posted about shoes.  It’s not that there haven’t been shoe-nanigans a foot (Ha! Mom would have loved that one Juj).  It’s just that I’ve been a bit preoccupied with myself lately.

Generally, you can judge my mood based on my choice of shoes.  Hightops? I was willing to commit to the extra effort needed to get my non-bending foot in the shoe.  Not an easy task.  It also means Aaron has not stolen all of my socks.  Low top Converse or my Vans – I recognize the need for shoes but I just can’t totally commit right now.  Flip flops? I HAVE to wear something… No shoes? That can best be described as I have no intention of getting out of the car.

Lately it’s been flip flops or nothing.  Basically, if I have to put on shoes, the answer is no.

The pile of shoes on my porch has grown.   Aaron was asked to clean his room and he did.  Only problem is he bagged up everything as “trash”.  Fearing the worst, I went through every bag before they were disposed of.  I came away with MULTIPLE pairs of perfectly good shoes (including several pairs that were basically new).  For some reason, they are all still on the porch.  I probably should do something about that.  Tomorrow.

The singles are still there as well, including a few additions.  On a recent trip to the Converse store I discovered that they take old shoes and grind them up to make playground surface material.  How cool is that?  Have I taken them down to add them to to the collection box?  Nope.  But I saved this picture on my phone to remind me.

Because the pile of shoes that I literally walk past multiple times every day isn’t a big enough reminder?

For as long as I can remember we’ve had a basket at the front door to collect shoes.  We’re just not a big shoe wearing family and generally the first thing we do is SHOES OFF.  After years of being annoyed with the overflowing basket of shoes (mostly mine – not going to lie), Eric bought this monstrosity.  I FREAKING HATE IT!  Don’t get me wrong, he meant well but… If I could figure out another solution I would.  I swear, as soon as these boys move out, this thing is going, too! And notice, most of the shoes are near it, not on it. Also notice – there is at least one lone shoe there. That would be Aaron.

And, to top it off, the basket is still at the front door.  Actually, the shoes have begun to migrate over.  Apparently, they’re not a fan of the rack either.

Yesterday, Aaron showed up at my office during the break from his dance class looking for food and water.  “Mom, will you drive me back up to my class?” No… wait, where are your shoes?  He left them in class and walked across campus barefoot.  90 degrees plus outside.  Asphalt the whole way.  Dumbass.  Why does he keep doing this????

While we’re talking about Aaron, he got a new job and he’s already planned out what he’s buying with his first check.  Shoes (high heeled drag shoes, but still, shoes.)  The boy who can’t remember to wear shoes is spending his entire net worth on shoes.  It would be like me opting for raisin cookies.  Insanity.

There’s currently a pair of blue seude-ish high heeled boots on my pool deck.  Isn’t that where you keep yours?

It’s not just Aaron though.  Anthony’s taking ceramics over the summer.  Yesterday – “Damn it, I forgot closed toed shoes.” Today, I specifically asked him if he had his shoes before we left.  “YESSSSSS.” Complete with eyeroll.  I even suggested to him that he keep a pair of Aaron’s porch shoes in the car on the off chance he forgot again.  Narrator: indeed he did not have his shoes nor did he put the extras in the car.  As Juli says, “This is me not caring.”

Last week, WWIII broke out over… shoes.  Anthony is convinced that Aaron is stealing the insoles from his work shoes.  Aaron witnessed the dogs eating said insoles (he didn’t stop them but that’s another issue).  We’ve all witnessed the dogs eating insoles and shoes and socks…  I found one of the insoles in the backyard with a guilty looking dog nearby AND the shoes in question were literally chewed on.  Apparently, the dogs like shoes WAY more than the rest of us.  Did any of this abate the fight? Nope.

A week later, I am sure he’s still harboring resentment over Shoegate 2018. Likely because the outcome of his fight with Aaron was a side battle with me that ended in him walking the 2.5 miles to work when I pulled my car over with an ultimatum to let it drop.  Walked to work no big deal.  With no insoles?  You’d think after 19 years he’d know that when I say, “Don’t make me pull this car over”, you should take that shit seriously.  I would have even stopped at the store and bought him replacement insoles if he wasn’t being such an ass.

For the record, if Anthony had used Eric’s  damn shoe closet, the dogs likely would not have eaten the insoles/shoes.  I’m not saying it’s not needed.  I’m just saying it’s an eyesore and I hate it.

So friends, I’ve already kicked off my flip flops for the night. And no, they’re not on the rack. They’re actually in a whole other pile nowhere near the front door. Yeah, I have issues.

May You Be Grateful

OK so, I’m a day behind. #shocker

Yesterday was full – work and kids and drama and stress.  An emotionally and physically draining day.  No break from 7-6 so when I found myself with the house all to myself for an hour I kind of wanted to check out.

Like so often when that happens though I found myself straightening up the house.  OK… really bitching (WHILE cleaning) about being the maid for four people who really should be able to turn off lights, or sweep up dog hair, or put their dishes in the sink, or their trash in the can, or their dirty clothes in the hamper…

I wasn’t feeling especially grateful.  I was just tired and annoyed.

I bitch a lot about things that other people would be grateful for.  First world problems – we all have them.

I’m working on perspective.

Truth is, I have a life that keeps me busy, a house to clean, people & dogs to share it with me, and occasionally a little time to myself to appreciate it.  I need to be more grateful for that.  It would, at the very least, probably make the tasks more tolerable.

Lately, I’ve been working on showing genuine gratitude to those around me.  Sending thank you notes, just because – not for the receipt of something.  Thanking my co-workers for the little (and sometimes big) things they do that make my job easier. Telling my friends how I much appreciate them always being there for me.  Like the house and the clutter, I was finding myself not appreciating the people that surround me.  And that’s a shame.  I’m getting better at thanking others, and recognizing the part they play in my daily life.  (Not perfect, still working on it.)

All too often, I think that what I do at work or at home or in the world is thankless or not even seen.  That leads to resentment which is what got me to this point in the first place.  So, I’m also trying to thank myself more – recognize and appreciate the role I play in all of this.  True gratitude like so many other things, I am learning, comes from within.

Thank you for being here.  Thank you for taking this journey of self discovery with me.  Thank you for listening.

 

What’s in a Name?

I’ve been asked to be a facilitator at an upcoming equity & multiculturalism workshop.  Eric questioned what expertise I have in this area, something I’ve questioned of myself over the last two years.  What can a middle aged, white girl from the San Fernando Valley bring to the table?

For one thing, I can bring my name – and the stories of the names around me.

I came into this world with not one, but two names.  An English name and a Hebrew one.  Growing up with mostly non-Jewish friends, my Hebrew name was something used only by my grandparents and my Rabbi.  (To this day, I hear “Shayva Rivka” in my grandfather’s Eastern European accented voice.)  It was a name chosen by my mother to honor the memories of people important to her – an Ashkenazi tradition that I continued with my own children.  So why be ashamed?  Growing up, I just wanted to be like everyone else.  Eat the same foods, celebrate the same holidays, have sleepovers on the weekends.  Having another name was just another reminder of how different I was and as a kid (and even as an adult) that was just not cool.  It took intensive cultural training for me to explore this and convince myself that being different was what made me… me – and that was certainly cool.  My Hebrew name and my mother’s wedding ring are the two strongest ties I have to her now that she is gone.

My mother gave the same gifts to my children, selecting each of their Hebrew names even though she knew it was highly unlikely that they would ever use them.  Oddly enough, the most unexpected of the boys does.  My mother named Anthony, Chaim Velvel – Life Wolf.  A name that he has embraced.

Ironically, Anthony’s name is the only one we did not choose.  It came with him – at 3 already a big part of his identity.  It was a part of him and the idea of taking that away never crossed our minds.  We added his middle name in a nod to my father.  A reminder that some things are within our control and somethings are not, and that’s (generally) ok.

28 years ago I gave up my father’s name in lieu of Eric’s. At the time it allowed me strip away years of personal heartache as well as the cultural stereotypes that come from having a “Jewish last name” (remember I was pretty intent on assimilation). I now carry a surname that I have little connection to. A name I often have to correct the pronunciation and spelling of. I am not German like Eric’s ancestors and when asked “what Herchenroeder is” (an odd question in the first place) my first reaction is to be snarky and answer “my husband’s last name”. My connection to the name is in the context of Eric and the boys – TOGETHER we make H5. I have been a Herchenroeder longer than I was a Weisman, and it was only recently that I began using my maiden name publicly in an attempt to find childhood friends (thanks Facebook). After nearly 3 decades, my connection to Weisman is tenuous at best – even my 1st cousins spell it differently, yet another name story.

Having a name that is constantly mispronounced has made me conscious of my spelling and pronunciations of others’. So much so, that I recently took a Spanish course specifically to help me with pronouncing Latino names. I still often butcher them, but I’m trying.

The most amusing (and annoying) part is when a stranger says, “Herchenroeder? Do you know…?” Umm how many of us locally do you really think there are that I wouldn’t be related to all of them? Seriously? It’s not Smith or Brown or… It’s fricking Herchenroeder! And while we’re on the topic complete and total stranger, yes it IS long and no, my children did not struggle to learn how to say or spell it.

When I buried my mother, I made the decision to engrave all of her names on her headstone; her Hebrew name, the name everyone knew her by (Bubbe Malka), and her English name including all of the last names she carried through her life.  Her ties to her childhood, to my father, and to Dan who she cared for in their final years.  Each of these names was a piece of her, and made her who she was – both to herself and to the world.

My grandfather’s last name was Kohen, with a K. His children were all Cohens, with a C. I always assumed he changed his name to avoid the law or a jilted girlfriend, he was a bit of a sketchy character. When I found his naturalization certificate from 1926 I was shocked to see his name spelled with a K. Another name story, this one likely lost forever.

When I started at Chaffey, my boss asked me what I preferred to be called.  Sheri.  “Sorry, that name is already taken by 3 others.  Go by Sheryl – you’ll be the only one.”  So, for the first time in my life someone other than my mother, a school official, or the IRS was calling me Sheryl. It took years for me to realize they were talking to or about me. Now, once again thanks to Facebook, Sheryl is how most people know me.

I have a friend whose daughter is transgender.  As part of her transition, she has changed her name and that got me thinking about how strange the whole idea of naming a child is.  Names are determined by people who have never met you, often long before your entry into the universe.  That name is yours for all your days – and beyond.  How strange is that?  Like something out of Lois Lowery’s The Giver. When people refuse to use a name that a person has chosen for themselves, what are we saying to them?  Your randomly assigned designation is more important than how you see yourself, who you have developed into.

I’m not perfect by any means.  My oldest friend has selected a name for herself.  I call her Omi, because to me that is who she is.  When I introduce her to others I call her by her chosen name, or at least I try to.  I need to be better about that.  I need to honor what she wants and I need to be more diligent about it.  Because, when you love someone that’s what you do.

You can judge what circle someone knows me from based on what they call me. So many names… Sheryl, Sheri, Sher, SherBear, Mrs. H, Mom, Mama. I even have a friend that calls me Herchenroeder – easily the oddest choice. It’s pretty comical when the circles intersect and people are genuinely confused. I get it. I get confused, too.

So who am I? As I near the mid century mark, I’m still figuring that out. Whether that’s in the context of birth name, cultural name, maiden name, married name, or nickname – each has helped to build the woman I am and each is important in its own way.

Right now, THAT is what I bring to the conversation. No longer assimilating – celebrating ALL that I am and each name THAT represents. Hopefully my story inspires my colleagues (and now my followers) to be understanding and empathetic, to address people in their chosen way, to be respectful of cultural differences. To never, ever, rename someone simply out of their own convenience.

And yes, you can still call me Sheryl.

Anaheim Packing District

When looking for something cool for the boys and I to do on our Adventure Day yesterday, I happened upon a listing for the Anaheim Packing District. I’m not sure how we’ve never been here – it’s 100% US!

So many choices!

Basically this place is like an upscale mall food court without having to go to the mall. The best part is that with so many stalls there was literally something for all of us. No fighting. And no drive through. 

We walked through most of the 2-story food paradise before making our choices. 

Aaron and I decided on Vietnamese at Sawleaf. I had the pork belly bahn mi, Aaron had the steak fries. Basically, the first place he saw fries he stopped and go no interest in looking any further. Not much out of his comfort zone but he did eat the five spice aioli so there’s that. His fries were skinny and crispy and the steak tender. 

My bahn mi really hit the spot. The bread was crispy and soft in the center, the meat was tender, the salad crisp and fresh. I missed the daikon I’m used to but the fried jalapeños added a nice bite. The sauce was a bit sweet for my taste but eaten as a whole, a definite A. 

Anthony opted for the Snoop Dawg at Doggone Good Sodas and Dogs with a side of loaded chili. 

The dog had buffalo sauce,  bourbon bacon, and ranch. Paired with a light IPA and he was a happy boy. 

J was the last to decide and he was deliberating between the short rib poutine and the bbq cheeseburger version. While I was waiting for my sandwich, he came up asking what poutine was. Once he heard smothered fries, he was sold. Aa should have waited because Kroft had tons of amazing choices. J’s burger fry concoction was HUGE! Fries, a burger patty, cheese, sauce, fried onions. The fries were larger than Aaron’s and overall a better choice, too. 

Since we were headed to find the chimney cakes (which ended up being 2 blocks away) we didn’t get desserts but future trips will include ice cream bars, snowballs, cotton candy covered drinks, and giant ice cream novelties. 

This place is pretty hipster. $3 valet or try to find a spot on the local streets – we opted for a free lot down the street. Oh yeah, free WiFi, too. Food was about $10/person. Anthony bought his own beer so I have no idea how much he shelled out for that. 

The posts that wouldn’t be OR ramblings for a Thursday morning

So many things I could have written about over the last month but I just wasn’t feeling it.

There have been adventures…

E and I went down to a cool, private botanic garden in Fallbrook a few weeks ago without the boys.  We’ve been trying to spend more time together without them.  It’s all about balance and learning how to be a couple again after being 2:5 for so long.

There were goats, lots of rustic crap, and some yummy food.

Side note: this was my first time on the 395 in Fallbrook since the accident and I think I handled it pretty dang well.  I don’t think I’ve put last year’s accident behind me but maybe I’m desensitizing a little.  Now if I could just stop seizing up every time I see a car roll in a movie.

Last Sunday I asked E if he was in the mood for a sandwich.  (AKA easy way to get him to go somewhere that he likely would not have wanted to go in the first place.)  My ulterior motive was a scrapbook store that had lost its lease and was having a close out sale.   Instead of reminding me that I have enough crap and that I had just been at the expo the day before – all he asked was if it was the store with the comfy chair.  Like I said, sandwiches get me pretty far.

Katella Deli for a shared sandwich – after 30 years we’re getting better at sharing one meal rather than bringing home a ton of leftovers.  (We’ve officially turned into that old married couple with one meal, two plates, and two glasses of water.)  It’s all about compromise and finding something we can both not just tolerate but enjoy.  The winner? A combo of pastrami AND corned beef that was taken apart so that we each got exactly what we wanted – his side with yellow mustard and mine with brown and both slathered in coleslaw.

I miss deli SO much!  It reminds me of my dad and it is IMPOSSIBLE to find anywhere near us.  We both commented on how the sandwiches at Katella seem to be shrinking.  I also noticed that the clientele was all our age and older.  Although they were packed, like always, I wonder if after we are gone, Katella will be as well.  My kids don’t get excited about deli the way we (still) do and I cannot imagine them driving an hour to get a sandwich.  I hope I’m wrong.

There was scrapbook… shopping…

I keep sitting down to craft and nothing comes out.  Kind of like my writing – over the last few weeks I’ve been dry.  I was hoping walking around the expo with Lisa would solve that.  All it did was enable me to buy more stuff.  When I went to put it away I realized between the expo and the store, I’ve managed to buy a bunch of duplicates.  I REALLY need to organize again and get some stuff done.  Crop signed up for Thanksgiving weekend so I have the incentive, now I just need the motivation.

I did play with alcohol inks a few weeks ago and made some cool tile coasters that are still sitting in the family room waiting to be sealed.  THREE WEEKS LATER!

I probably should get on that.  I was so excited about the tiles that I went out and bought 9 more bottles of ink and some more tiles so that we could have a family craft night – ummm yeah… not sure when exactly the planets will align for us all to be home together but it was a nice thought.  The newly purchased supplies are also sitting in the family room; a constant reminder that we all lead WAY too busy of lives.

There was also a trip to Sam’s Club the other night to get a ginormous cinnamon roll.  Went for the roll, spent over $200 on stuff – mighty expensive pastry.  It would have been cheaper to get us all Cinnabons!  FYI Cinnabons would have tasted better, too – ours looked NOTHING like the Delish article.

Or caramel apples… I’ve been craving one for at least a month but the one at Myrtle Creek was disappointing and I cannot justify $10 at Rocky Mountain.  E saw that they have 13 varieties of apples on sale at Sprouts this week and I suggested that he buy one of each kind and we have an apple taste-off.  I even offered to make caramel dip.  Nope, not a self-serving suggestion at all.  😉 We’ll see if he comes through when he goes shopping.  If so, there WILL be a DIY caramel apple bar in our future!

Aaron tagged along on a trip up to Idyllwild last week.  E needed to site supervise the placement of the chapel he designed at Camp Emerson and I went along so he didn’t have to drive up alone.  Not sure why Aa came with except that he thought he was getting breakfast which apparently is NOT the same thing as run through the drive through at Mc Donald’s – good to know.  After we were done at Emerson, Aa DEMANDED “real food” so we stopped in town.  We walked around for a little bit – how have we never walked around Idyllwild despite the hundreds of trips we have made up there???? Happened upon a store that sells HAND-DIPPED ICE CREAM BARS! I search FOREVER for ice cream bars and the one time I find one I am too stuffed from eating TWO breakfasts?!?!  Good thing I can guarantee that that will not be my last trip up there so at some point, there WILL be an ice cream bar in my future.  Damn you Costco for taking them off the cafe menu! Curses!

There was a bunch of random ass shit, too…

The other night I was getting into bed and Anthony asked me why I was going to sleep in my work clothes.  I was wearing Rudolph pajama pants.  Either I’m way overdressing for sleep or I need to step up my work clothes from leggings.  Probably the latter.  Probably not going to happen though.  #leggingsarepantstoo

I finally de-Halloweened the front porch.  Took that nasty spider web crap off the trees.  That shit is worse than tinsel.  They’re both like holiday herpes!  Aa is already talking about Christmas so I am sure it’s only a matter of days before one of those damn trees is setup in my house.

Speaking of Halloween, we went to Target last week and bought about $20 in candy.  When candy is marked down 50% off that’s a shitload of candy.  I brought one bag of Reese’s to the office with me because I live with damn locusts.  E may have a few bags of Skittles hidden.  The GIANT bag on the counter is at least half way down! Locusts I tell you! (In all honesty, it’s mostly Aaron.)

The Mystery Oreos are STILL sitting on the kitchen counter from almost a month ago.  We tried them and they were just SO tasty that more than 1/2 the package is still there almost a month later.  Since it doesn’t look like anyone is going to eat them, I might need to find something else to do with them – maybe scrape the filling out and use the cookies for a cheesecake crust? Other ideas?  Want to know what we thought of them?

That being said, I just saw that they have limited edition Hot Cocoa Oreos out now.  Yeah, THOSE will be in my cart, most definitely.

Monday night I finally was able to stand on one leg. WITHOUT FALLING OVER! We’re nearing the end of yoga class so apparently the damn optimists were right and persistence does indeed pay off. Who’d have thought?

Last week, I read Dan Brown’s new book Origin.  We saw Thor: Ragnarok.  We rewatched the original Kingsman movie in hopes of seeing the sequel which is pretty much not even playing anymore.  We still haven’t watched season 2 of Stranger Things – once again trying to find a time when we can all watch it together so that no one is an asshole and spoils it for anyone else.  Yeah, not sure when/how THAT will ever happen.  It’s been a no go for the new season of Orange is the New Black, too – every time I sit down to watch it some kid starts asking me questions about characters or plot lines or the criminal justice system – sheesh, just watch it from the beginning and stop yammering on so I can hear what they are saying!

One last thing, there may have also been donuts as big as our heads, too.

The last two months of the year are filled with madness.  I have an adventure day with the boys scheduled for tomorrow (Veteran’s Day observed). Band is winding down – only 2 more performances to go!  2nd Annual Thanksgiving with the Weiners. Our 18th familversary.  Feeding pomegranates to and riding camels – YES REALLY!  CHINA!!!! Hanukkah/Festivus/Christmas.  E’s last birthday starting with a 4.

Holy shit that’s a lot of stuff – and I’m sure it’s not a complete list!  Despite the mayhem and chaos, it will be filled with family, friends, laughter, adventures, and shenanigans.  Definitely shenanigans! Because of course they are MY assholes children…

Until later llamas…

My mom had 2 fake boobs

Breast cancer took my mom. Not directly. Not immediately. But 30 years later the lingering effects lead to her death.

I don’t remember clearly her fight with breast cancer. I couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9. It wasn’t something the family discussed. The “C Word” was whispered (literally they said “the C Word”) and it wasn’t until I was much older that I understood why I got to spend weeks with my aunt and uncle or why we spent so many afternoons in the waiting room at City of Hope.

It was the late 70s.  Like so many other things, it just wasn’t something we ever talked about.

The surgeries left her with a flat, scarred chest. The chemo replaced her greying wavy hair with straight brown locks. She wasn’t happy with either. She wore a wig, then took to having her hair “frosted” grey and permed. She got fake boobs.

It was the late 70s. They were silicone. They leaked.  Years later she had them taken out but the combination of removed lymph nodes and the damage caused by the implants left her with no immune system to fight off the infection that eventually took her.

I’ve watched too many around me deal with this. Breast cancer runs in my family. My mother wasn’t the first; she wasn’t the last either.  I’ve had my own scare. We all have our stories. Stories of faith, and hope, and too often loss.

40 years later, I still remember that City of Hope lobby.  I’m about the same age as she was. It’s why I go for annual mammograms. It’s why I get nervous when I feel anything new. Why I TRIED to stay strong when Juli had to go for a biopsy that thankfully was negative. Like my mother’s chest, her breast cancer left me scarred.

This is MY breast cancer awareness month story. Someday, maybe we won’t have these stories to share. Hopefully.

It’s about to get spicy around here

Eric & I have a thing for food tours. We’ve been to Ben & Jerry’s in Vermont. The fortune cookie factory in a sketchy alley in San Fran. Beecher’s cheese at Pike Place and Eli’s Chresecakes in Chicago. Coca Cola in Atlanta. Dr. Pepper in Waco. Coor’s in Colorado. Ethel M & Hershey’s? Check and check. Tequila & rum distilleries. Yes, those, too. (Of course!) and not 1 but TWO Jelly Belly factories.

So, to have the sriracha factory 30 minutes away from us… no brainer! Once a year, Huy Fong opens up their factory and welcomes spicy lovers in to burn their mucous membranes and see where the magic happens.

We’ve been before. In 2014, shortly after Anthony left for college we took the tweedles. Anthony’s response? “Why do you wait for me to leave to do cool stuff?” Ummm we did cool stuff throughout your childhood! I have the scrapbooks to prove it!

So, now that Big is home, we decided to go back for Chili Grinding.

First things first, don these attractive red hairnets. Anthony was obsessed with the giant blow up bottles and could not understand why I didn’t want one living in my house. Yes son, your room still constitutes IN MY HOUSE.

This year, David Tran, founder and chili guru was greeting guests! Better than taking a pic with his cardboard cutout.

The factory is insanely clean. I’d like to think all factories are this clean, but yeah. Probably not.

It’s annual chili grinding time so I grabbed a Kleenex and off we went.

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I passed on the chili and opted for sriracha ice cream instead. YUM!

Anthony dipped into his bag of snacks – popcorn, chips, and jerky. Then immediately to the complimentary bottle of water. LOL

They may not make tear gas, but this stuff can still bring tears to your eyes. 

Huy Fong has THE best gift shop filled with questionably appropriate apparel! I picked up a new Awesome Sauce T-shirt and grabbed some stuff for the tweedles. Anthony was still jonesing for the giant inflatable bottle. NO. Then he saw this sweatshirt…

Me: You’ll never wear it.

Random stranger: Yes he will and then you’ll regret knowing him.

Me: Too late.

Before leaving, Huy Fong hooked us up with free hats, shirts, and bottles of sauce. Pretty awesome way to celebrate the Year of the Rooster!

Who are we kidding? It’s always the Year of the Rooster when you’re cock sauce lovers.

“Can’t screw these up” Cookies

OK I’m not much of a chef. No one, and I mean NO ONE, is signing up to eat my cooking.

What can I make? Baked chicken. And even E would argue that one.

Boys are hungry? There’s always cereal. Or scrambled eggs.

But when it comes to baking, I’m the one. And one of my go-to recipes is based on cookies E’s grandma made. I’ve altered it over the years and you can add and subtract and still literally not screw them up!

Want them healthy? Add wheat germ or flax. Have a variety of chips or candy pieces leftover from other recipes? Throw them in. Granola or toasted coconut? Sure, why not. No nuts? That works.  Like nasty ass raisins? I guess you could put them in, too. Not sure why you’d want to though. YUCK!

Last night, I was craving cookies but after taking the butter out to soften, I discovered we were out of eggs. When we got home from the grocery store, we were short the soft butter. #thanksdogs

Try #2: today, we’re short on oats and vanilla. No problemo.  And chips? A mix of peanut butter, semisweet, and dark that finished off 2 bags I found in the refrigerator drawer. I offered to throw mini M&Ms in but E said, no.  Next batch – if the kids (and E) don’t finish off the bag.

The original:

Unlike most recipes, this one is so forgiving you don’t have to be precise about measuring, no sifting, and don’t bother folding in the chips and nuts. It makes no difference so just dump it in and go. Why can’t all cooking be this easy?

Today’s batch came out thin and crispy probably because I ran out of oats. (BTW you can use quick cook, steel cut… heck I’ve even used packets of instant oatmeal.)

Bake until you can smell them – or for those that insist on timers (REALLY?) they bake for about 10 minutes.  And don’t be my children (or dogs), cool them for a few minutes on a wire rack or you’ll burn the hell out of your mouth.  You’ve been warned.

What do you need besides the ingredients? A decent mixer, cookie sheets, silicone baking mats, cookie scooper (mine is from Pampered Chef), and a wire rack. You probably should have a place to hide them from your “helpers”, too. #thanksdogs

Want to REALLY kick these up a notch? Make cookie sandwiches with either frosting (gag) or ICE CREAM! Dip them in chocolate and you have homemade It’s Its. OMG!

These cookies are my absolute favorite.  Besides how easy and quick they are to make, they hold a very sentimental place in my heart.  Whenever E and I would go up to visit his grandparents, there were ALWAYS cookies in the freezer waiting to welcome us after the 4 hour drive.  A freezer literally filled with Pringles cans of cookies.  And, chances are a can (or 2) was snuck into the car as we pulled out of their driveway a few days later.

So, unless your dogs have eaten your butter, go bake cookies for your loved ones.  Or yourself.  No judging here.

 

It’s all about THE cake

I’m not a huge fan of CAKE. I know… shocker. Mostly because of frosting. I’ve been known to scrape it off and leave a pile of that crap behind on my plate.  Especially the flowers! UGH! (Frosting lovers, you may want to sit close to me at events.)

Our wedding shove it in your mouth moment? Mine was tiny and nearly frostingless. I want to like it. Honest I do. But I just don’t.

My Aunt Gertie used to make me chocolate cake with no frosting. But she’s long since passed and the guys in my life like frosting. Especially the Crisco & sugar frosting in a pinwheel cake*. GAG!

I can tolerate it when sandwiched in a whoopie pie or when eating a cupcake the right way.  I think because the frosting doesn’t actually touch and coat your mouth. Literally, GAG!

So imagine my delight when on a rare trip to Stater Brothers I encountered THE best chocolate cake ever. Like EVER! Super moist. No frosting.  Don’t have a mess in my kitchen from baking? Perfection! (And no, the Costco version is not as good. Bigger but not as good.)

Now, don’t go criticizing my grocery store cake. I’ve eaten at high end bakeries and cake shops my whole life. I grew up in the back of Brown’s Bakery for Pete’s sake. But THIS CAKE is it.

When I’m feeling like crap, I’ve been known to text one of the guys and remind them of their love for me. And usually, I share. But not this time.

It’s just been a hell of a summer. And damnit I deserve the cake.

And for once, the boys respected the note.  Even Anthony’s damn dog stayed away. I guess NO ONE wanted to tempt the Wrath Of Mom.

Stick a fork in me people, sometimes, I’m just DONE.

Next time, I’ll share. Maybe.

*I promise a post about pinwheel cake in the future.