Mexican Lasagna

Someone asked me to post a few more recipes for dinner ideas. Here's what we ate tonight, with guests. Guests always love this dish, and I think you will do. Unless you're lactose-intolerant. In that case, stay FAR AWAY.

Assemble your ingredients:

1 jar salsa
1 8-oz. container sour cream
3-4 cups shredded cheddar cheese
1/2 head lettuce
12 tortillas, wheat or corn
1 lb. ground turkey or beef, cooked
1 15-oz can refried beans


Layer ingredients in a deep baking dish (I use a springform pan) as follows:

Tortillas (enough for 1 layer)
Meat
Cheese
Tortillas
Refried beans (the whole can)
Cheese
Tortillas
Lettuce
1/2 jar salsa
Cheese
Tortillas
Sour cream
Cheese
Tortillas
Remaining salsa
Cheese



See what I mean? You practically have to be a baby cow to digest this, but it's oh so yummy!

Cook at 350 for about 25 minutes, until cheese is thoroughly melted. Serve and enjoy.

Love/Hate List

Five Things I Loved from Thanksgiving Weekend:

1. Participating in Operation Turkey with Tim and the kids, and watching the kids' attitudes evolve from "Oh, I guess we'll go," to a willingness to stand in a long line to make plates to "Hey, that was fun; can we do it again?"

2. Sitting around with my mother- and father-in-law after all the Thanksgiving guests had left, watching our friend Chris and a few other Longhorns -- someone by the name of Colt McCoy perhaps -- play the Aggies, watching the kids try on their grandparents' glasses and be highly amused.

3. Going to Homestead Heritage Fair on Friday with our friends the Dixons, bumping into three other families we know (this happens to me all the time, including, very bizarrely, the time we walked out of the Natural History museum in New York City and found, sitting on the front steps, the Dixons, who just happened to be in the Northeast on the same week and just happened to visit NYC that same day and just happened to be plopped on the steps at the moment we emerged) ... watching the Professor help with a mock barn-raising, watching the kids dip candles and stamp leather, hearing young voices raised in harmonious song ...

4. Sitting in bed at 10:00 a.m. Saturday next to the Professor, both of us reading books, with Caroline perched right between us, braiding her doll's hair and singing "Gary Indiana."

5. Working on a scrapbook, my under-attended hobby.

Five Things I Really Could Have Done Without on Thanksgiving Weekend:

1. Losing Caroline at the fair. Actually, someone else lost her, but we don't need to name names, do we? Five minutes of acute parental panic culminated in seeing her trotting toward us with a Texas State Trooper by the hand, very little by way of concern registering on her face. If she wasn't too upset, do I still need to put a quarter in her future-therapy jar?

2. My pumpkin cheesecake being half devoured before I could get the caramel sauce drizzled atop it. Really, really petty, I know.

3. Missing my siblings, their spouses (spice?) and my parents for the first time in four years of Thanksgivings. It was like I kept groping for my glasses, and they weren't on top of my head.

4. Veggies, ranch dip, and whining spilled in the car on the two-hour drive to the fair.

5. Losing our pet hamster, Nufe, to a sudden and unidentified illnesss. O the paroxysms of grief! O the keening! I wrapped my arms around my boy as he held that cold, stiff, furry little body and sobbed out, "He was so s-s-special to me!" Y'all. All I could do was hug and hold and listen and refrain from saying stupid things like, "Now now, it's not worth crying about," or "Come on, shake it off, pull yourself together." I may not be the perfect mom, and I may not always know the right thing to say, and words may emerge from my lips that I wish I could yank back, but once in a while I do know what NOT to say. I know that holding is better than scolding. I know it's best to guard the tenderness of a boy like a brave, flickering flame.

My favorite holiday

Today we're making this*:

Directions here. Adapted for the four gluten-avoidant folks who will be present at tomorrow's feast.

And this.

Directions (and a much cooler version) here. Ours will go on the mantel out in Elgin tomorrow.

And this.

Directions (and again, a lovelier version) here.

Oh, and putting new spark plugs in the van. Good times, good times.

Since we'll probably be busy with cooking, reading our Thanksgiving picture books, riding bikes, and general gluttony tomorrow, I just wanted to note how thankful I am for ALL of you who read this crazy little blog, especially those of you who take a moment to encourage me by leaving a comment (but if you don't, sniff sniff, I'm still thankful for you) -- it means a whole lot to me. May your Thanksgiving time be filled with wonderful tastes and smells, family and friends who make you feel loved, memories to cherish, and a sense of overflowing gratitude.

And not too much football. But that's just me.

xoxoxoxo

*Photo courtesy of Simply Recipes.

Finished!

Well, y'all, it finally happened. The day that has dangled far in front of our noses, like a distant phantasmic carrot, for four long-yet-short years.

The Aspiring Professor successfully defended his doctoral dissertation this morning! I think I am going to promote him to The Professor. Here was his general topic: Developing an innovative sensor to measure the soot output of diesel engines. Don't ask me for any more details. I had to practice that one 50 times in front of the mirror already.

My editor had given me the heads up weeks ago that it might be considered customary for me to bake something for this event, based on her own experience with a defending spouse. Accordingly, I thought to myself, What Would Jenny Do? And of course, I made pumpkin muffins.

Actually, there was a fairly decent spread, especially considering the early hour (8:30 a.m.). I sort of have this paranoia of underfeeding people.

We had a bit of drama when The Prof's laptop was incommunicado with the LCD projector, and they just couldn't make amends. My poor guy was nervous, I knew, and the committee members were gathering, and his parents and I could do absolutely nothing to help him, but finally at 8:29 a.m. someone swooped in with another laptop for him to use. Whew.

He then proceeded to dazzle us all for a solid hour by speaking in fluent Swahili. Who knew? I didn't even realize he has a grasp of that particular language, but I'm pretty sure that's what it was. And he was REALLY awesome. At least, that's my best guess, based on the comments from people in the room who understood Swahili -- i.e., the total population of the room minus my mother-in-law and me.

I did my best to channel Nancy Reagan, smiling adoringly at him every time he glanced my way but no doubt revealing the vacancy behind my eyes.

Then they opened the floor for questions. My mother-in-law was such traitor: She asked a question! The first one! And it was an intelligent one! No fair! I'm not supposed to be the only idiot in the room! I had to give her the evil eye.

(Well, not really. But STILL.)

Then I raised my hand and asked my question, which was, "How did you get to be goshdarn cute in addition to being crazy smart?" At which point they ejected me from the conference room.

(Okay. I know. I think SOMEBODY needs a N-A-P.)

In reality, his advisor did usher all the supporters out so they could grill him like a rotisserie chicken for what seemed like five hours, before spewing him out into the hallway so they could deliberate about whether to pass him. (My guess? They were placing bets on the upcoming A&M game.)

This has been such a journey, a long and winding road full of hidden treasures and sandpits and lessons I hope we have learned and God's manifold grace. And today I heard with my own ears my husband's advisor, not known for wasting a compliment, utter the words, "We're really proud of you." And then his parents said similar things to The Professor and me, and lo, I became a salty puddle on the floor. Right now it all just seems so surreal, and yet so weepily real. And now before the flood begins again I think I will excuse myself to go partake of some celebratory refreshments with my sister and our husbands.

Graduation is December 5! Please send pallets of Kleenex (TM)!

Top THIS

So, last Friday, a Certain Someone in this household turned four.

I'm not sure why she had the audacity to do this, since if I've told her once, I've told her a hundred times that she is my baby and she is NOT ALLOWED to grow up. Obviously, I wield a great deal of influence over her.

This is how the birthday went. I think Hallmark MAY have been secretly filming.

Regarding the doll we gave her: "I'M GOING TO LOVE HER FOREVER!!!"

Regarding the new book given to her at bedtime: "OH BOY! A BIRTHDAY BOOK FOR ME! I'M SO EXCITED!!!"

Regarding her birthday party: "I had the BESTEST TIME EVER!!!"

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I am not making this up.

Oh how NICE for you, you're thinking. How very SPECIAL that you have this totally grateful child who creates such moments of joy and delight for her parents.

But wait, y'all. May I put the case that I have earned this privilege? Let's step back in time, shall we, to another fourth birthday that took place in this household a little over five years ago. It's the one I proudly trot out in any parent-to-parent conversation that resembles a Birthday Nightmare Story Swap. And I win.

So, Ian was totally into Thomas the Tank Engine in those days. And after considerable discussion between my husband and me, it was decided that he would be receiving The Ultimate Gift from us that year: THE ROUNDHOUSE.

Thing is. He'd decided weeks in advance that he wanted a jungle animal birthday party. It was to be The Event of the social season, more or less (well, less, but play along with me here). We failed to realize what precisely was taking place in that quirky brain of his, and just how all-encompassing that theme was intended to be.

So the morning of the birthday, we arrive in his bedroom, glowing, proudly bearing the gift that we just know will elicit yelps of nirvana.

We place it before him. He starts to rip off the paper.

And the second he sees the side of the box, he says …

"Oh. Not an animal. Just the roundhouse."

Y'all. I died. And when I came back to life, I heard, in a dull, repeated monotone:

"Oh. Not an animal. Just the roundhouse."

That unwrapped box sat nakedly in the center of the room with all three of us staring miserably at it, and me thinking, Are you telling me that I could have bought you a five dollar plastic giraffe, and that would have made you HAPPIER THAN THE EIGHTY DOLLAR (MINUS FORTY PERCENT BECAUSE OF A COUPON I HAD) ROUNDHOUSE?!?!?!

Oh, and it gets even better, because at his party that afternoon, he opened a few educational toys carefully selected by his friends' thoughtful parents before tossing each one aside and plaintively calling, "Didn't ANYONE get me a jungle animal???"

I died again. Then I came back to life, and all my friends were laughing at me. But in a friendly, sympathetic, so-glad-I'm-not-you-right-now sort of way.

It all worked out, because not only did he end up enjoying the roundhouse (AND behaving like a perfect gentleman at his fifth birthday party, thank you very much), but I had myself my own little revelation, once my hysteria subsided. The Lord very tenderly reminded me of how often I snub HIS gifts. As a loving Father, He gives me the equivalent of the roundhouse, and I sulk for the Made-in-China hippopotamus.

"Oh. Not a new camera. Just a devoted husband."

"Oh. Not an outing to the ballet. Just three healthy children."

But, there's hope! I'll be turning five any day now!

One Word Tag

I promised Era I'd do this meme about ten days ago, and in my own personal time warp, I'm right on schedule! Here we go. The one word limit is seriously going to challenge me.

1. Where is your cell phone? Purse?

2. Your hair? Independent

3. Your mother? Empathetic

4. Your father? Spiritual

5. Your favorite food? Omelettes?

6. Your dream last night? Forgotten

7. Your favorite drink? Lemonade

8. Your dream/goal? Travel

9. What room are you in? Bonus

10. Your hobby? Reading

11. Your fear? Bereavement

12. Where do you want to be in 6 years? Published

13. Where were you last night? In-laws'

14. Something that you aren’t? Brave

15. Muffins? Carrot

16. Wish list item? DSLR camera

17. Where did you grow up? Massachusetts

18. Last thing you did? Knit

19. What are you wearing? Skirt

20. Your TV? Geriatric

21. Your pets? Hens

22. Friends? Inspiring

23. Your life? Journey

24. Your mood? Thoughtful

25. Missing someone? Becky D. (RIP 11/19/09)

26. Vehicle? Sedona

27. Something you’re not wearing? Jewelry

28. Your favorite store? Target

29. Your favorite color? Purple

30. When was the last time you laughed? Afternoon

31. Last time you cried? Morning

32. Your best friend? Husband

33. One place that I go to over and over? Taekwondo

34. One person who emails me regularly? Tim

35. Favorite place to eat? Steeping Room

People I'm tagging: Stephanie, cJoy, Camille, Anne, Raji, and whoever else wants to do it -- link to your post in the Comments if you please!

Um, not THAT Kind of Abbey Road

We took the week off from homeschooling this week.

That is, we took a little break from our regularly scheduled curriculum (we ended up doing Sonlight Core 4 with Ian this year, with primary-level tie-in books and activities for the girls) to make room for all the other things I knew, and didn't know, were going to transpire this week. I wanted to be able to enjoy a few special things with the kids without feeling the slightest bit of stress about falling behind in our schedule.

(Schedule: (n.) A suggestion for how things should generally fall into place. Useful for staving off chaos. Meant to be disregarded at the nearest opportunity for High Adventure.)

There was Cub Scout schooling*. American Girl club schooling. Hike-in-the-woods schooling. Adventures in Odyssey schooling. Folk concert schooling. Netflix schooling (we watched this). Aluminum-foil-origami schooling. (Yup, Caroline's on a new kick!)

*This included building bridges and catapults at the den meeting, learning together about forest layers here at home, and doing some practical math stuff, like a coin-toss probability experiment and a statistics experiment in which Ian got his sisters and all his Friday Co-op buddies to help him survey people's favorite colors. You've never seen a group of kids so exhilarated over a math problem, all crowded around a clipboard and running around interviewing people, cheering "Green is winning!" or "Blue rules!" It made me think. When I was in elementary school, x number of years ago, I just don't remember it being a cool thing to EVER conduct statistics experiments on the playground. Much as I do occasionally wish for the chance to go to Target unencumbered by three Consumers in Training (I'm sorry, did I say "occasionally?" I meant, "almost daily"), it does seem like a small price to pay for the fact that as of yet, no one's ever made my kiddos feel stupid for wanting to learn something.

So anyway, we're at the folk concert today, sitting at Central Presbyterian for their free Thursday noonday entertainments, and after finishing a toe-tapping rendition of "I'm My Own Granpaw," the guitarist and lead singer inquires in that folksy manner required of folk singers, "So, who here likes the Beatles?"

My son's hand shoots up. I'm a bit startled. We haven't exactly covered the Fab Four in our music appreciation studies. How does he ...

"Honey," I whisper in a flash of insight, "do you mean the insects?"

He nods cheerily at me, like duh. And goes right back to drawing Bionicles on the comment card he found among the hymnals.