I LOVE garage sales. I have been known to get up at 6am to be the first to arrive when the door goes up. If you are ever at my house, look around--I'll bet that half of my home decor was pre-purchased. Honestly, does a designer vase or occasional table really "wear out?"
I also love consignment stores. Ditto, Plato's Closet, Clothes Mentor, Mary Margaret's (in Lee's Summit) and Gypsy Vardo (in Lexington) are among my favorite places to shop. I will admit that the girl in Plato's closet looked at me a little funny when I entered the "teen" resale store with Maryn in her baby carrier, but after about 10 minutes of shopping and talking, I had scored some digits for a new babysitter. I don't mind--I remember how much disposable income I had as a teenager with my first job (when rent and utilities were expenses that had not yet invaded my budget), and I am more than happy to pick up teen's barely worn designer jeans at Wal-Mart prices. I have been know to wear a thrift store dress to a couple of black-tie charity events with no one the wiser. Even my cars were owned by others before me.
Why am I obsessed with pre-owned stuff? For one thing, I have a bit of a shopping problem and this keeps me closer to my budget. Jim has a hard time believing I can buy 10 pairs of jeans to his 2 pairs, but it's the truth. I don't really care about "new," but"new to me" can really brighten my day. Also, call me a romantic dreamer--but I like to think about where the item has been before it made its way into my home. Has my charity-event dress already been to prom? Has my thrift-store bracelet been on a first date? And I LOVE the challenge of repurposing something for another use.
The coffee table in my hearth room is actually a 100-year old carpenter's chest. If the kids juice boxes were pushed aside and the lid was lifted, inside are wooden boxes and tools that were used for a much less domestic purpose than the life it is living now. I am sure that it rode in a buggy or two, accompanying a woodworker from one exciting job site to another. And now it sits completely motionless in my hearth room, its travels over.
However, it is no longer confined to a single role as a carpenter's chest. It has become a rest for coffee mugs during the most joyous family events. It is currently serving as a pull-up bar as Maryn learns how to walk. It has served as a stage when Will has decided that he needs to be a little taller to act out his stories for the rest of the Godfrey clan. It is the "out of bounds" marker for our Wii nights when Pryor gets too close to the TV for my comfort. It has been extra seating when our circle of friends overflows and fills our home with love. Every scratch on that chest is a memory, every stain a priceless reminder of an event that has made this family what it is.
Much like my closest friends, every pre-owned item in my home has a history, a life outside of the one that brought it to me. A series of events brought it into my life, and has given me joy. At this point in life, we're all "pre-owned." We all have lived through circumstances and events that have left us feeling used, scratched and stained. However, like my coffee table--if we're lucky, those circumstances have led us to a place where they become priceless battle scars, lessons learned, memories that have made us who we are and have given us moments of joy. And become treasures among the discarded, the unwanted, the unloved.
Thank you, friends, for scooping me up and inviting me into your homes, even with my stains and scars. Thank you for the purpose of our friendship. Thank you, Lord, for buying all of us "pre-owned," I hope we give you joy. Perfection in our imperfections. Perfection in the chaos.
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
What a crock of ...dinner?!
I love my Crock-Pot so much, I have an entire day devoted to it. Crock-Pot Monday. Every Sunday night, I throw a bunch of stuff in the pot, plug it in on Monday before I go to work and every Monday evening I come home to a yummy-smelling house and a meal that didn't start out frozen in a bag.
I have yet to make something that wasn't really tasty, and usually there is enough meat to chop up the leftovers and use it for Round 2 on Tuesday or Wednesday. I am including some of my favorite recipes in this post, hope you enjoy! By the way, any time I use chicken I de-skin it before cooking it. I am really grossed out by chicken skin. Feel free to try it with the skin on if that's your thing! For all of these recipes, cook on low for 8-10 hours.
Yummy pork loin:
1 pork loin (you can also use pork chops), I have thrown it in frozen and it still cooks fine
2 cans cream of mushroom soup
1 onion, cut into rings and separated
Apricot chicken or pork:
3 pounds meat
1 bottle Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce
1 jar apricot preserves
1 onion, sliced
Mozzarella Chicken:
4 chicken breasts
Sprinkle salt and pepper
1 onion, chopped
2 green peppers, chopped
2 cups pasta sauce
Cook everything above, then when done serve over spaghetti and top with mozzarella cheese.
Citrus Pork Chops:
3 pounds pork chops
sprinkle salt and pepper
2 cans mandarin oranges, do not drain
1 can pinapple tidbits, do not drain
Serve over cooked egg noodles. You can thicken the sauce with cornstarch, if preferred.
Creamy Chicken:
4 chicken breasts
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 package French onion soup mix
Serve over rice
Tex-Mex Chicken:
6 chicken breasts
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can Ro-Tel
I serve this over Fritos and sprinkle cheddar cheese on the top.
Sloppy Joe Chicken
6 chicken thighs
1 1/2 oz Sloppy Joe mix
2 tablespoons honey
8-oz can tomato sauce
Serve over cooked rice.
These are some of my favorites, and ones that my family likes. I would love to have some new recipes, so feel free to send me your favorites!
Sitting down to a home-cooked meal makes me feel like June Cleaver...and I don't even need the apron. And clean up is a cinch, especially if you really cheat and use the slow-cooker disposable liners! Perfection in the chaos!
I have yet to make something that wasn't really tasty, and usually there is enough meat to chop up the leftovers and use it for Round 2 on Tuesday or Wednesday. I am including some of my favorite recipes in this post, hope you enjoy! By the way, any time I use chicken I de-skin it before cooking it. I am really grossed out by chicken skin. Feel free to try it with the skin on if that's your thing! For all of these recipes, cook on low for 8-10 hours.
Yummy pork loin:
1 pork loin (you can also use pork chops), I have thrown it in frozen and it still cooks fine
2 cans cream of mushroom soup
1 onion, cut into rings and separated
Apricot chicken or pork:
3 pounds meat
1 bottle Sweet Baby Ray's BBQ sauce
1 jar apricot preserves
1 onion, sliced
Mozzarella Chicken:
4 chicken breasts
Sprinkle salt and pepper
1 onion, chopped
2 green peppers, chopped
2 cups pasta sauce
Cook everything above, then when done serve over spaghetti and top with mozzarella cheese.
Citrus Pork Chops:
3 pounds pork chops
sprinkle salt and pepper
2 cans mandarin oranges, do not drain
1 can pinapple tidbits, do not drain
Serve over cooked egg noodles. You can thicken the sauce with cornstarch, if preferred.
Creamy Chicken:
4 chicken breasts
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 package French onion soup mix
Serve over rice
Tex-Mex Chicken:
6 chicken breasts
1 can cream of chicken soup
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1 can Ro-Tel
I serve this over Fritos and sprinkle cheddar cheese on the top.
Sloppy Joe Chicken
6 chicken thighs
1 1/2 oz Sloppy Joe mix
2 tablespoons honey
8-oz can tomato sauce
Serve over cooked rice.
These are some of my favorites, and ones that my family likes. I would love to have some new recipes, so feel free to send me your favorites!
Sitting down to a home-cooked meal makes me feel like June Cleaver...and I don't even need the apron. And clean up is a cinch, especially if you really cheat and use the slow-cooker disposable liners! Perfection in the chaos!
Monday, October 10, 2011
Sticks and Stones
Today Pryor, my almost-seven-year-old, came home and promptly told me that he would be taking his Nintendo DS on the schoolbus with him from now on. "Um, nope!" I said and turned his attention back to his homework. "But mooooo-oooom...Gabe gets to bring his on the bus and he said that I should do it too! I won't be cool unless I bring mine on the bus too!"
Ugh. This is the second "Gabe-ism" that I've heard in the past week. Last Monday, Pryor told me that he wanted a skeleton sweatshirt. That glowed in the dark. From Old Navy. After I got over the initial shock that my fashion-oblivious oldest son was making his first steps toward first-grade couture, I realized that there had to be something else going on. "Really? Who has one that you've seen?"
"Gabe. He says they're the coolest and I need to get one."
I am sure by next week Pryor will need to get a pet Iguana or bring an Ipad on the bus to stay "cool" with Gabe.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Gabe. I have never even met him. I'm sure he's a great kid. But he reminds me of all the people I have tried so hard to impress and failed, and it makes me want to protect my oldest from going through what I did, to skip ahead with the lesson learned.
I remember begging my mom to buy me a pair of high-top sneakers at the start of third grade (it WAS the 80's...). It was painfully obvious with my sports ability that even in the third grade that those high-tops weren't going anywhere near a basketball court, but I thought I was so COOL! I went over to my best friend's house the minute I got home. I was so happy, thinking that mine were like hers and wanting so much to fit in. Her much-older brother walked by with his friends and said "generic" and they all laughed. I had no idea what that word meant at the time, but I knew that it was painfully uncool. And I had to explain to my mom how the sneakers "hurt my feet" and why never came out of the box again.
There's so many of those moments: trying to fit in at the "cool" lunch table in high school and being told that no one at the table liked me, staying up late in my dorm room waiting for the guy to call and ask me to the formal only to have a sorority sister tell me that he just called HER and wasn't that so exciting, not getting the call back from the interview that I knew I had "aced."
I still do battle with my own versions of "Gabe." There are definitely days when I am painfully uncool. There are moments that despite my best intentions I look like a complete dork. Always someone, somewhere implying that if I just did this, if I just wore that, if I just acted like "her"--I would be accepted, loved, respected, admired. And most days, I have to admit, I am my own worst Gabe. The person who's most likely to make me feel uncool is...me.
Looking back, I see that getting bumped from the lunch table forced me to make friends with people I might have not met otherwise, girls who are still great friends today. If that guy had called and asked me to the formal, I might not have gone on the blind date with the man who became my husband. If I had gotten the job, I would have missed the opportunity to land the career I have always wanted.
So, I will listen to my seven-year-old's daily changing definition of coolness with
a smile. I will not roll my eyes and groan each time my son says "Gabe told me..." And I will be thankful for the moments of wrong turns that have turned out to be right ones. Moments of perfection in the chaos.
Ugh. This is the second "Gabe-ism" that I've heard in the past week. Last Monday, Pryor told me that he wanted a skeleton sweatshirt. That glowed in the dark. From Old Navy. After I got over the initial shock that my fashion-oblivious oldest son was making his first steps toward first-grade couture, I realized that there had to be something else going on. "Really? Who has one that you've seen?"
"Gabe. He says they're the coolest and I need to get one."
I am sure by next week Pryor will need to get a pet Iguana or bring an Ipad on the bus to stay "cool" with Gabe.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against Gabe. I have never even met him. I'm sure he's a great kid. But he reminds me of all the people I have tried so hard to impress and failed, and it makes me want to protect my oldest from going through what I did, to skip ahead with the lesson learned.
I remember begging my mom to buy me a pair of high-top sneakers at the start of third grade (it WAS the 80's...). It was painfully obvious with my sports ability that even in the third grade that those high-tops weren't going anywhere near a basketball court, but I thought I was so COOL! I went over to my best friend's house the minute I got home. I was so happy, thinking that mine were like hers and wanting so much to fit in. Her much-older brother walked by with his friends and said "generic" and they all laughed. I had no idea what that word meant at the time, but I knew that it was painfully uncool. And I had to explain to my mom how the sneakers "hurt my feet" and why never came out of the box again.
There's so many of those moments: trying to fit in at the "cool" lunch table in high school and being told that no one at the table liked me, staying up late in my dorm room waiting for the guy to call and ask me to the formal only to have a sorority sister tell me that he just called HER and wasn't that so exciting, not getting the call back from the interview that I knew I had "aced."
I still do battle with my own versions of "Gabe." There are definitely days when I am painfully uncool. There are moments that despite my best intentions I look like a complete dork. Always someone, somewhere implying that if I just did this, if I just wore that, if I just acted like "her"--I would be accepted, loved, respected, admired. And most days, I have to admit, I am my own worst Gabe. The person who's most likely to make me feel uncool is...me.
Looking back, I see that getting bumped from the lunch table forced me to make friends with people I might have not met otherwise, girls who are still great friends today. If that guy had called and asked me to the formal, I might not have gone on the blind date with the man who became my husband. If I had gotten the job, I would have missed the opportunity to land the career I have always wanted.
So, I will listen to my seven-year-old's daily changing definition of coolness with
a smile. I will not roll my eyes and groan each time my son says "Gabe told me..." And I will be thankful for the moments of wrong turns that have turned out to be right ones. Moments of perfection in the chaos.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
The Amazing Race
I watched an rerun episode of The Amazing Race the other day on TV. It was much like any other episode, where teams of two people go on a scavenger hunt of sorts in foreign territory--hoping to be the first to finish that portion, or stage, of the race. The worst fate goes to the team that comes in last, and they are eliminated from the race.
Most days, I feel like my daily routine is a crazy real-life version of this show. I wake up, try to get myself ready and the kids appropriately dressed for whatever crazy weather we will have on that particular day and get everyone to daycare on time. Stage one accomplished. Then, navigate rush hour to get into the parking garage before someone takes my spot. Stage two accomplished. Leave work at just the right moment as to not look like I am sneaking out early but still have enough time to drive home, pick up Maryn and meet Pryor as he gets off the bus. Stage three complete. Then on to helping Pryor with homework as I make dinner and make sure Maryn doesn't tear something to shreds or eat something she isn't supposed to. Stage 4 down. Ask Will and Jim how their day was as I get the plates on the table. Scarf down dinner as I remind my boys for the nineteenth time that the two choices for dinner are "take it" or "leave it" and that I am not starving them if I only serve them grilled chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes, all while I try to avoid wearing whatever puree du jour I am feeding Maryn. Sports, school activities, church, and a million other "stages" must be completed, in a synchronization that would impress NASA, before I can fall into bed. Sometimes the stages are completed in "foreign" territory--the hardware store, the lawn and flower place, the paint store...and I might not even know the language if I have to go by Dick's or Best Buy.
I probably lose as many stages of this race as I win each week. Appointments are missed, practices are forgotten, homework is misplaced. And sometimes I feel like I am out of the game completely. And then I remember my favorite part of any track and field day when I was in school: no matter how well I did, even if I didn't place at all, if I just finished the race--I got a participation ribbon. Thank God for the participation ribbon. Thank God that sometimes just finishing the race is enough for the reward and I get to compete again tomorrow. Thank God there is no elimination in this race.
And I know this race is completed a million times over by every working mom in America, every day. Oh, and by the way...EVERY mom is a working mom--it doesn't matter whether she goes to work outside the home or inside it each day. And what is our reward? A million dollars? All-expenses paid vacations? Fame and fortune? Nope, our reward is that we get to do it all again tomorrow. And the craziest part of the whole "amazing race?" It's totally worth it. For the moments when I can get my kids to sing along with me in the car as I drive from one event to the next. For the smile on my husband's face when I remember to cook his favorite meal after I know he's had a rough day. For the "thanks, Mom" that is rare but unsolicited. Amazing? Definitely!
And the blessing that I get to race again tomorrow is perfection in the chaos.
Most days, I feel like my daily routine is a crazy real-life version of this show. I wake up, try to get myself ready and the kids appropriately dressed for whatever crazy weather we will have on that particular day and get everyone to daycare on time. Stage one accomplished. Then, navigate rush hour to get into the parking garage before someone takes my spot. Stage two accomplished. Leave work at just the right moment as to not look like I am sneaking out early but still have enough time to drive home, pick up Maryn and meet Pryor as he gets off the bus. Stage three complete. Then on to helping Pryor with homework as I make dinner and make sure Maryn doesn't tear something to shreds or eat something she isn't supposed to. Stage 4 down. Ask Will and Jim how their day was as I get the plates on the table. Scarf down dinner as I remind my boys for the nineteenth time that the two choices for dinner are "take it" or "leave it" and that I am not starving them if I only serve them grilled chicken, green beans and mashed potatoes, all while I try to avoid wearing whatever puree du jour I am feeding Maryn. Sports, school activities, church, and a million other "stages" must be completed, in a synchronization that would impress NASA, before I can fall into bed. Sometimes the stages are completed in "foreign" territory--the hardware store, the lawn and flower place, the paint store...and I might not even know the language if I have to go by Dick's or Best Buy.
I probably lose as many stages of this race as I win each week. Appointments are missed, practices are forgotten, homework is misplaced. And sometimes I feel like I am out of the game completely. And then I remember my favorite part of any track and field day when I was in school: no matter how well I did, even if I didn't place at all, if I just finished the race--I got a participation ribbon. Thank God for the participation ribbon. Thank God that sometimes just finishing the race is enough for the reward and I get to compete again tomorrow. Thank God there is no elimination in this race.
And I know this race is completed a million times over by every working mom in America, every day. Oh, and by the way...EVERY mom is a working mom--it doesn't matter whether she goes to work outside the home or inside it each day. And what is our reward? A million dollars? All-expenses paid vacations? Fame and fortune? Nope, our reward is that we get to do it all again tomorrow. And the craziest part of the whole "amazing race?" It's totally worth it. For the moments when I can get my kids to sing along with me in the car as I drive from one event to the next. For the smile on my husband's face when I remember to cook his favorite meal after I know he's had a rough day. For the "thanks, Mom" that is rare but unsolicited. Amazing? Definitely!
And the blessing that I get to race again tomorrow is perfection in the chaos.
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