Food and Nutrition, 2016 style

Ok,  yes, ... this makes me laugh.   Laugh at myself.  Because it's so, ... ludicrous.  Not ludicrous in general, for everyone.  But ludicrous for me.  Considering my whole homemade foods/slow foods/kind-of-sort-of-natural foods preferences.

I work at a place called Kay's Naturals.  They produce and market processed snack foods.  High protein, low glycemic, gluten free snack foods.  But still grab and go processed snack foods.  This kind of food is not generally in my scheme of cooking and providing food for my family.  And it's definitely not in my budget for providing food for my family. And I find word "natural" kind of ironic.

But I do realize that there is a market for such foods.  And if people want them, if they provide a marketable consumer good, hey, go for it.  And do it well.  Which I think Kay's does.

In that spirit, I tell people about our products.  I take samples home to share with those who might be interested.  (It's part of the marketing at Kay's to allow their employees to do this.  I'm not stealing.  Just saying.)  And I sample them myself, so I can make suggestions to those who ask.  I've been working there about six weeks and I've not yet sample all 19 of their products, so it's not like I'm pigging out on them or anything.

Besides making high protein, low glycemic snack foods, Kay's also makes and markets 3- and 7- day meal plans.  These meal plans include individual sized servings of Kay's snacks throughout the day plus suggested foods to complete the meal while keeping the lowcarb, high protein aspect.  I think they are also low fat.  My understanding is that since most people eat much junk food and high-carb, highly processed foods anyway, this plan gives a framework someone could use as a foundation to start to eat healthier, and maybe lose some weight.  These meal plans can also be a useful tool for those with blood sugar issues, since they have a low glycemic index, and snacks are included throughout the day.

A few people at work had been talking about (procrastinating over) doing a 7-day plan.  I decided to do it, too, and we decided that this is the week.  If it goes well, the sales staff can use our experience with it in their promotions.

This is Day 2.  I'm eating my Cinnamon Almond Cookie Bites as I type.

Getting back to my original sentence about this whole business making me kind of laugh to myself, here's the deal.

While on the seven day meal plan, we can eat as much fresh vegetables as we choose.  There are a variety of acceptable fruits that can be eaten at certain times of day.  The rest of the plan is as follows.

For breakfast each day we have a Kay's cereal and some lowfat yogurt.

1) Yes, I'm in a breakfast cereal rut.  And yes, an argument could be made that the high protein cereals from Kay's are better than the pencil shaving stuff we have been eating until theMom gets her act together (store brand Cheerios, Rice Krispies, Corn Flakes, Corn Chex, and an occasional bag of Golden Puffs).  Ideally, when I'm in the groove, I prepare a hot cereal, eggs, potatoes and meat, or a homemade low sugar baked good.  I would not consider cold cereal for a "jump start your healthy eating" plan.

2) Nonfat vs regular yogurt?  I'd much prefer to have those 8 grams of good dairy fat than the pectin to hold the yogurt together.  And their suggestion of low sugar?  When I'm in the groove I make my own plain old white unflavored yogurt.  But these days I've been splurging and buying the quarts of plain yogurt.  I am so used to it, forget that some people use the word yogurt to mean something flavored and sweetened.   When the kids have friends over and I serve yogurt, they sometimes wonder what it is.

Midmorning snack.  A Kay's individually packaged processed snack.  I rarely eat a midmorning snack.  So here I am on a "diet" (oh, I mean meal-plan), and I'm eating a midmorning snack.

The noon meals consist of some sort of processed convenience food plus the Kay's product, a high protein chip or puff or snack of some sort.  The suggested pre-packaged entrees are a variety of Progresso soups, a Weight Watchers or Amy's frozen selection.

I confess, I did buy a handful of store bought soups during the the first month or two after our recent move.  But besides that, I can't tell you when the last time was I bought canned soup.  And frozen entrees?  I do buy an occasional pack of frozen burritos when I know Joe's going to be gone.  Frozen pizzas during the first months following our move.  And for my first week of work.  Before our gluten-free days (when I only had five or six kids to cook for) I'd allow myself the indulgence or luxury of one meal of fish sticks, one meal of corn dogs, one meal of frozen ravioli, and one meal of frozen pizza each month.  That was our big "naughty" eating.

And here I have a healthy eating meal plan that wants me to use these foods.  I looked at the frozen foods section at Wal-mart, but I just couldn't get myself to spend our family's money on any of the suggested items.  I'll fill in with other high protein, low carb home cooked items.  But I can't promise they'll be lowfat.

Mid-afternoon snack.  A Kay's individually packaged Cookie Bites.  Oh I'm loving this diet!  Cookies every afternoon!

And for supper I'm supposed to eat a big salad with lemon juice for dressing, topped with the Kay's recommended chip for the meal.  I confess I'm still using my olive oil.  Another healthy fat. (There's a note in the pamphlet that warns, "1 tbs of olive oil is 120 calories."  Oops.)  I almost always use plain olive oil for salad dressing.  I'm so used to it I think nothing of it.  When my big kids come back home or especially when they bring friends, they have to dig around to see if there's any dressing around.  Sometimes we do have it, if some church member has given us some or if there is some left from a church function that they want to get out of the church fridge.  I'm going to make a mental note to make some more exciting homemade dressing when they come next.

100 calorie treat in the form of a healthy snack.

Oh yes, I almost forgot, we're encouraged to drink as much calorie free beverage as we want: diet soda, sparkling water, or bottled water.  I'd love to be able to justify drinking a few cans of sparkling water now and then.  Again, another one of those things that makes me think, "Wow, I get to have a LaCroix?"  But for the budget, I think I'll stick to plain old tap water with a few cups of plain black coffee thrown in.  I hope that's OK.

So that's the meal plan.  I don't doubt I'll lose weight.  But not because of eating healthier.  Rather it will be because I'm paying attention to portion size and carbs.

If I have time, I'll do a little write-up for each day, what I've done and what I've changed.  And I'll be sure to report any weight lost during the week.

And a final note because I've become so insecure these days about how I write things, I mean no disrespect toward those who eat and cook differently than I do.  I realize I have notions regarding food and health that might be strange or extreme to many.  I realize that cooking and budgeting for all of us mandates us to live more simply and to limit our discretionary food and beverage purchases.  And I also realize that even with my high standards for what and how I cook, I certainly do not do it perfectly.  I just lately feel like I'm kind of sort of getting back my brain and organization enough to cook well after all the chaos of our last year.

How do you solve a problem like Mary?

Frantic search in all the usual places for the car keys this morning so Joe could go to town. Then one of the sisters suggested, "Sister, considering it's Mary, I suggest you look in someplace UNusual."

I thought back to the last time I drove. Tuesday. Coming home from Bible study. Late. Sharon waiting here to help pack, and me not home to direct her. McDonald's bag from previous day on the floor of car. Grabbed it and the two cups and threw in dumpster on the way into the house. Dumpster empty except two McD cups and a bag. No keys. I'd have seen them.

I'd have seen them, right? I really wouldn't have been so dumb as to throw away my car keys?

"Which dumpster, Mary?"

"Uh, ... I'm not sure. Maybe that one," replied Mary hesitantly, adding to herself, "Let's hope so, since that one has nicely tied bags and the other one is full of loose garage detritus."

Joe removes the nicely tied bags from the one he's searching, while I grab garbage bags and start to fill them with the gunk from the other.

Joe found a McD's bag at the bottom.

"Did you find two cups?"

"No."

"Check again."

"No cups. Just a bag."

"Shoot that means it's in this one."

Joe repacks all his nicely tied bags.

I dump the dumpster all over the driveway and Joe joins me in digging.

A few minutes later Joe exclaims with great relief, "Here they are!"

What a dope I am!

Conversations upon Waking, Six and Seven year old style

"We never learned to drive on icy roads."
"Nope, just good roads."
"And just slowly and carefully."
"I dreamed that we were staying with Sharon and Sharol, and Daddy told them to drive safely  because it was bad roads, but they just zoomed anyway."
"Was it fun?"
"Yes.  It was.  But kind of scary, too."
"I know who Lana's grandkids are.  The Nelsons.  Kjerstin and Kehan, Ashlyn, Ellie, and Eli."
"And Maddie.  Maddie are her grandkids, too."
"Is.  Maddie is her grandkid."
"But Maddie has that baby, too.  Malaya.  So it's are.  They are her grandkids."
"But you can't say Maddie are.  You have to say Maddie and Malaya are.  Or Maddie is."
"Mo-om, Maddie and Malaya are Lana's Grandkids, too, right?"
Mom steps in her for a moment, "Yes, they are.  Brad and Lana are blessed with many grandkids."
"Yawning doesn't mean you're tired.  Sometimes it just means you need to stretch."
"Yeah, one time I yawned when I didn't want to sleep."
"Remember when Dad made us stay in our room because we were crabby.  And I fell asleep, but you didn't?"
"Yes.  I never fall asleep in the day."
"I sometimes do."
"When Quinn came over, you were sleeping when we got home from school."
"And we watched Frozen."
"Except you didn't see it all because you were sleeping."
"But I got up and had a snack and then watched it.  Quinn loves Frozen."
"She likes Anna.  I like Elsa better.  I like Elsa because she's pretty.  But I like Anna because she is good."
"Elsa has purple eyelids."
"Purple eyelids!?!"
"Yes, because that's how she does her makeup."

Home again, home again, jiggety jig!

To Grandma's, to Grandpa's! Got everything done, 

Dishes and sweeping and vacuuming some. 

Laundry was washed, dried, and finished just so,

Put into duffel bag, ready to go,

For mom and four littles, for church and for play.

"Everything's ready, let's get on our way." 

Got down past Wadena, we're almost half way! 

"Mom, where's the bag?" we then heard Stella say.

"Did anyone bring the big duffelbag out?"

Nobody answered.  Oh, what a rout!

One hundred and fifty miles in our big rig

Home again, home again, jiggety jig.

There sat the duffel bag, nice as can be, 

Looking so lonely by the Christmas tree.

Kids all to bed and now Mama's done, too.

We'll get up at six to try start number two. 

Learning to forgive

Inge and Donna both have the flu.  Not the stomach variety, but the influenza.  The fever, aches, chest congestion, painful cough. 

Inge:  I don't want to play Outburst Junior.  It's not fun for me. 
Donna:  I won't play with you if you don't play with me first.
Inge:  Weeeeelllll, we could go outside first and then decide.
Donna:  Ok.  Well, no, I'm too tired to go outside.
Inge:  I remember last, last, last year when you locked me outside in the winter.
theMom jumps in:  You shouldn't remember things like that.  You need to forgive Donna, and then don't think about it anymore.
Donna:  You can't forget things you try to.  The more you try to forget, the more you remember.
theMom:  But you can forgive, so that it doesn't feel so angry in your heart.
Inge:  Maybe that's why my head and throat hurt so much.

What's on the counter?

Any guesses?

This just stinks!

It's been a rough week.  And busy.  We've had two girls leave for college: Sad.  Teen car troubles: Frustrating.  More teen car troubles: Frustrated and angry teen.  A trip to Fargo: Tired mom.  A member passing away, to make the second week in a row with a death in the parish: Tired Pastor.

We're leaving tomorrow to attend the Bethany Lutheran College parent orientation and opening service.  We'll stop first at Joe's parents' for the night and then attend church at the congregation of their parish that has the early service.  We plan to stop on the way to Mankato to see Joe's Grandparents. 

We hope to get to see Elsie and where she's living, and meet part of the couple she's living with.  We'll hopefully get to see Jeremy and perhaps eat lunch at Five Guys where he works.

We're planning to stay Sunday evening with Ryan and Marie M.  Marie's dad was a seminary classmate of Joe's.  Marie used to help me with Jeremy when he was a baby and she was just nearing babysitting age.  It will be fun to meet her husband and children.

After that we continue Monday morning on to Madison, WI, to see the "old gang."  We're going to be staying with my cousin Claire, who is not part of the "old gang," but part of the "new gang."  Claire is a handful of years older than I am, so I didn't know her well when we were growing up.  But I have enjoyed getting to know her through facebook.  And as it happens, she's friends with some of the "old gang."  It will be wonderful to see everyone.  

But also bittersweet, as one of our "old gang" is suffering with what appears to be terminal cancer. 

Oh, Beth, we love you so.  We are caught between wanting you to stay with us, and knowing that you will be out of suffering when you are with our Father in Heaven.  Our selfish hearts don't want to let you go.  But we pray with all the saints, "Kyrie Eleison! Lord Have Mercy!"  and, "God's will be done!"

 ~   ~   ~
On a more mundane note, and to explain the origins of the photo I used to symbolically represent our week, I'm going to share a story from this morning.

I did get one walk in this week, with my friend, Lana.  We walked this morning in a light drizzle before the downpours and hailstorms that came later.  Everything is so nice and green now.  It had gotten really dry the last several weeks.

As Lana and I left the driveway this morning, we were greeted by a nice fat black skunk lying on it's back, looking for all the world like a fat kitty waiting for his tummy to be rubbed.  He was dead, of course.  But still nice looking.  He didn't stink at all, which was strange.   At first we had a hard time deciding, the way he was lying there, whether he was a cat or a skunk.  Most of his stripe was underneath him, and there are several black and white cats in the neighborhood. 

We passed him by, giving him wide girth, and continued on our walk.  As we were heading home, Joe passed us in the car, on his way to his funeral planning meeting.  He pulled over and lowered his window. 

"Mary, I don't have time, but I'd like that skunk off the road.  Do you think you can move him a little bit, and I'll carry him further over when I get home."

"Um, ... He doesn't stink at all.  Can't we leave him there."

"No, if someone hits him, he'll spray.  And then he will stink.  And that stink will blow right into the house."

"Oh, OK, I can probably manage it.  But only for you, Dear."

Lana and I giggled and laughed nervously the rest of the way home, wondering how I'd manage to move the skunk.  After we got back to the driveway, I headed up to the garage to get the scoop shovel and Lana headed to her truck. 

"Lana!  Aren't you going to stay and give me moral support?"

"Oh.  I'll stay if you want.  Do you want me to?"

"YES!!!"

After fetching the shovel, we walked back out to our well-bloated friend.

We joked about whether it would be worse for him to spray his skunk smell, or if he burst open from being bloated.

I started the procedure at the head end.  It wasn't quite as swollen there, so I thought there'd perhaps be less risk of him bursting, and I knew I didn't want to be at the hind end if he sprayed.  I slid the shovel under.  And gave it a little push.  It slid a little further yet. 

But after I got the shovel under the skunk about half way, as it got under the swollen stomach area, I found I could get no further.  The skunk's bloated belly was like a filled water balloon.  If I pushed from one side, it all rolled and flopped and jiggled to the other side. 

Ugh!  Lana and I talked over different solutions.  And finally we decided to just push him gently with the shovel until he slid off the roadway, and then let Joe worry about moving him further away later. 

As I slid him onto the shoulder, though, he simply rolled over onto his belly.  And stood up.  Really! 

Lana hooted, "Mary, look!  Look how he's standing there!"

And he was indeed standing there.  He was so fat and bloated that his head stood straight out from his body, looking for all the world as if he was still alive.  As if like Lana and I, he was just out for his morning walk. 

I couldn't find Joe's camera to take his picture right away.  So what you see in the picture at the top is from this evening after several downpours and at least a couple of hail storms.   He has sagged some throughout the day, so that his head is drooping a little bit. 

It reminds me of that old Bill Cosby skit about the British, and how proper they are,  "I'm so sorry to be leaning here, but it seems my life is leaving me."

Detective Mom and the Mysterious Case of the Missing Beans

Earlier this week I had to clean out the chest freezer a bit to have room to flash freeze the blueberries.  One of the things I removed at the time was a baking dish full of refried beans. 

Periodically during the course of the week, I have wondered what I did with those beans. 

They certainly are not in the upstairs fridge. 

The question that kept tickling in the back of my mind was, "Did I put the beans in the basement fridge or leave them sitting somewhere within arms' reach of the chest freezer?" 

About a day after I took them out, I remembered them.  "Oh, good thing I remembered them now, thought I.  "They will still be thawing and therefore useable." 

But at the time I had this thought, my hands were occupied with fixing that days' supper. 

"John, run to the basement and see if you can find a baking dish of refried beans anywhere."

John looked at me as if to ask, "The basement's a pretty big place, Mom.  Anything more specific."

So I continued, "It would either be in the basement fridge, or sitting among the heaps and boxes and shelves nearby."

and then I immediately forgot about it. 

Until later that night.  "John, what did you find out about those beans?" asked I.

"They aren't anywhere, Mom." 

"Hmmm," thought I.  "Hopefully they are in the fridge and he just didn't recognize them as beans."

and then I immediately forgot about it. 

Until yesterday.  I remembered them briefly at some point in the afternoon, but not long enough to check on them. 

This morning, I checked myself.  I wanted to use the missing beans for supper and was so hoping I'd find them in the fridge. 

With a little bit of fear and trepidation, I opened the fridge. 

No beans.

"Perhaps I put them back in the freezer," I thought, still feeling somewhat hopeful.

With a little bit of fear and trepidation, I opened the freezer.

No beans. 

With much fear and trepidation, I scanned the the heaps and boxes and shelves nearby.  No beans did I find. 

By that time, I confess, I was a bit frantic.  Where in the basement would I find a baking dish of spoiling beans?  And more worrisome yet, when?  How long would they sit spoiling before I happened on them in some strange and mysterious nook or cranny?

In one last desperate attempt to find the beans, I turned to the further side of the room. 

And there they sat.  Among the painting stuffs.  Balanced carefully atop the Blueberry Grove semi-gloss. 

And balanced smoothly atop the beans, the somewhat discolored film of some unidentified colonization.

It's a Beautiful Imagination!

"I'll play slapjack with you."
"Ok, but we have to play with Lilian and Alyssa, too."
"Who are Lillian and Alyssa?"
"They're my two friends.  See?"  Donna pointed to a black dog beanie baby and a pile of fur.
Sophie looked up at me rather quizzically.  Then returning her attention to Donna, she replied in a skeptical tone of voice, "Lillian ... is ... a tail."

Donna is without younger siblings today, since Joe took the other three littles along to his parents' house to attend a cousin's funeral. 

I was left here with Clara, Sophie, and Donna.  Matt is at his two week annual training for the Marine Corps.  Louisa and Elsie are working nights; so they sleep all day.  It's kind of like a vacation for me.

I was not sure, though, how Donna would do without any other littles.  My kids have never had to be alone, to find things to do to occupy themselves on their own. 

But I needn't have worried with Donna.  She came out first thing on this gloomy rainy morning, dressed in one of the princess dresses.  She had a little beanie baby friend and a tail.  A black fur piece of tail from some preserved animal pelt.  She held up the tail and showed me the "ears" and the "nose."  And introduced me to Lillian. 

Then she proceded to enact all sorts of stories with these friends.  After many other adventures, "they" decided to play slap jack. 

Alyssa won. 

Donna showed me several times throughout the game how thick Alyssa's pile of cards was growing.  She had me look to see how eagerly Alyssa jumped onto the card pile when a jack came up.

Poor Lillian just couldn't compete.  She lay lazily off to the side and did not seem altogether engaged in the game.

Eventually Sophie finished the drawing she was doing nearby.  Apparently She felt bad for Donna having to play slap jack alone, as Sophie naively thought.  And so Sophie offered to play with Donna.

"I'll play slapjack with you."
"Ok, but we have to play with Lilian and Alyssa, too."
"Who are Lillian and Alyssa?"
"They're my two friends.  See?"  Donna pointed to a black dog beany baby and a pile of fur.
Sophie looked up at me rather quizzically.  Then returning her attention to Donna, she replied in a skeptical tone of voice, "Lillian ... is ... a tail."

Sophie was very patient and kindly played with Donna.  And her two friends.  At some point Sophie and Donna decided it would make the game go a little better if each of them "acted" one of the friends.  Apparently Donna had a few extra rules with which Sophie was unfamiliar, because I heard the following interchange:

"What kind of rules do you have?  I've never played with these rules."
"They're the Poptropica rules."

Hmmm.

I got a phone call, and had to leave the room.  But when I returned, Sophie was gone.  But Donna, Alyssa, and Lillian were still playing cards.  This time Go-fish.  It's so fun to watch her asking her friends if they have one or another card, and then she looks at their cards and answers.  And in turn, she asks on behalf of one of the others for some card the friend needs.

Just now Donna exclaimed, "I'm winning!" 

Oh? really?

The Tale of the Run-away Pants

It happened once in a a land far away that a busy, stay-at-home mom indulged herself by purchasing, (brand spanking new, even) a pair of black dress pants.  This pair of pants, a small thing to some, helped boost her spirits at a difficult time.  On several occasions, she even got compliments (!!!) on her looks while wearing them.

School conferences, school programs, funerals, even evening church services ... This busy stay at home Mom no longer had to choose between a skirt or her grubby stay-at-home-mom-jeans.  She finally had something in-between to wear for those in-between occasions.  A strange and unusual phenomenon. 

And so she wore those pants. 

About five times.

Until they disappeared.  Really.  Poof they were gone.

Poor woman  No more in-between outfit.  No more compliments.

But summer was coming on, which meant several things for this woman.  The warmer weather and end of the school year meant fewer in-between occasion.  The summer vacation from school and the family's outdoor work and pleasure meant piles of laundry backing up inside.

"When I catch up on all those piles of laundry," thought the tragic heroine, "I'll surely find those naughty pants."

But alas!  Fall came and with it a return to normal schedules and normal household routine.  The laundry heaps slowing disappeared.  But the pants did not return.  They had apparently run off to seek their fortune in a new locale. 

And so the poor, busy, stay-at-home-mom spent another winter attending various in-between type functions either over- or under-dressed.

Until day by day, snowstorm by snowstorm, throughout the cold and blustery weather, the winter passed.  Slowly the days lengthened.  Slowly the temperatures warmed and the snows receded.

Finally, when spring was fully come, the woman spent a frightening and somewhat dangerous week helping her nearly grown son clean his room before he left home to join the military.  Oh, the things she found!  The monsters that reared their ugly heads from the canyons and mountains of her son's room!

In one of the deep, dark recesses of the room, while fighting dragons and saving the local maidens, her son happened upon the missing pants. 

Together with her son, the mother rejoiced in this happy event.  Parties were thrown.  That which was lost had been found!

Throughout the summer months, this mom wore her pants.  Not often, since the summer days and schedule were upon her.  She looked forward with pleasure to the coming fall and winter in-between occasions when she could again wear her nice dress pants and get compliments on her looks. 

But before those days came, those vexing pants once again ran off.  They were nowhere to be found.  The laundry heaps disappeared.  The rooms were cleaned.  All the usual hiding places were examined.  But to no avail!  The mom even braved the not quite so deep, dark and daunting mountains and canyons that had again begun creeping into her son's room.  Just in case those pants were drawn back to their previous abode.

So once again, the tragic heroine spent another fall and winter attending various in between type functions either over- or under-dressed.  Poor, poor woman.

But day by day, snowstorm by snowstorm, throughout the cold and blustery weather, the winter passed.  Slowly the days lengthened.  Slowly the temperatures warmed and the snows receded.

When spring was fully come, the woman's husband spent a frightening and somewhat dangerous afternoon cleaning his dresser drawers to make room for all the folded clothing his wife had despaired of putting away for lack of space.  Oh, the things he found!  The monsters that reared their ugly heads from the canyons and mountains of his dresser drawers!

Until finally, in one of the deep, dark recesses of the dresser, while fighting dragons and saving the local maidens, her husband happened upon the missing pants.  And wonder of wonder, the black pants had with them a pair of khaki pants.  Being of a slightly smaller size, these khaki pants had not been missed by the busy (and somewhat overweight) woman.

And so the woman rejoiced once again.  Parties were thrown.  That which was lost had once again been found! 

But alas!  The woman was hesitant to even try on the black pants for fear they would no longer fit.  And so her joy was tempered with sadness and frustration.

The moral of this story?  Don't buy new pants.  Even if you like the compliments.  They are crafty beings who tend to run off and hide for months at a time.

Afterword:  The return of the pants might be just the thing this poor, busy, stay at home mom needs to get herself in gear to lose those extra pounds she's carrying around.  Perhaps by fall, when once again the in-between occasions show up on the schedule, perhaps by then, our tragic heroine can once again wear her in-between pants and get compliments on her looks.

The Old Gray Mar, she ain't what she used to be.

I was slapped in the face the other day with the realization that I am getting old.  I'm like middle aged!  Crazy, right?  This realization makes a kind of a funny story, so I'm going to share the whole silly shebang.

As I was clicking through the photos Joe posted of our recent trip to Washington for my dad's funeral, I saw this picture. 

It's a picture of my cousin, Paul Hinderer, and my Stella sitting on some older woman's lap. 

I remembered that conversation.  I was sitting just off the picture further to the right.  I could not for the life of me remember who we had been visiting with.  That older woman?  Who is she?  Who was it that we'd have known well enough that Stella would climb up in her lap?

Finally a different day entirely, I was clicking through the pictures again.  Found this same shot and again, went through all the people we visited with and who was sitting where, and WHO in the WORLD is that lady?!?!

Suddenly I noticed the sweater and realized it was me!

Crazy, ... I don't really have that saggy cheek do I?  Those lines around my mouth?  I'm not that old, am I? 

But yes, I am.  I will be 47 in June.  I'm middle aged. 

I do still have a few vanities, however ... I'm still the old brunette Mar, although the silvery streaks are there in and with the brunette.   I maybe ain't what I used to be, but at least I get to wait a little longer to be the Old Gray Mar.

Interesting Reads While Waiting

Lilly Pullitzer velvet men's trousers, circa 1970

Yesterday I had one of our several rumble down autos worked on.  Kelly L. helped me get the car started and followed me into town to make sure I made it safely.  He was also going to give me a lift home, if I needed to leave the car for any length of time.  Since Kelly had some business to transact at the Freedom Living Center, I waited in the very well-appointed main sitting room there until he was done with his business. 

While waiting, I picked up a Martha Stewart Living.  I have kind of a love-hate relationship with the whole Martha Steward thing.  The love comes, of course, from all the decorating ideas she promotes.  Her taste appeals to me.  The thought of having leisure to care how, for instance, the tops of my pie crusts are decorated, or whether the latest fresh flower arrangement is seasonally correct has some draw.  But there's the rub.  It's all so silly.  So vain.  So polar opposite of the reality in which I live. 

But every once in awhile, I like to peruse the pages in some waiting room or another.  Truth be told, once, ... I even bought one.  What a silly use of that $7.50 or whatever it was.  I can't imagine now what possessed me.  I must been gratifying some indulgent need for the fantasy of living a pampered existence.

Two of the many things I passed over yesterday stuck in my memory.  The first is an indicator of how Northern Minnesotan I've become.  The title of the article was something like, "What's your favorite big game recipe?"  Really?  Big game recipes in Martha Stewart Living?  I had to look twice.  And then thrice.  Then I scanned the recipes and was momentarily confused.  Chip and vegetable dips.  Appetizers and finger foods.  Crock pot fare.  But nothing that looked like it contained venison, elk, or moose.

"Aha!"  thought I.  "Big game.... I bet they're talking about a sporting event.  Perhaps the super bowl."

I checked the cover, and sure enough, it was the February 2013.  Big game recipes.  I get it now. 

I giggled at the thought of finding wild game recipes in Martha Stewart Living.  The whole East Coast chic thing doesn't really seem to fit with taking a rifle and firing it at a wild animal.  Those cute and fuzzy, noble beasts, falling to the ground and bleeding out.  The eyes that a moment before gleamed with life, fading to dull.  The skinning and gutting.  Just the notion cracks me up.  ""What's your favorite big game recipe?" 

The second article that caught my interest was on collecting.  The magazine featured a handful of collectors, photos of their collections, and a brief interview of how they got started and where they find their pieces.  

A colorful patchwork blazer for the man in your life

or perhaps trousers with an aquatic life theme?

Grassland birds?

And for the very fanciful man, fuchsia unicorns

One of the collections was Lilly Pulitzer Men's Stuff.  Wild floral prints.  Animal designs.  Bright citrusy colors.  For men. 

According to the article, they were quite the thing among the upper crust Palm Beach golf set.  It totally cracks me up. 


Lilly, whose mother was heiress to the Standard Oil fortune, was educated in all the best schools for a young socialite of the time.  She married a Palm Beach area citrus grower, who also had famous connections, being the grandson of the Pulitzer after whom the prize is named.  Lilly opened a citrus drink stand for the upper crust, in one of Palm Beach's premier shopping areas, just off Worth Avenue.  She discovered she needed clothing that would camouflage the juices that got splattered while working.  She designed a handful of sleeveless dresses to wear while working.  Her brightly colored dresses were so well-liked that she started making them to sell to others, and so began the line. 

Imagining the 1970s upper crust men wearing these prints on the golf course and while socializing tickles my imagination.  What a colorful time!  Do a google image search on Lilly Pulitzer Men's Stuff to see a far wider variety of colors and designs than I have shown here.

"A top lip? Why did you give me a top lip?" AKA, "Happy Birthday, Donna!"

Thank-you Heavenly Father for my family.   And especially for my Donna LouElla, who turns six today. 

Tonight at Donna's birthday "party" our kids did the typical routine of digging out all kinds of their own things to give to the birthday person.  This used to drive me nuts, but I see all the joy they give each other, and so I've come to enjoy watching them open the usually immense haul.

So what if Stella gave two pairs of worn out shoes?  "Shoes?  Stella, why did you give me your old shoes?  And broken flip-flops?  Stella!"

So what if Stella also gave Donna the fox fur that Sophie gave Stella, when Sophie cleaned her room and didn't like that pieces of it were crumbling all over the place?  "Fur?  What will I do with that?"

Does it really matter that Stella also gave Donna the big Teddy Bear that used to be hers.  But that was before she had given it to John at Christmas.   Oops, forgot about that, I guess.  John didn't care, though, so I guess it's all good.

What about Inge who just goes through the house picking up whatever fits in the bag?  Regardless of it's rightful owner.

Clara and Sophie purchased their offerings at the Dollar Store this year.  I suppose that's a step up.  They have a little money burning a hole in their  pockets, you know.  Donna is excited to try her sidewalk chalk and she likes her star shaped sun glasses.  "Do you know who Lady Gaga is, Mom?  She always wears things like this."

I laugh at the kids, but I'm not much better.  I picked up one dollar store item, and one new little thing from the Wal-Mart toy aisle.  (That one just about kills me, since the new stuff is such junk these days.  I just know all these little Polly Pocket outfits will be torn apart in a few weeks.  Or Polly's head with be cracked and no longer stay on.  I feel like I ought to get the kids something "real",  as in something new, just for them.  It's usually nothing much.  But it's so hard to part with our money when the toys are so cheaply made.)

Oh, and I also pulled my usual stunt of forgetting to wrap one of the gifts.  I had found a little skirt on clearance a month or so ago and tucked it up in my closet.  So that ended up wrapped in a bandana.

Some of the kids' gifts are usually wrapped in newspaper, others in reused gift bags.  Some are wrapped in tissue paper, or other paper they find around the house. Coloring book pictures, or drawings.  The kids make little cards to put on all their things.  Some put a separate card on each item, and the messages are very sweet.  "To someone I love, From Inge."  or little hearts and flowers.  or a "portrait" of the birthday child. 

I love to see the thoughtfulness and generosity these little tokens show. 

The crowning moment tonight, though, came when Donna was reading one of Sophie's cards.  She was looking at all the little drawings and sounding out the words. 

Then suddenly she said, "A top lip?"  We all kind of looked at each other.  We weren't sure we heard her right. 

Sophie came closer to see what Donna meant, as Donna repeated the question, "Why did you make me a top lip?"  We all laughed while we waited for Sophie to interpret the apparent misunderstanding.

"It's a heart, Silly!" 

For some reason that just tickled me.  What on earth would someone draw a top lip for?  To represent half a kiss?  Sophie and I really got the giggles talking about the various possibilities of what this strange and new symbol might mean in a greeting card.

Later when Donna asked Stella, "Why did you draw a flower and a heart?"  I couldn't resist answering, "I guess she couldn't figure out how to make a top lip."

Redneck or Ingenious; Hillbilly or Creative Genius

A fun little glimpse into the world of Mary and Joe.  Hope it makes you smile. 

Synod Convention Memories

Our church body, the Evengelical Lutheran Synod (ELS), has a meeting each June in Mankato, on the campus of Bethany Lutheran College.  The pastors of every congregation, plus two delegates, are the official attendees, but others can attend and listen to the papers and the business discussion. 

It's a time of reunion.  Many people bring their families.  There is also a music camp and art camp that week on the BLC campus, so older kids often attend one of those.

We haven't attended for years.  For a variety of reasons, but the one that's easiest to explain is that it's hard for Joe, with his Gluten Free diet, to stay in a hotel and eat restaurant or cafeteria food for a week.  The first year he was GF, he did attend, and camped in our little trailer and grilled on a little grill right in the parking lot.  That worked well. 

But that was many years ago now.  Many things have changed. 

Joe is planning to attend again this summer. 

The kids and I will not be joining him. 

But thinking about convention, and hearing other friends on fb talk of it, reminded me of this fun story of the the last time all of us went.  At least it's fun now.  At the time, spending the week camping in 90+ degree heat and humidity, being six months pregnant, chasing after six small children... well, it was more frustrating than fun. 

But like many things in life, it makes a good story years later.

The last time we all went, I was expecting John in September.  So Sophie would have been 1 1/2; Clara 3; Elsie 5; Louisa 7; Matt 8; and Jeremy 10.  We camped at the Land of Memories campground.  It was extremely hot and humid, which it always seems to be during convention. 

The kids and I bummed around in the park during the days.  I had two umbrella strollers, which helped to contain the littlest ones.   We took walks and explored.  We also had an enforced quiet time in the afternoons with books and quiet activities planned.  We spent a day at the playground at Sibley Park with several other young moms and kids who we had known when Joe taught at Bethany. 

By by Wednesday, I was pretty fried.  Kids were naughty and whiney.  Joe was frustrated, between trying to help me with kids and also spend time relaxing with his friends, plus the stress of whatever was going on at convention that year. 

We decided to go out for supper that night to get a little air conditioning.  This was before GF days, so we could still do that more easily than now.  We went to the Wagon Wheel.  If I remember right we were pleasantly surprised by the quality/quantity vs price for feeding a family such as ours.

After a supper of trying to keep the passel of little ones in line, in a public place, we sent the four oldest into the restroom to wash up.  Jeremy and Matt to the mens' room.  Louisa and Elsie into the womens'.  After a while, we realized that Matt and Jeremy had not returned in an acceptable amount of time.  Joe went in to check on them, to see what was going on. 

Yes.

They were playing.

With the soap.

I don't remember for sure if it was a foaming soap, or if they had simply foamed up the regular soap.

At any rate there was a sinkful of foam.  A sinkful!  Bubbling out to other surfaces.  On floors and walls and mirrors.

Joe sent them out to me.  And he cleaned up their mess.

After which we went immediately back to the campground, in a heat of anger and frustration.

And we packed up to leave.  We left Mankato at about 8:00 pm and drove home that night.  Joe just skipped the last day of the convention. 

I remember that the Northern Lights were phenomenal that night.  Really.  I've never seen anything like them since. 

I also remember that I had to wake Joe up after Akeley.  I missed the corner heading north.  In my inexperience of puling a trailer, I didn't slow down quite enough, soon enough to make the corner.  I came to a stop a few yards past the intersection. 

"No problem.  I can just back up that little ways and then head north.  There's no traffic out here at this time of night," thought I to myself.  "Besides, I used to drive tractors with trailers on Steve and Collete's dairy farm.  How different could this be?"  I figured I could handle it without waking Joe.

Yes, well, such was not the case.  In my attempt to back up those few yards, I nearly jackknifed the trailer.  So I did have to wake up Joe so he could fix the problem in his fog of sleep. 

I don't think that really helped his mood.

We made it home and all was well. 

But did I mention that we've not been to convention as a family since then.

Confessions of a frazzled mom, aka I stood up but my slip didn't

There is a discussion going on in one of the online groups of which I'm a part about the handiest and most appropriate length for skirts and dresses for busy moms.  Some things being discussed, are kids pulling on skirts; moms ascending stairs without tripping while carrying several children and diaper bags; modesty and respect for our husbands and other men; setting modest examples for our daughters; and etc.  Many different ideas and concerns have come up.

Some of the funnest parts of the conversation have included personal examples of things that can happen to a mother's clothing while parenting our children in public.  Things like skirts getting pulled off by little tugging hands or by stepping on a long hemline.  Shorter skirts getting pushed up by a little one or two grabbing mom's legs (sometimes in church on the way up to Communion, for instance). 

With many of these stories I can easily equate.

The conversation reminded me, though, of one of the funniest and potentially most embarrassing things to ever happen to me.  This little incident is far enough away now, that I can write about it without shame.  It tickles me still to think of it.  Really, really tickles me.  And I hope that it gave as much humor throughout the years to the other party.

The setting:  Our church's kids' room.  The occasion, I think, was the children's Christmas program.  If memory serves, the program was finished.  Supper was being served, as is the tradition.  Parents and friends were standing and sitting to visit, while the children opened their gifts, and people meandered through the supper line.

I was kneeling on the floor of the kids' room changing a diaper.  I was visiting with Kyle N., one of the younger dad's in our congregation. 

I'm going to interrupt myself to give a little Northern Minnesota cultural lesson.  Whether this is all in my head or not, I don't know.  But I have been conscious since living here, of the Norwegian Lutheran tendency to keep a wall of separation between men and women.  It's much more marked here than other places I've lived.  So although I was visiting with this other father, I must explain that I didn't know him well.  Those of you who know Kyle, know he is one of the more gregarious men in our circle of people.  Otherwise I probably would not even have been talking to him.  After more than ten years here, there are still many men with whom I've done little but exchanged hellos. 

So back to my story,

After I finished changing my baby, I stood up to gather together the child and all the accompanying paraphernalia.  I felt myself trip over something a little bit.  It was kind of as if my feet were tangled in something.  I glanced down, imagining that I had dropped a blanket or burp cloth or something.  That's the kind of thing any slightly frazzled mom might drop and trip over.  Imagine my chagrin to see that instead of something normal, I had instead dropped an undergarment.  My slip had slid out from under my dress and was gathered around my ankles. 

Inside myself, I was laughing with big, tremendous, boisterous laughs.  But I didn't feel like I knew Kyle well enough to share this joke with him openly. 

I don't really remember for sure what I did.  In my memory, I think I just kind of stepped out of the slip and gathered it into my armload of other things and continued talking.  I remember playing it kind of nonchalant, as if this kind of thing happened to me all the time.  I remember wondering whether Kyle had noticed, and whether he realized what it was I had tripped on and subsequently gathered up. 

I imagined him also laughing to himself with big, tremendous, boisterous laughs. 

I imagined both of us totally tickled, but unable to share the joy.  Him, out of respect for his pastor's wife.  And me, out of this kind of unsurety.  This  awkward separation thing that I sense.  That women and men simply don't share a laugh about undergarments in church. 

It reminded me for all the world of those old 70s commercials in which the neighborhood ladies are having coffee.  The narrator's voice says something like, "I stood up and my pantyhose didn't."

Didn't Carol Burnett do a skit with that, too?

So this is my, "I stood up but my slip didn't," moment.

I still laugh about it.  Whenever I remember this incident, I feel the laughter gurgling up from within.  Bubbling around the edges and forcing its way out.  Until soon, I find I'm laughing right out loud.  I hope that if Kyle did fully perceive my difficulties, he's been able to laugh about it too, rather than feeling mortified over this poor woman's embarrassment.  Or by being too embarrassed himself. 

Because although it was slightly embarrassing for me, mostly it was just purely, hugely funny. 

A Joyful Cacophony

This post demonstrates two very opposite truths of Christian family life:  1) the great joy of seeing children practicing their reading skills by singing familiar hymns from the hymnal; and 2) the chagrin at seeing something that littles learn from bigs, which is not always the kind of thing a mother wishes her children would learn in association with a well-loved hymn.

Christmas Angel Choir from Gerard David's Nativity

The well loved hymn:
Joy to the World

The setting: 
Our living room. 

Stella singing a little bit ahead, since she is a faster reader. 
Donna slowly sounding out the words based on her rudimentary reading skills and familiarity with the hymn. 
Inge, flying in from the kitchen about half-way through, with her own little addition to the choir.

Reader beware:  Cacophony ensued which I will try to capture in the written word.  You must imagine much simultaneous singing of a variety of words.

Stella:  Joy to the world, the Lord is come.  Let earth, receive her King.  Let every heart, ...
Donna joins at about this time, still keeping time, since the first verse is mostly familiar:  Joy  to the world, the Lord is come.  Let earth, receive her King.  Let every heart, ...

A little further on, it sounded somewhat like this:

Stella:  Joy to the earth
Donna: Let every heart
Stella: The Savior reigns
Donna: Prepare Him room
Stella: Let men their songs employ
Donna: And heaven and nature sing

But at some point in this somewhat disarrayed, but still lovely chorus, Inge came flying in, joining at the top of her lungs, singing with great zeal to compete with the other strains:

Joy to the world, my bus driver's dead.  We barbecued his head.

Ms Frizzle and Lizzie, from the Magic Schoolbus

Burnt Fingers and Tongues

Joe and I were just snitching nibbles off the cracklings we got off the pig he and Joe Walton butchered on Saturday.  I burned my fingers and tongue.  It reminded me of the section in the first chapter of Little House in the Big Woods about butchering.

     Pa owned a pig. It ran wild in the Big Woods, living on acorns and nuts and roots. Now he caught it and put it in a pen made of logs, to fatten. He would butcher it as soon as the weather was cold enough to keep the pork frozen.
     in the middle of the night Laura woke up and heard the pig squealing. Pa jumped out of bed, snatched his gun from the wall, and ran outdoors. Then Laura heard the gun go off, once, twice.
     When Pa came back, he told what had happened. He had seen a big black bear standing beside the pigpen. The bear was reaching into the pen to grab the pig, and the pig was running and squealing. Pa saw this in the starlight and he fired quickly. But the light was dim and in his haste he missed the bear. The bear ran away into the woods, not hurt at all.
     Laura was sorry Pa did not get the bear. She liked bear meat so much. Pa was sorry, too, but he said:
     "Anyway, I saved the bacon."
    ...
     Then one day Uncle Henry came riding out of the Big Woods. He had come to help Pa butcher. Ma's big butcher knife was already sharpened, and Uncle Henry had brought Aunt Polly's butcher knife.
     Near the pigpen Pa and Uncle Henry built a bonfire, and heated a great kettle of water over it. When the water was boiling they went to kill the hog. Then Laura ran and hid her head on the bed and stopped her ears with her fingers so she could not hear the hog squeal.
     "It doesn't hurt him, Laura," Pa said. "We do it so quickly." But she did not want to hear him squeal.
     In a minute she took one finger cautiously out of an ear, and listened. The hog had stopped squealing. After that, Butchering Time was great fun.
     It was such a busy day, with so much to see and do. Uncle Henry and Pa were jolly, and there would be spare-ribs for dinner, and Pa had promised Laura and Mary the bladder and the pig's tail.
     As soon as the hog was dead Pa and Uncle Henry lifted it up and down in the boiling water till it was well scalded. Then they laid it on a board and scraped it with their knives, and all the bristles came off. After that they hung the hog in a tree, took out the insides, and left it hanging to cool.
     When it was cool they took it down and cut it up. There were hams and shoulders, side meat and spare-ribs and belly. There was the heart and the liver and the tongue, and the head to be made into headcheese, and the dish-pan full of bits to be made into sausage.
     The meat was laid on a board in the back-door shed, and every piece was sprinkled with salt. The hams and the shoulders were put to pickle in brine, for they would be smoked, like the venison, in the hollow log.
     "You can't beat hickory-cured ham," Pa said.
     He was blowing up the bladder. It made a little white balloon, and he tied the end tight with a string and gave it to Mary and Laura to play with. They could throw it into the air and spat it back and forth with their hands. Or it would bounce along the ground and they could kick it. But even better fun than a balloon was the pig's tail.
     Pa skinned it for them carefully, and into the large end he thrust a sharpened stick. Ma opened the front of the cookstove and raked hot coals out into the iron hearth. Then Laura and Mary took turns holding the pig's tail over the coals.
     It sizzled and fried, and drops of fat dripped off it and blazed on the coals. Ma sprinkled it with salt. Their hands and their faces got very hot, and Laura burned her finger, but she was so excited she did not care. Roasting the pig's tail was such fun that it was hard to play fair, taking turns.
     At last it was done. It was nicely browned all over, and how good it smelled! They carried it into the yard to cool it, and even before it was cool enough they began tasting it and burned their tongues.
     They ate every little bit of meat off the bones, and then they gave the bones to Jack. And that was the end of the pig's tail. There would not be another one till next year.
     Uncle Henry went home after dinner, and Pa went away to his work in the Big Woods. But for Laura and Mary and Ma, Butchering Time had only begun. There was a great deal for Ma to do, and Laura and Mary helped her.
     All that day and the next, Ma was trying out the lard in big iron pots on the cookstove. Laura and Mary carried wood and watched the fire. It must be hot, but not too hot, or the lard would burn. The big pots simmered and boiled, but they must not smoke. From time to time Ma skimmed out the brown cracklings. She put them in a cloth and squeezed out every bit of the lard, and then she put the cracklings away. She would use them to flavor johnny-cake later.
     Cracklings were very good to eat, but Laura and Mary could have only a taste. They were too rich for little girls, Ma said.
     Ma scraped and cleaned the head carefully, and then she boiled it till all the meat fell off the bones. She chopped the meat fine with her chopping knife in the wooden bowl, she seasoned it with pepper and salt and spices. Then she mixed the pot-liquor with it, and set it away in a pan to cool. When it was cool it would cut in slices, and that was headcheese.
     The little pieces of meat, lean and fat, that had been cut off the large pieces, Ma chopped and chopped until it was all chopped fine. She seasoned it with salt and pepper and with dried sage leaves from the garden. Then with her hands she tossed and turned it until it was well mixed, and she molded it into balls. She put the balls in a pan out in the shed, where they would freeze and be good to eat all winter. That was the sausage.  from Little House in the Big Woods, Laura Ingalls Wilder.

I'm pretty sure Joe and Joe did not blowup the bladder for a balloon; nor did they roast the tail over the fire.  And I am very,  very sure I will not be cleaning any head to make head cheese.  Sorry.  Nope.  I do many things now I never though I would.  There are also many things I thought I might like to try which I've realized I probably won't really feel like doing if the opportunity arises.  Then come those things that I realize might be useful and important at some point in the future.  In the post-apocalyptic world.  That's where head cheese falls in my book.  And I'm going to wait until then to try it.

Donna and Inge are feeling a bit more limber lately

That title, by the way, is a play on the line from Butler of the Aremis Fowl books.  Butler, with his lilting Irish accent, was "feeling a bit more limber" once he started doing pilates.

My friend, Alyssa, came over today to do pilates.  We've been trying to do them together once a week.  We take turns at each other's houses and our littles play together no matter where we are. 

When we're at my house we've been using the first half of Ana Caban's Cardio Pilates.  The first half is basically a mat workout.  It's not as intense as her Intermediate Mat Workout, but slightly more difficult than her Beginning Mat Workout. 

After we finished today, and after Alyssa and her twins headed out the door, my girls wanted to "do pilates."  So I started the video for them where we moms had left off, and let them go to it.  It was pretty funny to watch the girls try to work out the steps as I sat nearby and stitched at my crochet project. 

The second half of the Cardio workout, which is the part my girls did first, is basically gentle dance steps with a reminder to focus on the core muscles and hold in the tummy, in line with traditional pilates. 

Joe stepped in a took some video.  Our camera is old, so there is no sound.  You'll have to imagine Ana Caban doing her encouraging instructions.  I like how the girls so intently watch the video and attempt to imitate the moves.  They do pretty well, really, for not having seen it before today.

I especially love Donna's outfit.  Her little princess dress up dress and those big clunky boots of Stella's.

Learning to Knit Socks: Seasons 1-4 and Season 5, Days 1-7 AKA I'm glad nobody has a time lapse video of the process

Season one:  Last fall

I started noticing all the cool sock yarns in the fabric stores.  Most of the patterns were for knitting.  I rarely knit, due to the higher risk of losing my work if the needles get jostled by little ones. 

"Oh, well," thought I, "I guess I won't be using any of those cool yarns any time soon."

Season two:  Early Last winter

I bought some cool yarn for Louisa to make some socks for a friend.  I found out she wanted to make obnoxious socks, not nice ones.  She therefore didn't want my nice sock yarn. 

"Oh, dear,"  thought I, "I will have to figure out something to do with it."

I found some crocheted sock patterns, and didn't like them. 

In a weak moment, I gave into temptation.  I not only bought double pointed knitting needles, I also bought a second variety of sock yarn. 

Season three:  Late last winter and into spring

I kicked around and tripped over all my piles of yarn.  I growled at the kids when they got into it and strewed it all over my bedroom.

"Grrrrrr,"  thought I.  Actually that's probably what I said out loud.  Sadly, my thoughts might have been a bit more colorful.

Season four:  Last summer

I took the yarn out several times to look at it.

"Hmm?"  thought I.  "Nope, probably not going to happen any time soon."

Season five:  This fall

"It's time," thought I, "to learn how to knit socks."

Days one through four: 

I got out my knitting needles and some regular yarn to refresh my memory.  Nothing I did worked right. 

"Grrrrr,"  thought I.

I crocheted two scarves and a baby afghan instead.

Day five:

I opened my double pointed needles and read the pattern. 

"Oh, dear,"  thought I.  "Not today."

I put the sock knitting stuff back in the bag and tied it shut.

Day six:

I watched some videos on using double pointed needles.

I also cast on the correct number of stitches onto one needle and divided them onto the others as the beginner videos recommended. 

I knit and purled the first needle, according to instructions for the k2p2 ribbing.

"I see," thought I, "why Haleigh suggested learning the Hold the thread in your left hand method."

All that switching the yarn back and forth between the teeny tiny needles, with the teeny tiny yarn, and all eight points of the dpns hanging all over the place, takes way to much time.  Very annoying. 

"I'm glad"  thought I further, "I only have to do 1 1/2" of this k2p2 ribbing."

A little while later, I pulled everything out and put away the yarn and the dpns.  I tied the bag shut once again.

Day seven:

I cast on all three of my needles.  It went much better this time.  I even managed to cast on the three needles separately, rather than casting on all of the stitches onto one, and then dividing them onto the others.  (This is apparently a more advanced method.  See, I'm improving.)

I stitched the first needle with the k2p2 pattern.  When I got to the end of my needle, the pattern was off. 

"Oh, well," thought I.  "Keep plugging along.  Your pattern's off, but at least you're learning."

I got to the end of the second needle.  The pattern was further afield.

I got to the end of the third needle.  Yes, even further off yet.

I put my work in the bag, but I did not take it off the needles or tie shut the bag.

Yet.