Hot Chocolate Heaven

Our family doesn't have hot chocolate that often. So I can't honestly say that when I filmed this, that Laura and Grant had ever had hot chocolate before. I focused in on Laura for this video because her reactions to running hot chocolate were too hilarious to pass up. This was my first ever attempt to edit a video and I'm really happy with how it turned out. I hope you like it too.

Eva

Soap Box Sally

I didn't mean to use this blog as an observation deck for life and all things happening in it.  But what I realized is that I have a lot of observations that go on in my head every day.  And I really don't have anywhere to express it.  So this becomes my platform.  

Here's the latest observation.  We are a lazy society.  I know, please don't link you in with laziness.  So I say, apply this where it might apply in your life.  My spewings come from my experience today.  I volunteered to be on the PTA as the grounds clean up chairperson.  I figured it was twice a school year, a Fall Grounds clean up and again, cleaning up the Spring.  No big deal.  Wrong!  Today was our Fall clean up.  Here's how it went down.  I sent out notification of this 4 weeks in advance, again 3 weeks prior, 2 weeks, and you guess it, about 4 days prior to the event.  Parents were requested in notification to respond to my email address to let me know they were attending.  Every day religiously I checked my email, waiting for those good samaritans to volunteer some of their time to help me take on the school grounds.  Not one email ever came.  I figured that was the American way.  Don't do the formal notifications---just show up.  I'm game for that too.  As the old cliche goes, I can't look a gift-horse in the mouth.  So this morning I arrive 30 minutes prior to the start of clean up in hopes of getting a good head start on the job.  There before me sits a large mound of "mulch".  Only Easterners use mulch apparently.  We continue every year to stack wood chips around our trees with some hope that it looks "pretty" but instead we're creating an activity bed for the tree bark to rot and not get as much water to the roots.  It's ludicrous but okay, stick with the standards.  I soon realize after 30 minutes into the time of clean up that not many will show up.  One parent comes with two boys and one shovel.  It's a help.  But the man stands there directing his boys on what to do while he does little to aid.  I think right then "We are a lazy society".  We are so used to not having to do the hard labor of our forefathers that life has become too easy.  Even my own husband was not much of a kick in the pants for this whole affair. I was taught the value of hard work and felt I was up to the task.  But I have to say it would have been nice to have the help of a team of volunteers.  We began with a flat tired wheelbarrow to load mulch, barrow by barrow to the base of each tree.  It was the only wheelbarrow we could find.  Apparently, the janitorial person was supposed to be there to help us with the mulch but I couldn't see him.  I thought he'd be out waiting with baited breath for our arrival.  I did eventually find Tanner (name changed to protect the innocent) who was the janitor and pulled him into the battle of the mulch.  Other parents showed up but without many tools in hand. I sent them to various parts of the school to pick up trash and large weeds.  Rob continued to shovel mulch, Tanner continued to deliver it to the site and we worked hard for 3 long hours.  Several other parent/child combos showed up to help and then everyone was gone.  And there I was with 4 dirty children, one smelly, mulch covered husband, and me with my Medussa hair, wondering what went wrong.  Why didn't more people show up?  And to add to that I had one mother tell me that I should have provided donuts and juice.  Oh, I see.  No one can bother to let me know they are showing up and yet I'm supposed to go out and try and "guess" how many might show up and provide donuts for them.  Donuts that apparently would have gone to waste or waist as you will because I would have purchased more--I have a glass half full approach and figured many others would show up.  But people can't bother to say Hey, I'm coming to help".  So then it took me to my FINAL conclusion of Grounds clean up, people want to come for 20 minutes and do a little work here or there, get instant gratification by saying "alright kids, we worked hard, let's pack up" and then have a donut and a juice on the way out.  I guess I'm not that sympathetic.  You want the donut and juice, come and put in an hour, 2 hours worth of hard work.  I see the positive in this---my children learned the value of working together and we had fun.  We worked hard and came home.  My house didn't get cleaned today, my grocery shopping will be done late and we won't have this one Saturday to do family fun things because we took the time to help clean up.  I guess I'm on this blog to get my own gratification.  I worked hard today and so did my family.  And we didn't expect anything in return.  But I'm disappointed that parents didn't show up.  And I realize that those who truly understand hard work are the farmers who get up before the sun rises and come home when the sun is setting.  I bet if I was in Iowa cleaning up a school, I'd get some great workers who didn't come expecting self gratification or food.  I know, I'm harsh.  But it's a disappointment to see that we expect too much and give too little.  Eva steps down from the soap box.  

Here's hoping the next entry becomes a happy family adventure.

Reduced to Numbers

Curses be to health and wellness I say. Today was another health focused day at work. They were kind enough to bring in a group that does cardiac assessments among other things (I'm reducing the medical terms down to kitche Mom terms). One of the assessments done was an entire body composition. So let's analyze this for a minute. Are they going to tell me what my body is composed of? I can do that myself thanks. But no....this doesn't tell you what you're made of exactly. It tells you numbers. Everyone can relate to numbers until you realize what the numbers of one's body composition stand for. Let me break that down for you. First, there's the fat percentage. Yep. I could have gone a lifetime without knowing what my fat ratio is. And in case you think I'm going to reveal that on my blog, uhhh....no. But let's just say the odds were not favorable. I'm as bouyant as a beach ball with current listed fat ratio. Then let's move on to actual pounds of fat. Apparently, I'm storing a small child in my body somewhere and she's made of 100% fat. If I was a cow, I'd be prized meat right now with just enough gristle to make everything tastey. That's how I give myself comfort in this time of trial. I know, weird analogy but in times of distress, you find solace in odd things. I've never been told how much of my actual body was just plain old unadulterated FAT. It's really enlightening to see. I might not have used the word enlighten when I first read the number. And as I was going over these numbers with my body composition giver--Charlene--I did not feel enlightened. And incidentally, how is it that these people who give you body composition tests do not feel compelled to do the same. I politely asked Charlene (once I heard her lunch request to a fellow coworker) if she had the opportunity to have the same tests. Oh yes, she said. Apparently, her fat pounds must not be equal to mine or she would not have ordered a fried chicken platter with an extra heaping of french fries. Apparently, she's not as affected by the fact that she could have been storing a small child made of 100% fat in her body either. She was about to feed the child.
So then I got to thinking about this whole numbers game and body composition. To my children, I'm a soft pillowy form of perfection. My body absorbs hugs and hangs on to them. I'm a soft shoulder, stomach, back, and thigh to cry on. And I can finish up wasted dinners with the best of em. But to this small electron charge going through my body, I was a mission, a project. The charge wound its way through my body, finding what it was told to find. Fat percentage...check. Fat in pounds.....check. Lack of appropriate hydration (aka, drink more water fool)....check. And when it found the numbers, it came back to report. Overlook the fact that I have feelings, that I have concerns, that I have needs for chocolate on certain (cough daily) occassions. This computer just spewed these numbers out and reduced me to a ratio. And so now my focus has changed. Once I was just slightly plumped up. Now, I know what is living inside me. I know what my body is doing with that extra slice of bread in the morning or those 5 extra candy corns I took from the office treat jar. It's feeding my FAT child. And I have to try and fit myself into these numbers now. I am told my fat percentage should be between 21-27%. That's final the computer says. You must comply or your fat child will grow larger. And I must lean the fat child within me and make it a fat toddler and then hopefully just a fat baby. But I guess that's the lesson today that I learned. That computers don't get hugs. Computers don't need chocolate. And computers don't know what it's like to have to accept yourself, even with the percentage of fat being out of whack. So I appreciate the feedback oh body composition calculator. But your kind isn't welcome around these parts any longer. And I think I can go at least another 5 years without knowing what exists inside my body. It's better that way. Then I can love myself for everything I'm composed of, even if it's not within the range of numbers I'm supposed to be in. It just goes to show you Bill Gates that computers still don't have common sense because they aren't living, breathing human beings. To err is human. Thank goodness because if I was in line to be a computer, my numbers are WAY out of whack. I'd have been stamped reject on the assembly line. So to all of you who haven't had your body composition checked, just say NO. And incidentally, if you're one of those women who works really hard at being healthy and you have numbers of perfection--don't share them. We already know you're perfect, we already secretly spit on the ground you walk on and wish we could be like you. We don't need your body composition numbers screaming in our faces (I'll just cite that based on a fellow coworker who fit said description and HAD to share her numbers with me). There, I feel better now. I think my fat child within is crying and there's a chocolate bar with my name on it.