Fiddledeedee

At last, today we received the long awaited call that the parts for the dryer had arrived, and a visit from the dryer repair guys was eminent.

To catch up on my dryer woes, go over to my review blog where I shared with the internet how my dryer has been functioning only by the grace of well placed duct tape and two hamsters running on a wheel.

And while you’re there, leave a comment so you’ll be in the running to win a bottle of Wisk.  And oh my word, those of you who have left comments, you were in rare form, my friends.

So.  For the last few weeks I’ve been holding my breath, just waiting for the dryer to die before the parts arrived.  Fiddledaddy, wanting to save money after receiving last months electricity bill, suggested that this might be the time for us to get an old fashioned clothes line for the back yard.

If looks could kill, the man would have been a vapor trail.

That idea was quickly abandoned.

Thankfully, we had the good sense to purchase an extended warranty on our dryer (which was just over a year old and wouldn’t have been covered if we hadn’t).  We’re not usually known for being that insightful.

The dryer repair guys were ushered into the waiting laundry room, and they set about their task of dryer repair.

The house was unusually quiet, when Jensen piped up, “EWWWWW.  What is so stinky?  EWWWWW.  I KNOW.  IT’S THE DRYER GUYS.  THAT’S what’s so stinky.”

And remember, Jensen has only one setting, “Embarrassingly Loud.”  And yes, his hearing is fine.  He just prefers to speak in ALL CAPS. And if you need proof, just go here.

Our house is the size of a postage stamp, so I’m certain that the dryer repair guys heard him.

I tried to do damage control.  “Honey, you smell the oil lubricant that they are using to fix Mommy’s dryer, which she so desperately needs in order to make her job less miserable so let’s let the nice men finish their work quietly.”

“NO MOMMY.  IT’S THE DRYER GUYS.  THEY’RE STINKY.”

(In Jensen’s defense, and remember the child possesses heightened olfactory senses, I’m pretty sure that at least one of the dryer guys was a heavy smoker.)

At this point, Fiddledaddy came zipping around the corner from his office, and whisked Jensen up in a football hold, and carted him off into the far recesses of the master bathroom.  Where he had a man-to-boy talk about being polite.  And quiet.  And whatever else that a man-to-boy conversation might be about.

Personally, I think that Fiddledaddy bribed him with the promise of Corvette when he’s 16.

I tried to hold it together as I thanked the dryer repair guys profusely for their efforts and bid them a good day.

Then I went to pay homage to my dryer.  Which looked very spiffy.  And I noticed that the Dryer Alert Alarm that lets you know when your clothes are dry by scaring you with an ear splitting buzzer (and which I always keep on the OFF setting) was set to LOUD.

Well played, dryer repair guys.  Well played.

I’m a little fearful to actually turn the dryer on.  Because you always hear about a Dryer Repair Guy scorned.  And the kind of power they hold if one should happen to insult them.

Just sayin’.

Anyhoo.  I’m pretty sure the intrepid Homeowner’s Association is going to frown on my new clothesline, hung between two haggard Maple trees.  But just think of all the money I’ll be saving.

So I’ve been wandering around for the last week with a gaping hole on my chest.  Where a mole that strangely resembled a dead cow once resided.

My instructions were to keep the area clean, moistened with Vaseline, and then covered.  My problem?  The area around the gaping would was very tender, and the strong adhesive that Curad boasts of HURT VERY MUCH WHEN REMOVING THE BANDAGE.  And pain?  I am not a fan.

The only bandages I could find with a low adhesive were my daughter’s Dora The Explorer band aids.  I just couldn’t see myself wearing Dora and her trusty sidekick Boots on my chest.  Especially since the only shirt I owned which would cover the unsightly gaping hole was a hot pink turtleneck.

Have I mentioned that we live in Florida?

In all honesty, I can’t see myself sporting a hot pink turtle neck even if it were snowing.  In Florida.  I keep it because I’m nostalgic.  Nostalgic over a sassier time of my life.

My next option was to throw caution to the wind and go bandage free.  Which I tried to do last Sunday at church.  Fiddledaddy took one look at my glowing wound and said, “cover that.” The deal was sealed when I accidentally scratched the itch on my chest, and thought I was going to pass out from the pain.

I got myself a round cotton thingie that I use with my astringent, and I positioned it over the gaping hole.  Then I got out some flesh-colored tape that’s suppose to be used with gauze, and I taped the cotton round to my chest.  Hoping above all hopes that it was not noticeable.

I looked like the victim of a shooting.

I buttoned my shirt up as high as possible, only to have the cotton round stick out just enough to make it look like I stuffed my bra.

And then I wondered why no one could maintain eye contact with me.

Attractive.

The wound is healing nicely now.  And I found out today that the biopsy came back BENIGN.  As it turns out, the object of all my pain and suffering was simply an “age-related mole.”

Which just added insult to injury.

However, I am grateful beyond measure that it’s nothing.  Thank you all so much for your care, concern, and commiserating with me over my chest mole.

That’s the second biopsy I’ve had to have done this year, and thankfully, I’m just fine.

BUT LISTEN, don’t forget to have those annual pap smears, mammograms, dermatology visits, and whatever other body parts that need to be checked checked!!!  YOU HEAR???

The best defense is a good offense.  Now I’m going to go try on a hot pink turtleneck.

Because I’m feeling sassy.

Upon opening the electric bill this month, I fell to the linoleum in bitter tears.

Not really.  But I did do a little cursing.  In my head.  Which, yes, does count.

Fiddledaddy’s answer to our heat wave and subsequent rise in the states electricity revenue, was to turn the thermostat up from a cool 79 degrees to 86 AFRICA HOT.

Forgetting that he lives with a pre-menopausal woman.

Who may or may not be harboring repressed aggressive tendencies.

While dieting.

After a few days of enduring me, he began to look at other options.

“We could leave Florida behind in our steamed up rear view mirror,” I helpfully suggested.

“Good effort.”

We have a very large window in our family room.  A room which faces West, and gets no shade whatsoever from the nature preserve (heavy use of air quotes) that we paid extra for.  In the afternoon, the heat is stifling in that room.  Causing the air conditioner to pull double duty for the rest of the house.

We have curtains that boast of heat blocking capabilities, but they LIE.

Fiddledaddy decided to put a shaded film over the glass.

Kind of like the kind your car has in the back windows so that no one can see you swat at your children while they bicker with one another while you drive.

Or is that just me?

He elicited my help after the children were blissfully unconscious for the night.  He had already windexed the windows earlier, prompting Jensen to cock his head to one side, “Daddy, what are you doing to the windows?”

“Something you’ve probably never seen before, I’m CLEANING THEM.”

He’s hysterical, that’s what he is.

When we began the task at hand, Fiddledaddy said that he just needed me to hold the film while he sprayed it.

Which should have been my cue to run.  Run like mad.

I stood holding the large piece of film before me, while Fiddledaddy coated it with Window Film Application Spray.

MY EYES, MY EYES!

And then I noticed a stinging sensation all over the areas which were exposed to the spray.  Which were many, since my wardrobe has been reduced to tank tops and boxer shorts, due to the balmy conditions in my home.

Spitting the poisonous substance out from my mouth, I suggested that we trade jobs.  But then realized that I was neither tall enough or had long enough arms to actually get the thing up on the window.

Besides.  That job was hard.  Which I surmised because of all the cursing that Fiddledaddy was doing in his head.

The film worked marginally.  So Fiddledaddy but plan C into action by purchasing a roll down shade to go over the outside of the window.

Again, he elicited my help in the hanging of the shade.  I braved the hell-like temperatures to ascend my trusty old 8 foot ladder so that we could mark the drill holes.

As a side note, it was nice to once again take a gander at the neighbor’s yards.  Since we installed the 6 foot privacy fence 10 years, I hadn’t been able to ogle the neighbor’s lawn care issues.

And this is where my neighbor’s are eternally grateful for the 6 foot privacy fence.  Yet still, Jensen manages to whip all the backyard neighboring dogs into a frenzy by howling at them, sight unseen, from our back porch.

The shade was properly installed, and I noticed cooler temperatures in the family room in the late afternoon.  Ever hopeful that Plan C has done the trick.

However.

If this doesn’t manage to bring our bill down by next month, Plan D is mine.  I’ll introduce my industrial sized windows to some industrial sized aluminum foil and a little duct tape.

And pray that full-on menopause has the good sense to wait until Winter.

For the good of all man and womankind.  Amen.

This woman avoided foreclosure by being one smart cookie.  Or something similar.  I just want to applaud the entrepreneurial spirit!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Attn. Homeschool moms! Don’t forget to enroll your kids in Pizza Hut’s Book it! Program.  Your kids can earn a free pizza every month by reading books!  Homeschool families need to register individually, as they are no longer accepting registration from homeschool groups. The registration form can be found here.   The program runs from September through March.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have something at the Mom’s Homeroom Board that I need help with.  There is a reader who has a question about transitioning from homeschool to public school.  If anyone has any experience with this, please go here to leave your thoughts.  To sign in, you just need your e-mail address (will remain private) and a “handle.”  THANK YOU!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jo-Lynne of Musings of a Housewife wrote an awesome post on the ins and outs of Twittering.  VERY HELPFUL.  Especially to those of us Tweets who are Twits. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wanted to share this video that was presented at our church service on Sunday.  AMEN AND AMEN.

Happy Monday!

I started posting recipes on Saturday nearly 2 years ago or so.  It turned into a carnival, so Saturday Stirrings had friends.  Then last year, when Jensen was diagnosed with severe food allergies, my culinary enthusiasm took a direct hit and I went into survival mode.

It was then my sweet blogging compadre, Carol, offered to carry the Saturday Stirrings torch for me.  While I cried over my son’s rice cakes.

As you know, we later found out that his skin issues had nothing whatsoever to do with his diet.  BRING ON THE CHICKEN NUGGETS!  He can pretty much eat what he wants, with the exception of certain fish and peanuts.  And grass.  Can’t eat grass, but that usually isn’t a problem.

All this to say that I’ve been considerably more amiable to cooking.  Well.  That and WHO CAN AFFORD TO HIT 2 ON SPEED DIAL AND ORDER CARRABBAS TAKE-AWAY?  Not me.  Sadly.  So it’s not unusual for me to cook 3 meals a day, 7 days a week.

If you count grilled cheese for the kids cooking.

And yes, I do.

You also know that I just spend 2 hellish weeks on the South Beach diet Phase I-Just-Want-To Die #1. The phase that allows your body to detox from all the sugar and carbs.  The phase that makes you want to eat the plaster off the walls.

And I survived.  And am still doing well.  This week I’ve reintroduced healthy carbs back into my diet in the form of 1 fruit and 1 complex carb a day.  Next week, I move up to 2 fruits and 2 complex carbs.

That’s when I’ll pull out my happy dance.

But what’s this all got to do with scrambled eggs?  When you’re in Phase 1, all you get for breakfast are eggs.  For the most part.  I’ve gotten all kinds of creative when it comes to eggs.  I can make an omelet or a frittata that ordinary mortals would die for.  But I’m most proud of my scrambled eggs.

And there’s a secret to these eggs.  Which I will now share.  Here’s the thing.  It requires a super duper blender.  I use my Vita-Mix.  Which is like a blender on steroids.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scrambled Eggs (for a family of 5, give or take)

1 Cup Egg Beaters
5 Large Eggs
1/2 Cup 1% Cottage Cheese
1 Yellow Squash, chopped (Raw)
Salt & Pepper to taste
1/4 (or 1/2) Cup Cheddar Cheese, low fat

I throw everything except for the cheddar cheese into the Vita-Mix, and blend until smooth.  Then I pour the mixture into a heated skillet, which I first give a generous shot of cooking spray.  Cook on medium heat, stirring nearly constantly.  Then I add the cheddar when the eggs are almost set.

My children have no idea that they are getting the extra calcium from the cottage cheese.  Not to mention a shot of vegetables.  Can’t taste the squash at all.  And LOOK, it’s yellow.  Just like the eggs.  They are clueless.  Parenting by deception.  Works for me.

And the fact that it’s a raw vegetable, so all the nutrients are intact is a bonus.

This is why you need a really strong blender to pulverize the squash.  A regular blender would work just fine with just the cottage cheese, btw.

Best tasting eggs I’ve ever had.  And even though I’ve moved on to Phase 2, I still enjoy them.  WITH A PIECE OF WHOLE WHEAT TOAST, FOR LOVE OF PETE.

Have a great weekend everyone!