I. Hate. Snow.

I was up pretty late last night (think 2 a.m.), and was just hoping to get moving by nine o'clock so that the morning wouldn't be a total loss. My darling breadwinner worked the night shift, so he snuggled next to me around 6:30 a.m. for a good day's sleep while I finished my nightly snooze.

My wish was granted - I got up before nine o'clock. However, I was awakened by excited, shrieking kids thundering through the house, dashing from window to window. You see, we had our first snowfall today. Yay.

My kids have long known that I. Hate. Snow. Period. Sure, it's pretty to look at. And I must admit that the first flurries of the season make my heart dance. But that's only for about five minutes.

After that, all snow means to me is searching for the other glove, struggling with gloves and snow pants, tying boots, doors left open, wet carpets, extra laundry, frozen hands, ice-packed boot laces, fights over who hit whom in the face with an slush-ball, spilled cocoa, and every mug in the house dirty.

And then they want to do it again all over in a few hours.

I have recently been visiting blogs from moms in Alaska, and they sometimes have snow straight through from October until April. Although I secretly dream about living a simpler, more rugged life, I think the snow would kill me. The past few winters we've only had a handful of days when there was serious snow accumulation, but it's still been too much for me.

I don't know why I should feel this way. As a child, I remember snowy winters when I'd be outside for hours, and coming in with snow caked in cuffs and laces, soaked to the bone with bright red skin. I know I tracked snow into the kitchen, and I'm sure I left wet clothes laying around. I don't remember my family having a hissy fit, and I know I left the door open at least once. Maybe it was because I was an only child?

Either way, the snow tolerance gene was not passed on to me. The milestone to which I most look forward is not the first step, or the first word, or potty training. No, my favorite age is when they can put on their own d**n snowsuit and gloves, not leave icy puddles on the floor, and remember to put their wet stuff in the dryer.

AND turn it on.

A Lady Named Irena Sendler

There recently was the death of a 98-year-old lady named Irena Sendler. During WWII, Irena, got permission to work in the Warsaw Ghetto, as a Plumbing/Sewer specialist. She had an ulterior motive... She KNEW what the Nazi's plans were for the Jews, (being German). Irena smuggled infants out in the bottom of her tool box she carried, and she also carried in the back of her truck a Burlap sack, (for larger kids). She also had a dog in the back that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto. The soldiers, of course, wanted nothing to do with the dog, and the barking covered the kids /infants noises. During her time and course of doing this, she managed to smuggle out and save 2500 kids/infants. She was caught, and the Nazi's broke both her legs and arms and beat her severely. Irena kept a record of the names of all the kids she smuggled out and kept them in a glass jar, buried under a tree in her back yard. After the war, she tried to locate any parents that may have survived it, and reunited the family. Most, of course, had been gassed. Those kids she helped were placed into foster family homes or adopted. Last year Irena was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize.... She LOST. But, Al Gore won for doing a slide show on Global Warming. Kinda warms your heart, doesn't it.

The Great 2008 Tamale Pie Fiasco

Let me preface this by saying there is no blame to be assigned here...it was just an unfortunate series of events fueled by my inexperience.

Tonight for dinner, our family had Tamale Pie, a Mexican casserole similar to chili, with a cornbread crust. Making the filling wasn't too complicated, although I haven't seen my kitchen this messy in quite some time. It didn't help that I didn't allot myself enough time to make this dish, so I was working under pressure, making a double batch, and using two separate pans because I have a child with an aversion to corn.

As Andy always says, "Ain't nothin' easy, ain't nothin' simple."

But enough about the filling. Let me get to the crust. I have to point out that I usually only get close to cornbread while eating at The Cracker Barrel, and I've only ever made it at home using a mix. My only experience with oatmeal or cream of wheat also comes from the microwave or instant varieties. So when the recipe said to bring 4 cups of water to a boil, add salt, and whisk in 1.5 cups cornmeal, whisking vigorously to avoid clumps.....well, I had no idea what to expect. I just doubled the batch and blithely proceeded to whisk.

I CERTAINLY didn't expect that a few minutes into the vigorous whisking, the entire pot would become a seething, viscous cauldron of bubbling lava. (Did I forget to mention that I recently acquired a smooth ceramic-top stove, and have not yet mastered it?) So I had 4 burners going full steam, the heat was up too high, and the cornmeal was merrily bubbling, shooting little cornmeal comets all over the place. Before I could even call Andy for help (who, by the way, was trying to nap on the couch before night shift tonight), a steaming blob of cornmeal shot out and hit me in the eye. Thanks be to God above that I happened to blink at that second, because I certainly didn't see it coming.

It hit me in the crease of my eyelid...so there I am, shouting for my drowsy husband to come help, because I can't even see to turn off the burner, and the lava is still erupting wildly from the pot. Oh, did I mention that there were also 5 kids present in the kitchen and living room?? He scuds in and covers the pot, turns down the heat and keeps stirring, whilst I determine if I've lost sight in that eye or not.

Well, okay, it wasn't THAT serious, but it is blistered, and just as painful now as when it happened.

The next time I make this dish, I will be ready for the cornbread. Or I might just chicken out and use two packages of cornbread mix. The kids were put off by the mushy texture of the cornbread, but that was my fault. To remedy this, I'll make the bottom crust thinner and/or give it more time to bake.

As the Amish say..... "Too soon old, too late schmardt."

I don't know if there's a moral to this story or not. If you can think of one, please let me know.

And voila' - the finished product, which was quite yummy if I do say so myself...

Video: My Kids Are Crazy

We have lived here for almost 5 months. You'd think the novelty would have worn off a little bit by now.

But no, they still do it.

Every day.

Several times.

Video: Winter Outerwear Fashion Show

Noelle (in purple) and Natalie (in pink) trying to show Daddy their new coats and boots through the telephone...