Portraits Of A Snow Day

(Don't let this picture fool you. These two were on each others' nerves all day long!)

(More on this later!)


(But it sure was good!)

"That Boy Is A Runnin' Fool!"

Name that movie.

But that's not really why we're here today.


We're here because of Eli and the fact that he likes to run. You might say "Here is one who likes to run. He runs for fun in the hot, hot sun", but you'd be wrong about the hot sun part. Especially considering the temperatures here for the next few days. But the boy does *love* to run!

In the afternoons, after school, Eli asks me to pull over somewhere along the road home to let him out to run. I make sure we're at least off the main road and then I let him out to run, tailing him at a snail's pace (or little boy's pace) so other cars won't come along and knock him off the road. Usually it's just at the end of our street, but today it was farther.

I don't blame him. The sun was out. The temperature was mild-ish (well, mild-ish for January), and he'd been cooped up all day at school. He needed to run.


He doesn't really run in a straight line and his form leaves something to be desired.


But it doesn't matter because he is running.


Soon Phoebe feels the call of the open road, too.


I'm not sure brown mary-janes would be considered proper running gear. The pace has slowed considerably.


There was ice cream all around when we (finally) made it home. You've got to celebrate that achievement somehow!

The Sleepwalker Strikes Again!

The other morning, I came out of my bedroom to find this in the living room.


I scooped up my little (and very cold) baby girl and deposited her in my bed, next to her daddy, until it was time to get up for school. When I asked about her sleeping on the couch with no clothes on, she said, "Daddy sweep on de couch wif no clothes. I sweep in my bed."

Hmmmm.

More Fun Than A Barrel Of Monkeys

We live on the prairie.


In a caliche pit.


With no trees.


Because of this, the landscaping around our house is an ever on-going process. I would love my house to look like THIS, but I realize THIS is probably a little more realistic (you know, minus the southwestern, flat-roof house). Oh, it's not just the climate that prohibits such a luscious yard, I DO NOT have a green thumb. Not even a little bit. And I have no interest in acquiring one.

Last summer Brad put in grass and the circle drive. Now we are adding some trees and fixing some drainage issues in the backyard. All of which require "dirt moving" by a "dirt guy". (Those are technical terms, by the way.) And when you move dirt, it all has to be put somewhere...like a very large pile of dirt in the backyard. A pile that had my children (and Eli's little school buddy) giddy with excitement.

There's just not too many things more fun than climbing up a big pile of dirt...


...and jumping off!




Then doing it all over again!





Phoebe is never one to miss out on the action!



There's probably a very good reason to forbid the children to play on this pile of dirt. I just couldn't think of one that would trump all the fun!

I'm not sure my washing machine will ever be the same, though.

Girl In A Pink Hat

I took some pictures this week for Phoebe's birthday invitation. I'm not sure which one I'm going to use, but I thought they were pretty darn cute! I also downloaded Photoshop Elements' 30-day free trail to see if I liked it. So far I'm mostly confused, but here's a few things I've played around.


I'm not thrilled with the color on this one, but I was taking them before school so there was no natural light to work with.





If anyone has any pointers, they would be greatly appreciated since those three photos took over an hour!

At least I have a willing subject. She is *such* a ham!

Misadventures In Macaroni

I feel very comfortable in my kitchen. Other than baking and yeast, there aren't too many things that daunt me in this space. I think it's because I'm somewhat of a picky eater. I only like to eat really good food and the only way to get really good food on a consistent basis is to make it yourself. So I do. I like to peruse recipe magazines and blogs looking for yummy things to make for my family and friends. It's one of the only things I'm really good at. There aren't too many times when I totally mess up the recipe beyond repair. (Except for that one Christmas morning when I used powdered sugar instead of flour in my biscuits. I blame it on my mother-in-law. If her bins were neatly labeled and alphabetized, like mine, it would have never happened. That was four years ago and it still haunts me.)

Sometimes I get a craving for a particular kind of food. Like roasted chicken or Fettuccine Alfredo or baked beans. It haunts me for days, like a song you just can't get out of your head, as I wait for the next trip to the grocery store, using that time to find just the right recipe for whatever it is I can't get off my mind. I usually plan a whole meal around whatever it is, finding the perfect compliments, like one might with a special bottle of wine. Then, when the day finally arrives, I get a thrill out of measuring or whisking or baking or sauteing or whatever it is, and if I've done it right, then the first bite is perfect. I wait on pins and needles as Brad tries it, and I'm usually disappointed in his reaction so I watch Phoebe, who will ooohhh and aaahh and moan and groan with the deliciousness of what I've made. Then I move on to my next craving.

Last week it was macaroni and cheese. Not my usual mac n' cheese, but something special. Something baked. I told my friend, Heather, this and she said that she had just made The Pioneer Woman's Macaroni and Cheese for her family and they loved it! Since The Pioneer Woman has never lead me wrong before, I thought I'd give it a try. Every step was something I had done before. I knew how to boil noodles and make a roux and melt some cheese. Easy-peasy.

We were having some people over for dinner on Sunday night. (Actually, we were bribing them over for dinner because Brad needed help putting up some cabinets in our garage and needed some professional help. I offered to feed them dinner in exchange.) I figured bbq chicken and baked beans and coleslaw and macaroni n' cheese sounded delicious. A perfect array of flavors to balance the palate...and I had a hankerin' for baked beans, too. So I boiled and whisked and stirred and baked.

And it was horrible.

Actually, the flavor was quite good, but the consistency was awful. Mealy and dry...like when you re-heat the boxed stuff in the microwave. Not creamy and gooey like it was supposed to be. Our sweet friends ate it anyway (and Bryan even had two portions, but I think it was because he's just an all around good guy). I knew I had messed up somewhere. I thought maybe it was because I was in a hurry or I had missed a step somewhere. The pictures of PW's mac n' cheese did not look like mine. I apologized and threw the rest of it in the trash.

Not to be intimidated (and because I was still craving mac n' cheese), I tried again on Tuesday night. This time I really concentrated and took it slow. I pre-measured and mixed all ingredients. I followed all the directions precisely.

It was still bad.

I think I need to go to Baked Macaroni N' Cheese Group Therapy. Do you think they have such a group at the community center? Or do you think we are all just too ashamed of our failure to admit to someone else? I just cannot master this recipe and I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong. At this point, I'm not craving baked mac n' cheese anymore. In fact, I'm fairly disgusted with the whole ordeal.

I did learn, however, that my children do not have such distinguished tastes. They thoroughly enjoyed both batches of the mac n' cheese and asked me to send it in their lunches the next day. A privilege reserved only for the yummiest of the yummy (in their minds, anyway).

Did you notice the nice shiner Eli got on Sunday while riding his bike? He fell off on our driveway and landed face-first in some rocks. It's looking blacker and blacker as the days go by. Brad and I decided that we have got to be sticklers for making Eli wear his bike helmet! Lesson learned the hard way, I guess. Just like mac n' cheese!

I'm trying to forget this whole thing ever happened. While my confidence in the kitchen has been shaken, it's time to pick myself up, dust off my apron, and break out the frying pan. There are still so many more recipes to try and cravings to fix!

My "New" Coffee Table

Several months ago (like maybe 6) I bought a coffee table at a garage sale for $15. I was so excited about the wonderful piece of furniture it would be when completed. However, I suffer from a bad case of frustrated perfectionism. It's a debilitating illness where the sufferer has an innate need for everything to be perfect and is so hampered by the "perfect illusions" that they don't actually begin anything if they are overwhelmed by the sheer task of making it live up to the expectations in their head. You probably think I made this up, but I think I really heard it on Oprah several years ago. It's been my go-to excuse ever since!

But, I digress. Back to my coffee table. I don't have any "before" pictures, but it was a pretty typical late 80's oak coffee table. I liked it because it was round, the right size, good and heavy, and had nice bones to it. Brad was less than thrilled with my purchase because at the time, he had just finished painting all the furniture in my guest room and vowed not to touch that table with a paint brush attached to a 39 1/2 foot pole. I promised him he wouldn't have to and after he moved it to the attic for me, it sat there for several months. Basically until I had exhausted all other "big" projects from about the same time (I had told myself I wasn't going to add any more to the to-do list until I finished what I already had on my plate) and it was the last one. The albatross around my neck.

So last weekend, I armed myself with paint clothes and paintbrush and got to work. I sanded it down first to remove some of the slick stain. Then rubbed quite a bit of it with a candle and gave it two coats of white paint. I think I might have given it three if I wasn't wanting to rub quite so much off to give it that "rustic" look. After those were good and dry, I hand sanded the table.

It turned out fan-TAS-tic!

(Sorry, it's not a great picture. Just take my word for it.)

After I had sanded and painted and painted some more and sanded again, Brad took pity on me and gave it a coat of polyurethane to make it bit more finished-looking and a little more kid-proof.

This is a picture of the "peeling" paint.


And the interesting feet.


The top needs a little love (like an old platter or something), mostly to discourage Phoebe from jumping from the couch to the coffee table to the ottoman on the other side.


I'm afraid that if she got into a wrestling match with this table, she wouldn't win. It's that heavy!

Now that I'm finished with the table, I can make another to-do list. At the top: curtains for my living room and Brad's office.

Oh wait, and the guest room and our bedroom.

And the playroom.

That should keep me busy till 2011.

We Are Not The Von Trapp Family

We are not the Partridge Family. Or the Duggers. Or that family on America's Got Talent.

I know people that need music like fish need water. People who have perfect pitch and can play musical instruments and who seem to always know every single song on the radio past and present. It is part of who they are and without they would be lost. I had a friend in college who said that the most important thing she was looking for in a husband is someone who loved to sing. I remember thinking, "Really? Really?! That's the most important thing?" She and her husband probably have accapella sing-alongs on long car trips where the children sing all the different parts like the song "Daddy Sings Bass."Outside of church and small groups, I'm not sure that Brad and I have ever sung together. Brad has trouble remembering a simple tune and I couldn't tell you anyone on the radio unless they've been on Sesame Street. We're just not that family.

Unlike Brad and I (both sets of parents are better than average singers), Eli has followed right along in our footsteps. The boy cannot carry a tune in a bucket to save his blessed little heart! He told numerous Sunday school teachers that he didn't like to sing and would just sit during Children's Worship (or play air guitar, but that's a whole other bowl of beans!). He never sang little ditties or asked me to sing any song while potty-training and when asked what he wanted to listen to while riding in the car, he would usually say "just talking". The soundtrack to his life would be gunfire and Star Wars sound effects.

But now Eli has Music every day at school and it seems some little tucked-away place buried deep inside of him has been set free. He sings (yes, sings!) while going about his day. He asked me to google "double bass" the other day because I wasn't quite sure what it was and he was trying to explain something to me. We even talk about music everyday.

Eli: Mom, you know that guy who played music that makes your brain smart?
Me: Um, Mozart?
Eli: Yeah, him. He's my favorite song guy after Elvis. (I'm not sure he even knows anyone beyond Elvis and Mozart!)

Eli: At school, Mrs. Vokes brought her French horn to school and let me blow in it.
Me: Really. A French Horn?
Eli: Yeah, it's like a horn. But it's French.

Eli: Mom, I want to play a violin.
Me: Why? It takes lots and lots of practice.
Eli: I want to play in a band. (Can you just see what kind of "band" Eli imagines himself playing a violin?)

Watch out, Von Trapps! The McCall's are on their way up!


For the record, Phoebe is VERY musical. She is always singing and making up songs and she seems to light up when music is played. When she hears music that moves her (whether Pachelbel's Canon in D or Hey Mickey, You're So Fine), she starts dancing and wants everyone around her to dance with her! Regardless of whether you're standing in the check-out line at United or in the bathroom at Dillards. It's a little embarrassing. I think I'm going to need to send Phoebe over to someone's house who actually knows something about music. Or maybe I'll just send her to the grandparents house. They weren't embarrassed to sing in the middle of the capitol building, they probably wouldn't be embarrassed to slow dance with Phoebe at the grocery store.

My Gold Star Boy

This boy received the Gold Star in his class last week.

We were all a little shocked. Eli's elementary is on a nine-week-schedule as opposed to a six-week-schedule. Every nine weeks, each teacher is given a Gold Star to give to the student who deserves such an award. It may be for being an outstanding student in all ways or it may be because he/she had vastly improved over nine weeks. In Eli's case, I think it might have been a little bit of both! The teacher writes why that student was awarded the Gold Star on the little paper star and Eli's was because "he's a hard worker and a friend to everyone and he's learned that sometimes he's not going to be first and that's okay!" Being a first child (and only for such a long time) really did a number on his psyche!

I was asked to come up to school while he went the principle's office to receive his special pencil and hear how great the whole school thinks he is and then his star was placed on a great big bulletin board by the office so everyone could see it. Later, when more students have been added, there will be a special "lunch with the principal". We had already let him choose our dinner destination the night before Famous Dave's (aka The Pig Place, and, for the record, if you haven't eaten there, then you have missed some really good bbq and jalapeno mac n' cheese!), so eating with the principal is some nebulous idea he just can't quite figure out yet. It was a proud day in the McCall house. We thought this school thing just might be working out for him and that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't end up a narcissist or in prison.

And then a few days later he got into a fight on the playground with another boy and yelled at a teacher. All on the day of the mid-year parent/teacher conference. Nice. At least we had something to discuss!

My New Favorite Shoes

My mom has introduced me to the most comfortable shoes on the planet.

No joke.

They are worn by professional chefs, endorsed by those who work for Martha Stewart in the January edition of Martha Stewart Living (I should know, I have a stinkin' subscription), and lucky librarians the world over.

The shoes are on the pricey side so I had decided to save up my Christmas money to buy these little beauties because they are my favorite.


Then I found them on sale! Yipee!

I think I've worn them every day since. My other shoes are getting a complex. :)

"Give a girl the right shoes and she'll conquer the world."
--Bette Midler

Getting Ready For The Paci Fairy

Both of my children were paci babies. Each liked to be swaddled up tight with a paci in their mouth every single night. Eli was sleeping through the night at 2 months (and I'm talking 10-7) and Phoebe at about 7 weeks so it worked for us. I am the Queen of Swaddling. Just ask my sister. However, I am not the Queen of Paci Discipline. Eli weaned himself around 15 months or so and I congratulated myself on dodging that bullet.

Phoebe? Not so much.

The sweet girl is still addicted to her paci. And when I say addicted, I mean we-don't-leave-home-without-one-and-there's-a-backup-in-the-glove-compartment addicted. About a year ago, I thought it would be a good idea to confine the paci usage to her bed. She spent several extra hours those next few weeks just hanging out in her bed with her books and babies and puzzles and her paci. Then she adjusted and we (mostly) stick to this rule. Except, of course, when she's having a melt-down. Or riding in the car. Or watching a movie.

Like I said, this has been a bit of battle for us.

All the experts I've talked to about this tell me not to worry so much. These experts include my parents' best friend (who's a dentist), my Aunt Amy (a pediatric ENT), and our pediatrician. They all told stories of children (including their own) who gave up the paci only to replace it with clothes chewing and hair pulling. Who needs that? And I've listened to them. Partly because they know what they're talking about and partly because they were telling me what I wanted to hear.

Then a few days ago it dawned on me that Phoebe would be turning three in less than two months. Three!! I'm worried that if we don't do something now, then she'll be bringing a back-up paci on her honeymoon. I'm not sure her future husband (or her teeth) will appreciate this.

I decided it was time to pull out the secret mommy trick. The one that really works.

Bribery. (Apparently, I'm in very good company!)

I told Phoebe that when she turns three, we were going to gather up all her paci's and put them in a basket for the Paci Fairy who would come and take them. She would give them to all the little babies who needed them (because big girls don't, you know) and leave her a big girl present. We've been talking about this big event, trying to get her excited and ready all at the same time, and I'm still not sure she's ready. We've even been to Target trying to find something that Phoebe might like the Paci Fairy to bring her. (For the record, there is no present big enough or great enough to replace her beloved paci's.)

Most of the time, Phoebe acts like she's on board with idea. She'll tell any one who will listen all about the Paci Fairy and what wonderful things she'll bring. She's picked out a basket to put them in and talks about how happy all the baby recipients will be. But then we'll be at Schlotzky's eating a late lunch after church. It'll be past her naptime and she's just had it. As I fish around in my purse for the paci, I'll ask her what she's going to do when the Paci Fairy comes.

"I no want to talk about it."

Oh, jeez. We are so not ready for the Paci Fairy.

Photo Catch-Up

It's the end of a long, cold week and all the energy I have left over after doing loads of vacation laundry, taking down Christmas (and sorting, trashing, re-organizing, and lableing it all), and cleaning my very dirty house (there was a lot of mess under all that festivity) is being used to keep myself warm. It's almost a full-time job...especially when Texas was reported as being colder than Antartica this week. Good grief. So I'll just use this post to catch-up on all the pictures I took over our little ski vacation. Use your imagination because I'll be providing minimal narration. :)