It's Not that I Don't Like Casual

"Lilly, today is your Thanksgiving Program at school! Come downstairs when you are dressed!"

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WOW.

And the sock thing, for the record, was not an accident. She actually put some thought into the effect it might have.

This is where I am supposed to embrace her creativity and let her wear this ensemble to school in the 35 degree weather on a day when every single parent will be in the class to watch the critically acclaimed Thanksgiving Program.

OR.

I am supposed to let her wear her toddler-sized shorts and Red Raider shirt as part of my commitment to Love and Logic and let her "feel" the consequence of a) freezing to death or b) shame when she sees how other children are dressed.

Except I have not taken Love and Logic.

And I am not so easy-going about how she looks on Program Day.

I won:

And I say to the psychologist: "Send me the bill."

Here she is praising the Lord as an alligator:

And here is my scarecrow stuffed with hay:

And as I tucked her in tonight, I already promised she could wear the Red Raider t-shirt tomorrow. In the privacy of our own home.

Whatever The Thanksgiving Equivalent of Ho-Ho-Ho Is

One of my many sicknesses is that I love grocery shopping. I really do. Especially around the holidays.

I am especially drawn to the baking stack-outs filled with varieties of chocolate, nuts, and even evaporated milk that cause my imagination to run wild and my pants to spontaneously tighten.

Yesterday, Costco was so busy that I could barely navigate the oversized cart through the oversized aisles to buy enough Velveeta and tortillas to prepare us for Y3K. But I loved it. The possibilities for food and hospitality are endless.

Same with Safeway...so crowded, mob-scene at the turkeys, a giant green Shrek roaming around to add to the chaos, and small children clinging to the carts out of fear. But I find so much joy in selecting those special foods that we really only eat once a year.

Thanksgiving has always been my absolute favoritest holiday...even above and beyond Christmas. Growing up, our family didn't have a specific tradition of how we celebrated, except for the food. The tradition of culinary excellence, my friends, is untouchable. And the menu might as well be etched in stone tablets, because aside from audible direction from the voice of the Lord, it is not changing. Amen.

I have heard that there are other varities of dressing (y'all know it is only called stuffing if it's stuffed in the turkey, right?) besides cornbread dressing. That is the rumor, anyway. Personally I have never tried them because my family will eat cornbread dressing if it harelips the Governor.

I remember many great Thanksgivings we had with our best friends...the moms cooking and laughing and the dads watching football...5 kids running wildly, and I do mean WILDLY through the house. We even drove to see them a few years after they moved and the magic being our friendship--not the location--rendered the same fun.

These are the friends who introduced us to the Slice of Heaven (I am so punny) known as Dude's Pumpkin Pie. It has no equal and there is no thanks worthy of this gift. There is pumpkin pie, and there is Dude's. Do not be fooled by imposters. I will give you the recipe in exchange for all the money you have. Just kidding.

There were also several Thanksgivings that our family from West Texas drove NINETEEN HOURS in a giant red Suburban, God bless them, to celebrate the day with us. I loved flinging open the front door, to see them exhausted, but ready to start planning the days to come. I almost laugh out loud thinking of how hysterical we'd get making dinner, setting the table, and creating our name-card teepees every year. (I believe my mom still has all the originals.)

And then there's the shopping. Fear not, I will probably be dedicating the bulk of next weekend's posts to my favorite shopping time of all. South Denver, however, can never be compared to the Black Friday shopping extravaganza that is downtown Chicago. Waaayyy back in time before cellphones, we armed ourselves with walkie-talkies and hit Michigan Avenue en masse.

I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow description of our shopping follies (and that they were) but the two things that stand out are the year Natalie fell asleep on the floor of the Michigan Avenue Brooks Brothers. The youngest of the pack, she literally dropped from all the fun. In the entry way, for all to see.

The other memory I have is of eight or nine of us trying to catch the train after a marathon (and I am an intense shopper, so do not take that as an exaggeration) of shopping. I was quite pregnant and hauling tail for ABOUT A MILE along city streets to catch the last train back home and avoid sleeping on the streets downtown. There are no words to describe what a pack of suburbanites running through downtown, huge shopping bags and pregnant belly in tow, must have looked like.

Except really stupid.

I just remember lots of sweating once we finally sat down. It smelled like a track meet in that train car.

And we laughed and laughed and laughed.

We may or may not have eaten an entire tin of Garrett's Popcorn on the train ride home. Fuel, you know.

So armed with these great memories, we set out to create the same joy with our kids. The family, the friends, the company always changing, but the food, BY GOLLY THE FOOD, stays the same.

Sure, there are additions that I love for people to bring, just to try new things...but there are some traditions so sacred that I dare not mess with. Even if my mom and grandma will not be here to testify against any dressing that isn't of the cornbread variety, I somehow believe they will know if I forsake tradition.

And there must be pie. And it must be Dude's.

A Scene I Could Never Have Pictured 10 Years Ago

So Holly and I went to Jo-Ann Fabrics and spent a solid chunk of time checking out all kinds of crafty sales and holiday goodness.

Sure, we made fun of the really heinous fabrics and picked out some other SUPER DUPER CUTE ones for Christmas aprons. We passed over the ornaments that are only meant for the hopelessly tacky and snagged a few that will surely transform our trees before our very eyes.

We literally cruised every single aisle bantering about the worthiness/unworthiness of various decorating necessities (junk). The fact that we skipped the figurine aisle does put us shy of 90 years old, however.

After a full tour, we arrived at the sprawling magazine rack in the front of the store.

"Holly, I have something to tell you."

She looks slightly bored and ready for yet another over-hyped statement.

"I have read the last two issues of 'Good Houskeeping.'"

She looks up...curious.

"I loved it," I confessed. "There were so many good ideas."

Her face lit up.

"Me, too. That's where I got that Apple Compote recipe."

Silence.

Her courage bolstered: "I think subscriptions are only $13 a year."

Reality is sinking in.

"We have spent the last hour and a half wandering through a craft store, drinking coffee, talking about sewing, and now we are admitting to reading a ladies' magazine which erases any shadow of doubt that we are young and hip."

Yes, it does. Oh yes, it does.

Scarecrow Day

Since Jackson is off-track for three weeks (thanks to year-round school here in Colorado) the class had a Scarecrow Day last Friday. The kids dressed up as scarecrows, got their faces painted, bobbed for apples, and ate caramel corn.

I was decidedly Out-Mommed by certain ladies who thought to use duct tape to add raffia and straw to their kids' costumes. Some even used snow bibs to create overalls complete with scarecrowish patches, hay and straw hats.

Jackson, on the other hand, was wearing a shirt two sizes too small that I made fit by rolling up the sleeves. I talked him into wearing his jeans with holes under the guise of, "The crows nibbled at your knees!" That was my best shot at creativity.

Party Crasher and Jackson

Lilly was a fine junior assistant (under threat of death) and had the teacher saying ridiculous things like "She can just come in and be part of our class anytime she wants to." Right.

When it's her turn for these festivities, she will be dressed in full Scarecrow Regalia. Must be nice to be the second child.

OD

I am so sorry about all the pumpkin talk. A good, pumpkin-loving friend even brought me Chocolate Oatmeal Pumpkin Chip cookies yesterday. I think she was trying to end all the pumpkin blogging if she could appease me and my Inner Pumpkin Stomach with some pumpkiny choclately goodness.

It did not work.

I promise to tone it down in December. But just know you will trade Pumpkin Talk for blurry pictures of my kids with Snow, Santa, Cookies, Holiday Cheer and 4 Year-Old Birthday Madness.

I can't wait.

(Thanks for the cookies, Robin. Y-U-M).

Pumpkin "Patch"--Take 6

It was Lilly's turn to participate in the fall field trip ritual for preschool.

I would say we hit an all-time low when she picked a pumpkin out of a cardboard box as a souvenir.

The hayride was mostly through parking lots, but hey, this is the suburbs!

If the camera panned wide, you'd see

muddy parking lots and the highway.

Audrey & Lilly
Hay bale maze

Witch tattoos!

Lilly showing her belly to the whole class

Pumpkin O Rama

Here are pics from the annual pilgrimmage to the Chatfield Pumpkin Festival. We love it because kids get in free if they wear their costumes and the pumpkin patch is gigantic and out in the middle of nowhere. Thus, the kids are forced to pick out a pumpkin they can carry long distances.

In case you're not sure, Jackson is a Jedi Knight...different ones depending on the day. I believe he was Master Windu on Saturday (the purple lightsaber is the giveaway.) Zach is Raphael, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle.

The girls opted for easily identifiable and predictable girly themes: Lauren the Ladybug and Lilly the Witch.

witchy woman

hunting for pumpkins

Lilly, Jackson, Zach & Lauren

the whole fam (serious as always)

Pumpkin Foul

Look! A huge pile of butter next to a pumpkin! Or perhaps its delicious cousin, Crisco? Give up? It's PUMPKIN FUDGE. Yum.

Just when I thought I could never hate anything pumpkin...

(it can be yours for $8 on etsy.com, by the way)

Pumpkin Crumble Cake

In my ongoing tribute to all things Pumpkin, I am posting the recipe for Pumpkin Crumble Cake. We're taking it to dinner group tonight at which time our fame will be known throughout Parker.

This has seriously made me a small-time celebrity. As in, "This is my friend, Nicole, who makes that great Pumpkin Crumble Cake." And then they gush about its fabulousness.

I'm not saying this to pat myself on the back or anything. It's not like I made it up, I merely mixed the ingredients.

It's far more Paula Deen than Ina Garten.

Last time Brad and I made it (over a year ago, I might add) we found ourselves up past midnight, eating directly from the serving dish. And eating. And eating. Our bodies were not kind to us the next day.

Pumpkin Crumble Cake
Combine:
1 16 oz. can pumpkin
12 oz. evaporated milk
2 eggs
1 ½ c. sugar
3 t pumpkin pie spice
½ t. salt

1 box yellow cake mix
1 c. melted butter
1 c. chopped pecans (optional--I like to toast chopped pecans and walnuts)

Pour mixture into greased 9 x 13 pan. Sprinkle cake mix over top. Drizzle melted butter and pecans over cake mix. Bake at 350 for 50-55 minutes.
from my Mom

Nip in the Air

As a Colorado resident, I officially reserve the right to blog endlessly about the amazingness of fall. I am not trying to belittle or mock my Texas readership, but I want to gently remind them that fall is NOT 90-degree football games with the elderly passing out from heat stroke.

The Midwesterners can argue a strong case for beautiful leaves changing colors, but we have the Rocky Mountains. Check mate.

Waking up before dawn this morning, I checked our thermostat and it read 60. Now that, my friends, is crispy. Tucking in the kids last night, we pulled out the down comforters and snuggled them in. Turning the heat on signifies surrender and we are not there yet.

I should clarify: we tried to be there. Last night, Brad turned on the heat upstairs and not 30 seconds later, I smelled smoke. Actually, before I smelled smoke, I couldn't help but hear (along with our entire neighborhood) the sound of our smoke detectors going off. This was the maiden voyage of our heating system and I'll be the first to tell you something is definitely not working.

Usually Brad will pour all of his Manhood and Ability to Tinker with Stuff on the line and figure it out. However, after the Great Sewer Mishap of June we are not messing with anything.

(For those of you that didn't hear/smell...after we moved in this past June and had lived here a mere WEEK, I ran the washing machine. That prompted our sewer line to back up ankle-deep in the basement underneath our furnace, thus projecting the smell of human waste everywhere. Not to mention ruining my favorite pair of flip flops. Ever.)

After many thousands of dollars exchanged hands, we signed our lives away and promised the builder never to speak of it again. Except on this blog. Oops.

So my chilly fingers are carefully typing while my feet are tucked into some fabulous cable-knit slippers I bought on sale at the Gap last Christmas. Our house sits up on a hill, and there is nothing better than looking out our bedroom window at a blinding pink sunrise over the clear Colorado sky.

In a few minutes, the kids will come down in their robes and force me to make oatmeal and hot chocolate to warm them up. (Ok, it will be my idea.)

I LOVE fall!