take a 9in by 13 in pan
spread butter all over
1 layer of shopped rhubarb covering the bottom
1 layer of apples covering rhubarb
1/2 cup of sugar with a little cinnamon on top.
large box of jello (any kind will do)
1 box of cake mix (not chocolate)
1 cup of water
1/4 cup of butter sliced on top
put on the bbq on high for about 30 min
take out cool for 30 min
add ice cream and serve!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
This Morning
I heard his alarm go off at 4:30am. Funny, I never heard it when he slept in my bed. Maybe it was the comfort and warmth of his body that put me into a deeper sleep. This morning I heard it loud and clear.
I had to move him down stairs. I cannot share a bed with someone that doesn't see a future with me. I thought I could deal with it. I thought that my love would be strong enough. But in all actuality I am weak. I cannot live with the fact that he does not see me in his future. This has been slowly driving me crazy. I am very good at picking up subtle hints, and I felt something go wrong nearly a year ago.
"Let's go down to the court house. We can just get a divorce if it doesn't work out."
"No way." I laugh. The only way I was going to marry him was if it was going to be forever. I loved him with every bit of my soul. I was sure he was going to be my husband, but when he said that my mind changed. This guy can't really love me, or be serious if he just wants to marry me now and divorce me later.
After that day things forever changed. We tried to make it work we really did, but we were both hurt. I had no idea he was hurt, and he had no idea I was hurt. We just both felt let down.
This state built anger up inside of me, and made me irrational. Many things have happened since. Bringing us closer to yesterday by bringing us further a part. Yesterday I moved him downstairs into my sons bedroom. We moved my son upstairs into the old office. I say old because a week before my boyfriend took the office and moved it out to the garage. No more men in my bed. The only man that will be in my bed will be my husband. I have a son. I cannot play games with his head letting him feel love for a man only to be let down. Likewise I cannot play games with my own inner thoughts. He doesn't love me. Time to let him go. Time to start fresh. Time to spend on my son and I. Time to get to homework. Time to stop procrastinating on my hurt feelings. Time to live another day.
I had to move him down stairs. I cannot share a bed with someone that doesn't see a future with me. I thought I could deal with it. I thought that my love would be strong enough. But in all actuality I am weak. I cannot live with the fact that he does not see me in his future. This has been slowly driving me crazy. I am very good at picking up subtle hints, and I felt something go wrong nearly a year ago.
"Let's go down to the court house. We can just get a divorce if it doesn't work out."
"No way." I laugh. The only way I was going to marry him was if it was going to be forever. I loved him with every bit of my soul. I was sure he was going to be my husband, but when he said that my mind changed. This guy can't really love me, or be serious if he just wants to marry me now and divorce me later.
After that day things forever changed. We tried to make it work we really did, but we were both hurt. I had no idea he was hurt, and he had no idea I was hurt. We just both felt let down.
This state built anger up inside of me, and made me irrational. Many things have happened since. Bringing us closer to yesterday by bringing us further a part. Yesterday I moved him downstairs into my sons bedroom. We moved my son upstairs into the old office. I say old because a week before my boyfriend took the office and moved it out to the garage. No more men in my bed. The only man that will be in my bed will be my husband. I have a son. I cannot play games with his head letting him feel love for a man only to be let down. Likewise I cannot play games with my own inner thoughts. He doesn't love me. Time to let him go. Time to start fresh. Time to spend on my son and I. Time to get to homework. Time to stop procrastinating on my hurt feelings. Time to live another day.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
just tryin to get some peanut butter
How to: Make a PB & J
If you want to know how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, let me explain. First things first, you gotta have some bread. It doesn’t matter what type of bread it is. You could use your plan old cancer filled, bleached wheat, white bread. Or you could use bread that is homemade out of that same cancer filled white flour. You could use wheat bread if you are feeling healthy. How healthy? Not much, it is still processed and I am sure it gives you cancer too. Then there is rice bread. Who knows if it is good for you. I tried Googling it and it seems as though the majority of internet users out there believe that wheat bread is the way to go. If you want to go all out and attempt a heart-attack, you could use two Eggo waffles.
I have to purchase 100% whole grain wheat. I don’t have a choice in the matter. I get WIC. It stands for woman, infant, child. WIC gives me about $60.00 worth of food a month that could kill us all. “What about whole foods?” I ask.
“Those are too expensive” the WIC nurse answers back, eyes straining to comprehend the computer screen. The WIC nurse and I are busy judging my son’s height and weight against the rest of the children on WIC.
“We have to feed too many people. So you get the basics, milk, eggs, cheese, cereal, 100% juice, peanut butter, and 100% whole wheat bread.” I am thankful so I decide not to complain, even though I believe that it is the processed foods that are giving people stomach cancer. Google tells me this is not so, but I don’t believe everything I read.
Once you have chosen the bread you would like, take out two slices from said package. Then walk over to the silverware drawer, where there is possibly no actual “silver” ware. At my house our drawer is filled with stainless steel silver ware. Once at the “silver” ware drawer obtain a knife, or maybe a spoon; you might be a spoon person, and in that case a spoon will be sufficient. After you have retrieved the hardware necessary for the job, it is time to go to the refrigerator to get some jelly or jam. Flavor does not matter much. It would be best to buy some without high fructose corn syrup as the second ingredient, especially if there is a small kid in the house. Google says that high fructose corn syrup actually grows new fat cells. After you’ve got the jelly it is time to find the peanut butter. If it is my house sometimes the peanut butter is hidden in the fridge, but this is almost sacrilege. Hopefully your peanut butter is in the cupboard. Nobody likes to spread hard peanut butter on a soft piece of bread. The bread almost never comes out alive.
“I know this is the right peanut butter, this is the same peanut butter I have gotten for months now.” I pleaded with checker, placing my hand over my forehead as if that gesture will replace the wrong peanut butter brand with the correct one.
“Well, it’s not ringing up, and if it’s not ringing up then it is the wrong kind.”
“Should I get the right one?” I ask the all knowing grocery checker. She nods in approval. Sigh, there is a huge line behind me, and I am already annoying enough with my WIC checks. I have a new transaction for each check, and then any other items must be purchased separately. Looking at the conveyor built thingy, the one that holds the groceries, you would think that the two people behind me already had their items on the conveyor belt, but no, it is all for me, nicely divided according to how I will pay. I grab my purse off of the purse holder, and my keys fall to the ground. I bend over to pick them up, and I butt bash a customer who is trying to sneak through the line, past me, and out of the store. Maybe, she was impatient. My multiple transactions might have just been taking a little too much time for her.
So now you have all of the hardware and software needed to build your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. First you have to separate the two pieces of bread from one another. After that open the jelly jar, take your spoon or knife and get some jelly. Smear and repeat until one side of slice number one is 100% covered with jelly or jam. Don’t skimp out on the corners, they are the most important part.
With my keys in one hand, purse on arm, connected to said hand with keys, I grab the kid from the cart with the free arm. We run/walk to the aisle housing the peanut butter. My swift movements have stirred the hair on my head and a piece of bang has just landed delicately on my nose. I blow upward with my mouth attempting to remove both the hair, and itch from my nose. Failed. The hair goes straight up and straight back down again, this time landing actually, directly, in the orifice of said nose. This sends my nose into one of those itch fits that you cannot ignore. The keys get dropped again as both hands dive for the nose. My son collides with my head, my purse and my hands all at the same time. I itch my nose all over his face. What can I say? His head beat my hands to said nose. I didn’t have a choice, it was one of those itches, you know the ones. They take total control of your body and mind simultaneously, all in an effort to satisfy an itch. He giggles and says “Mommy, keys.” He points to the floor. He’s three, but still cannot form a full sentence. Could be me, could be normal, who knows, being a 27 year old college student, worker, and a single mom, I don’t have the time to keep up with those milestone books.
Now it is time to repeat the smearing process with the peanut butter. Order is crucial. Placing the peanut butter on the bread before the jelly could produce bits of bread on said hardware. Because of this, bread and peanut butter might find its way into the jelly. You see the peanut butter is thick and sometimes can tear the bread, especially if it was in the fridge. If this happens, please, do not stick the knife or spoon into your mouth to “clean” it off. This does not work, and by the way it is a little known fact that the human mouth is dirtier than a dog’s mouth. Germs from the mouth or peanut butter and bread crumbs do not do any good inside of a jelly jar. They like to age the jelly faster than normal. You see, the jelly is slick, and falls right off the utensil of choice, and the jelly filled hardware is easily cleaned on the piece of bread that has nothing on it. Also it is quite alright if a little bit of jelly gets into the peanut butter. For some reason it tends to do no harm.
I put my son feet down on the floor. I kneel to pick up my keys, this time putting them in my purse. I grab the “correct” peanut butter and forget to breathe, holding back tears of disappointment. I am disappointed for being on WIC and not having the time to read even one of those milestone books. I grab my son’s hand and we head back to the checkout. We excuse ourselves as we attempt to sneak through the line without knocking anyone over.
Once you have peanut butter all over one side of slice number two, and jelly all over one side of slice number one, you are ready to reconnect the two pieces of bread. Connect them so that the peanut butter and jelly touch, and voila! You have made a pb and j.
We make it back to the cashier. Finishing with one transaction, two more follow. Another cashier comes to the rescue by taking the customers from behind my plethora of transactions. I feel a little relief. My son and I leave the store. He and the groceries get put into the car. I run the cart back to the store, and then run back to my car; I can’t leave the boy alone and yet I felt as though the weather would prefer it if I put him in the car. The cloudy, rainy, musty weather is not helping my mood. I jump into the car, click in the seat belt, and my son says.
“I love you so so so so so so so so so much. You are Princess Fiona”
Okay, so he can say a complete sentence or two, and even though these are probably the only two, I love them. They warm me from the inside out. I let him know how much I love him and that he is Princess Fiona too. (He doesn’t like to be Shriek) With a smile on my face, I put the car into reverse and pull us out of our spot.
Grab a plate, place the sandwich on it and cut it into two. My son prefers the triangle cut. I take his peanut butter and jelly sandwich to the table and put it in front of him. He looks at me with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. He grabs the pb & j and smashes half of one triangle into his mouth. Once half of the bite is through the first step of digestion “Milk, peas.” somehow escapes from the orifice that is still breaking down bread, peanut butter and jelly.
“Okay” I turn to walk back into the kitchen. Pouring of milk into a glass is whole other story.
If you want to know how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, let me explain. First things first, you gotta have some bread. It doesn’t matter what type of bread it is. You could use your plan old cancer filled, bleached wheat, white bread. Or you could use bread that is homemade out of that same cancer filled white flour. You could use wheat bread if you are feeling healthy. How healthy? Not much, it is still processed and I am sure it gives you cancer too. Then there is rice bread. Who knows if it is good for you. I tried Googling it and it seems as though the majority of internet users out there believe that wheat bread is the way to go. If you want to go all out and attempt a heart-attack, you could use two Eggo waffles.
I have to purchase 100% whole grain wheat. I don’t have a choice in the matter. I get WIC. It stands for woman, infant, child. WIC gives me about $60.00 worth of food a month that could kill us all. “What about whole foods?” I ask.
“Those are too expensive” the WIC nurse answers back, eyes straining to comprehend the computer screen. The WIC nurse and I are busy judging my son’s height and weight against the rest of the children on WIC.
“We have to feed too many people. So you get the basics, milk, eggs, cheese, cereal, 100% juice, peanut butter, and 100% whole wheat bread.” I am thankful so I decide not to complain, even though I believe that it is the processed foods that are giving people stomach cancer. Google tells me this is not so, but I don’t believe everything I read.
Once you have chosen the bread you would like, take out two slices from said package. Then walk over to the silverware drawer, where there is possibly no actual “silver” ware. At my house our drawer is filled with stainless steel silver ware. Once at the “silver” ware drawer obtain a knife, or maybe a spoon; you might be a spoon person, and in that case a spoon will be sufficient. After you have retrieved the hardware necessary for the job, it is time to go to the refrigerator to get some jelly or jam. Flavor does not matter much. It would be best to buy some without high fructose corn syrup as the second ingredient, especially if there is a small kid in the house. Google says that high fructose corn syrup actually grows new fat cells. After you’ve got the jelly it is time to find the peanut butter. If it is my house sometimes the peanut butter is hidden in the fridge, but this is almost sacrilege. Hopefully your peanut butter is in the cupboard. Nobody likes to spread hard peanut butter on a soft piece of bread. The bread almost never comes out alive.
“I know this is the right peanut butter, this is the same peanut butter I have gotten for months now.” I pleaded with checker, placing my hand over my forehead as if that gesture will replace the wrong peanut butter brand with the correct one.
“Well, it’s not ringing up, and if it’s not ringing up then it is the wrong kind.”
“Should I get the right one?” I ask the all knowing grocery checker. She nods in approval. Sigh, there is a huge line behind me, and I am already annoying enough with my WIC checks. I have a new transaction for each check, and then any other items must be purchased separately. Looking at the conveyor built thingy, the one that holds the groceries, you would think that the two people behind me already had their items on the conveyor belt, but no, it is all for me, nicely divided according to how I will pay. I grab my purse off of the purse holder, and my keys fall to the ground. I bend over to pick them up, and I butt bash a customer who is trying to sneak through the line, past me, and out of the store. Maybe, she was impatient. My multiple transactions might have just been taking a little too much time for her.
So now you have all of the hardware and software needed to build your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. First you have to separate the two pieces of bread from one another. After that open the jelly jar, take your spoon or knife and get some jelly. Smear and repeat until one side of slice number one is 100% covered with jelly or jam. Don’t skimp out on the corners, they are the most important part.
With my keys in one hand, purse on arm, connected to said hand with keys, I grab the kid from the cart with the free arm. We run/walk to the aisle housing the peanut butter. My swift movements have stirred the hair on my head and a piece of bang has just landed delicately on my nose. I blow upward with my mouth attempting to remove both the hair, and itch from my nose. Failed. The hair goes straight up and straight back down again, this time landing actually, directly, in the orifice of said nose. This sends my nose into one of those itch fits that you cannot ignore. The keys get dropped again as both hands dive for the nose. My son collides with my head, my purse and my hands all at the same time. I itch my nose all over his face. What can I say? His head beat my hands to said nose. I didn’t have a choice, it was one of those itches, you know the ones. They take total control of your body and mind simultaneously, all in an effort to satisfy an itch. He giggles and says “Mommy, keys.” He points to the floor. He’s three, but still cannot form a full sentence. Could be me, could be normal, who knows, being a 27 year old college student, worker, and a single mom, I don’t have the time to keep up with those milestone books.
Now it is time to repeat the smearing process with the peanut butter. Order is crucial. Placing the peanut butter on the bread before the jelly could produce bits of bread on said hardware. Because of this, bread and peanut butter might find its way into the jelly. You see the peanut butter is thick and sometimes can tear the bread, especially if it was in the fridge. If this happens, please, do not stick the knife or spoon into your mouth to “clean” it off. This does not work, and by the way it is a little known fact that the human mouth is dirtier than a dog’s mouth. Germs from the mouth or peanut butter and bread crumbs do not do any good inside of a jelly jar. They like to age the jelly faster than normal. You see, the jelly is slick, and falls right off the utensil of choice, and the jelly filled hardware is easily cleaned on the piece of bread that has nothing on it. Also it is quite alright if a little bit of jelly gets into the peanut butter. For some reason it tends to do no harm.
I put my son feet down on the floor. I kneel to pick up my keys, this time putting them in my purse. I grab the “correct” peanut butter and forget to breathe, holding back tears of disappointment. I am disappointed for being on WIC and not having the time to read even one of those milestone books. I grab my son’s hand and we head back to the checkout. We excuse ourselves as we attempt to sneak through the line without knocking anyone over.
Once you have peanut butter all over one side of slice number two, and jelly all over one side of slice number one, you are ready to reconnect the two pieces of bread. Connect them so that the peanut butter and jelly touch, and voila! You have made a pb and j.
We make it back to the cashier. Finishing with one transaction, two more follow. Another cashier comes to the rescue by taking the customers from behind my plethora of transactions. I feel a little relief. My son and I leave the store. He and the groceries get put into the car. I run the cart back to the store, and then run back to my car; I can’t leave the boy alone and yet I felt as though the weather would prefer it if I put him in the car. The cloudy, rainy, musty weather is not helping my mood. I jump into the car, click in the seat belt, and my son says.
“I love you so so so so so so so so so much. You are Princess Fiona”
Okay, so he can say a complete sentence or two, and even though these are probably the only two, I love them. They warm me from the inside out. I let him know how much I love him and that he is Princess Fiona too. (He doesn’t like to be Shriek) With a smile on my face, I put the car into reverse and pull us out of our spot.
Grab a plate, place the sandwich on it and cut it into two. My son prefers the triangle cut. I take his peanut butter and jelly sandwich to the table and put it in front of him. He looks at me with a smile and a twinkle in his eye. He grabs the pb & j and smashes half of one triangle into his mouth. Once half of the bite is through the first step of digestion “Milk, peas.” somehow escapes from the orifice that is still breaking down bread, peanut butter and jelly.
“Okay” I turn to walk back into the kitchen. Pouring of milk into a glass is whole other story.
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