Christmas Vacation Revisited

Its official - I am married to Clark Griswold. I have over the years given into the exorbitant electric bills associated with our outdoor lighting during the month of December, however this year, we have actually breaker switches flipping off regularly each night. I finally had to convince him that we really don't have to put out ALL of our decorations every year. On my list of things to do is "call an electrician"...

The clincher to my husband's alter ego occurred last Saturday, when he eagerly proclaimed we were setting out to cut our own Christmas tree. We bundled up and loaded up and headed up the canyon with his iPod loaded with a Christmas playlist. We stopped one place, hiked for a half mile or so in knee-deep snow and then he determined "we were in the wrong place". We reluctantly loaded into the truck and went further up the canyon. We again hiked for what seemed like miles - the girls and I struggling to keep up with the lumberjacks. Every once in a while I'd hear "Come check out this one!" I'd come around the corner expecting to hear the Hallelujah chorus and see a shining beacon of light on the perfect tree.



We did eventually come home with a beautiful tree that fits into our living room (barely) and lots of memories. And truth be told, I've always had a little thing for Chevy Chase anyhow.

Sure-fire Shooter!

What's a blogspot if not a "brag-spot". She qualified to represent her school in the valley-wide Elks Free-Thow Competition. Today she competed against eight other girls in her age group, attempting 25 shots into a 10 foot basket from 15 feet away. She took FIRST! She goes to the state competition in January. You go girl!

Grandma Grace's Orange Rolls

In every family there is tradition. In our family, tradition frequently comes in the form of food. Mom's cinnamon roll Christmas trees and my caramel corn make Christmas, Christmas. However, orange rolls are on a different level -- orange rolls define events. In other words, it doesn't matter the event, if there were orange rolls there, it was special.

I decided recently that the tradition needed to continue. I made an experimental batch about a month ago using Grandma's six page handwritten instructions. Although they turned out okay, I learned later that I used too much flour. Second attempt -- the day before Thanksgiving. They turned out great, but not quite Grandma's, but the feeling that it was a special day persisted.

Now, the funny part. After hours of rising, rolling, knotting, baking and glazing the rolls. The teenage boy walks into the kitchen and says, "How come orange rolls always turn out in knots?" It took several minutes of different people trying to explain to him that the dough is tied in knots before baking. The kid needs to spend some time in the kitchen!

Passenger Seat

I've been called a control freak before and, while I'm not as bad as I used to be (hopefully), I don't disagree. I like to control my schedule, where my kids are, how my house runs, etc. I have recently encountered a new shift (love the pun)in the arena of control.

I have become the passenger in a car driven by my teenage son.

My knuckles go white and someday I might put my right foot through the floor of the car. I say things like "slow, slow, SLOW!!!" and "you don't have to swing right to turn left". We leave early for everywhere he drives, because we either drive under the speed limit the whole way or spend ten minutes parking (not even parallel).

He never drives with his younger sisters in the car. Not because I don't trust him, but because they scream at everything he does and freak him out. Last summer was the last time we did that -- they screamed as he did a three-point turn on a dirt road and backed us into a ditch. He swore he was never driving again after that (when he realized that meant mom and dad driving him on dates, he reconsidered).

He's eligible to test for his license in January. At that point, I guess I start worrying about who has replaced me in the passenger seat.

Chinese Dumplings

King Tsin. That's where it all started. I'd call for a double order (that was ten) at 8:30 pm and drive over to pick them up before closing in order to enjoy this delicious snack while finishing my homework. That was high school and Northern California where there seems to be an abundance of good Chinese restaurants. Imagine my dismay after moving to Montana to find that there are ZERO good Chinese restaurants.

Enter Caixia. One of my first friends in Bozeman. The Chinese wife of an American grad student at MSU. She invited me over for an authentic Chinese meal and that was the beginning of a beautiful, fattening friendship. She offered to teach me how to make potstickers. We started having regular cooking days in order to create bags and bags of these luscious morsels.

Now, I love them so much that I make excuses to share them with others. The picture is from a day off with my kids last week that we spent the morning folding the soft, homemade dough around the mixture of pork, mushrooms, onions and ginger. I've also shared the experience with my brother and his family, the Young Women in my ward and 60 or so middle school kids last year. You might say that I've become an addict. My husband says they need to be marketed -- something like "Vewy Dewicious Wice Dumplings".

Hello!

Shocker of all shockers! I have finally given in to the nagging of my younger siblings. Here I am...