The immeasurable weight of words

I haven't slept more than a couple hours a night now, not because I'm afraid, but because I just can't seem to shut it off.  When I close my eyes, the words expressing how upset I am, expressing the things I wish I could say to the guy who got into my house, have been spinning around and around.  They spin so fast that it almost seems like cintrifigul force springs my eyelids back off my eyes every time I try to slip off to sleep.

One family member had painful things to say about our situation, devoid of any compassion, and not helpful in any way.  Those words added to the weight - there's a reason why someone can feel completely emotionally crushed by someone else.  I kept trying to shut it all down, think of something else, anything else, my 4:30 alarm buzzer looming closer and closer as the time ticked by.

The words kept me up for hours, spinning...spinning...spinning...even in my sleep, because after only a few hours I was awake again, thinking the same thoughts from before I slept.  There was no escape in site.

Since I'm unwilling to let a little B&E completely wrap up my daytime mind too, I tried writing again.  The nagging story edging into my editting time with my last book is very alive and well.  I've got most of it outlined out/written out...in my head.  With such a long commute, I have spent hours with the radio off, the only sound the tires and the evolving story, words pinging off the cavern walls of my mind, like a reverse echo, growing into something better every time I hear it.

Words have been leaving me dizzy, with a rolling belly all night.  But words have also been my salvation.  Focusing on those daytime words, they have become a paperweight, holding down my thoughts from the wind, billowing with my anxiety.  

If there was a way I could thank fiction for being a safe harbor, I would.  Instead, I am just grateful of a place to escape from all the things that have troubled me lately.

Burglary and the Sins of Planning Ahead

So I got robbed.  As in, gave my friendly dogs giant bones, guaranteeing BFF status.  As in, left a condom on my floor, and taking every dime of my money I'd saved for my editor - and left in cash in my bedroom to prevent accidental spending - and vandalized my house.  To be fair, the thief DID leave a quarter in the place of my envelop of cash.  You'll have to forgive me if his generosity just feels like a na na nana na...

It's HORRIBLE.

Three years ago, I got my truck stolen by a creepy dude that I had known, but refused to have any kind of friendship.  I had taken my children shoe shopping, and when we walked out of the store, I found myself looking for my car.  You know the feeling...you're sure you parked it in a certain place, but your mind eventually jumps to the possibility of theft.  Right about that time, you usually stumble onto it, and you sheepishly put that idea out of your head.  

Not me.  It really was gone.  Plus, there were only maybe 20 cars in the parking lot, and not many places for an aging 4Runner to hide.  I ended up getting a ride home, reporting it stolen, and then starting what would prove to be the end of my relationship with my insurance company.

My truck was old, so I honestly hoped that if the thief was going to inconvenience me by stealing my car, he should at least have the decency to set it on fire or destroy it in some other complete sense that would result in a check to buy a new one.  Imagine my frustration when it was found, walking-distance from the store, not a charred oozing marshmallow, but perfectly intact, including most of the dirt coating the outside.

I say most, because the creepy guy wrote "I love you" with his characteristic smilie face.  There were beautiful, perfect fingerprints on the glass window beside the affectionate note, but the police that recovered the vehicle did not take them.  In fact, they felt I was extraordinarily lucky to get the truck back at all, and the missing subwoofer in the back was a small price to pay for the lesson of...what?  Leaving my door unlocked?  Key in the ignition?

The fact is I had done neither thing, and since they steering column was not broken, the only possible method of theft was a key.

Did you know that when you go to a dealership, you only have to provide proof of ownership to get a key cut from any VIN number?  And that proof can be something as flimsy as a photoshopped DMV registration, altered from any existing one.  With a fake id, anyone can do it.  It does not need to be notarized, or official in any other way.

When I opened my truck, with the cop peeking over my shoulder, I found my registration on the seat, laid flat to clearly show my address.  My garage opener was missing, and the unspoken statement was that I know where you live, and you'll never know when I'm coming.

So...we were renting...we moved!  Yes, it took a few months to get out, and in the meantime I was so afraid.  You can not know how frightening it is to not have a place you feel 100% safe to sleep unless you have been through it.  I had endless nightmares.  I bought a gun.  

It's been a couple years, and now this happens.  I bought my house... I can't leave.  I still have editing fees to pay for my book that was scheduled back to me last Wednesday, but is still in the process of being made more awesome..  I still have house payment and other expenses.  

I am such a planner, and being a student means we already cut all the corners we can.  I already bought school clothes and supplies for the next year, but might have purchased differently, more conservatively, if only I'd been robbed sooner!

Yes, I know how ridiculous that sounds.  But I'm not getting the money back.  It's gone.  The cops say they've got no way to help me, and I should just change my locks and be more diligent, changing my habits and leaving all my damn lights on all the time.  Somehow, though the cop was a great guy, clearly really trying to help, I walk away from this situation feeling like somehow, I'm the one who dropped the ball, rather than the person who robbed me shouldering the blame.

Almond and Flaxseed Crusted Chicken

Sounds exotic, right?

I feel like I can pretend to be a snooty chef who makes amazing things just by repeating that title. I got a super close up here - doesn't that look so good?

It's so simple and oh-so-yummy.

So, here's the recipe - are you ready for this?

Frozen Chicken breasts
Dijon Mustard
Salt and Pepper to taste

Mix the mustard, salt, and Pepper.  I don't say how much here because it depends on how many breasts you want to make.  The mustard just coats the chicken so the nuts have something to stick to. If you run out, it's easy to make more.

As a side note: you're really looking for a light coating.  If it's too thin, then it tastes pretty bland.  If it's too thick, well, who wants to eat straight up mustard?

Next, you need the nut mixture. We make 5 breasts, so this is what I use, but use more or less depending on how much you want to make.

1/4 cup flax seed
1/4 cup almonds

Grind that up in a food processor, which gives you both smaller pieces and a good, even mixture.  Then dip the chicken in the mustard, followed by the nuts.  The nuts will stick to the mustard, and if you have spots that are missed, then just scoop them on the chicken when it's on the pan.

Cook at 300.  We're in Utah, and with our altitude we're looking at about 25 minutes.

Done!

Homemade Mad-Scientists

A friend and I, convinced that kids brains do not need to turn to mush over the summer, decided that we'd make some real efforts to keep them learning.  Of course, they can't know that they are learning - it's summer break!  They'd never cooperate.  So, we have to be sneaky about how we made it happen.

Since I only have sons, I get to bypass the girlie things like doing hair and playing dress up.  I can focus on adrenaline rushes and competitiveness. But what should we do that would capture the boys attention while still getting them to move around and use their minds?  After much consideration,  we decided we simply must blow something up!

But first, you can't be a proper mad-scientist without the right attire.  So, we had them draw on some yellow tee-shirts (see how I snuck art in there?).  This was our mad-scientist uniform, yellow in color because people should be warned that we're going to be doing something crazy.

Second, no self-respecting mad-scientist is going to not make a mess - so we made bubbles.  These were not any ordinary bubbles - extra glycerine made them bonus big and long lasting.


Each of the kids got a turn using the big bubble maker, and then we had little bubble makers for them to use later on their own. It was fun to see them chase after the giant, bloated bubbles, or run along with their tiny bubble makers held high in the air, a stream of bubbles forming a trail behind them.  But soon, it was time to move onto the next thing.

Since we were going to blow something up, obviously, we had to be in our top physical shape.  We couldn't have any weak scientists, too slow to run away when our explosion went horribly wrong.

So, we ran some races, and threw some hoops over some rings.  As the lead mad-scientist, I evaluated their speed, encouraging them to compete against each other until their little legs were exhausted. We tossed our rings again and again, until I had them convinced that they met the official standards of the National Society of Crazy Mad-Scientitsts.

After they proved that they had the necessary skills, it was time for the grand finale.

I love mentos. I love coke.  What would be a better combination?  We let the kids put a bunch of mentos into a coke bottle, and then they squealed with joy, running away as coke shot up into the sky and rained down around their little heads.  Messy?  Check! Crazy-blow-up-reaction?  Check!  Required bath afterwords?  Check!

Secretly working out the kids mind, causing learning without their knowledge?  Check!

Muahahahah...

    ....mom's are so sneaky!