Drivin' Drama

Over the past 6 weeks, there have been many different vehicles parked in my driveway. In my neighborhood I've become that much hated person that parks across the sidewalk as we've played musical cars and had up to 3 vehicles parked out front. This is a major deal as we have some Olympic speed walkers and mommies with jogging strollers strolling at all hours of the day and night. My house looks like we have at least 3 families living here. This all started when my stepdad died and we started the negotiations with my mom to purchase her truck. Before that could happen, we had to get the truck in her name, sell Ray's 4Runner, and save up some cash so she'd have a nice lil' down payment on a new car for herself. We knew we'd have a delay as the title got switched to her name and all the lawyery stuff was completed. In the middle of all of this, Ray's dad became unable to drive his 5 speed, stick shift, candy apple red Ford F150. Ray offered to help sell the truck in Austin so that Roy could buy something that he could drive. In an offhand comment, Ray mentioned that he would be selling the 4Runner and Roy said he might be interested. While all this was going on, somehow we ended up with my stepdad's Dodge truck in our driveway, too. Don't even remember the reason we took it! Man, did I ever feel like a bad ass driving that loud, growly, dog hair infested rumbler. So, we now had my awesome Pilot, Ray's 4Runner, and the Dodge in the driveway. One Sunday, Ray decided to take the kids over to visit his dad in Marble Falls. When Ray pulled up, Roy was excited because he thought Ray was there to switch cars. That day. Well, that wasn't the plan, but Ray wanted his dad to be able to get around. Therefore, the 4Runner was left in Ol' Marble Falls and the Red Rocket was on its way to our driveway to sleep next to the Hair Wagon. Ray drove the Rocket for about a week, performing his duty of dropping the kids off at school in the morning. One evening, with his eyes closed and right hand across his forehead, Ray told me that he just could not do it anymore. "What, honey? What is it my sweet cheesecake, punkin' head?", I said. "Darlin', I just can't drop the kids off in the Red Rocket. They are trapped in the back since the front door must be opened for them to open their tiny little half door. Without power locks, I get a cramp in my shoulder bending across the passenger seat to open the door so our little prisoners can get out. Without power switches, I can't roll the passenger windows. That means Tanner cannot go through her goodby routine that happens once she gets out of the car. My sweet Amanda, how many more times must I hold up the drop off line as I stop to keep Tanner from chasing me down the sidewalk. The stress of it all! I can't do it anymore!!" Of course, being the caring wife that I am, I offered to give up my comfy Mom Wagon so that he could drop our children off without stress. I thought it would be no big deal. I can drive the truck for a while. Well, that all changed within a few days. First, it's hard to drink a Coke, talk on the phone, change the radio, and eat popcorn when you have to shift through 5 gears. You mean I have to pay attention while I'm driving? What? And 5 o'clock rush hour traffic on I35 on Friday, on a holiday weekend? So.....much.....concentration...... And pulling into the garage at work. The gate I go into is on a hill and you people GOTS ta STOP pulling right up behind me on a hill! I will roll into your Prius. On accident. One day a doctor friend of mine asked me if I was zooming into the garage. No, Dr. I was burning up that clutch trying to get up the hill and not ram into the mini van behind me. The reason, Doc, that it sounded like a zoom is because it's a loud truck that makes the noise of a mad bumble bee. And that sound it makes like four high pitched cowbells in a metal bucket? No idea what that is all about. The echos it produces in our garage is not the type of attention I want to attract. So, the Red Rocket is also the Cow Bell Beemobile. The next week after I acquired the Rocket Bee Cow, it rained. I was excited about it, UNTIL, I turned my first corner, going a normal speed. Red Cow began sliding sideways into the next lane. Hmm, that was scary. I became even less excited as I spun my tires at every stoplight. Somehow, I made it home from downtown where I had to pick up a kid and turn around and drive back up North to a doctor's appointment. Because I feared for my life in the Bee Rocket, I jumped into the Hair Wagon. Even though I had spent 2 hours vacuuming it weeks before, somehow, more dog hair had found it's way to the seats. I was ok with it. Yes, it flew up my nose and stuck to my eyebrows, but I knew it was safer. Yes, it was like a canine fur tornado as I drove, but I was grateful for the forceful, cold AC. I drove to the school and parked in the pick up line. Feeling awesome and bad again in the loud diesel, I almost forgot about the one and a half foot wide hole in the dash. Yea, that year model is known for that. Whatever. Tanner and I rumbled on down the road. After having Hair Rumbler for a few weeks, we finally had time to return it to my mom. Whew. Back down to two vehicles. This week, it rained again. I was that person driving 20 mph down Mopac all the way from downtown. I stayed in second gear all the way home. On the freeway. When I could have been driving 65, No way was I gonna slide into all the other cars. Sorry people. I made it home safe. I've got to keep that pickup intact until the lawyer gets all her stuff done so I can sell that Little Red Wagon and buy my mom's truck (AKA "The Limo Truck"). So, the drama will continue until all the legal battles are won. I just want my Pilot back. I miss you.

Death is not Funny.....or is it?

So my stepdad died. It's tough to call him a "stepdad" because I consider him my father as he was more of dad to me than my biological one was. I'll give you a moment to cock your head to one side, squint your eyes a bit, and say "ohhhhh, I am so sorry." Yep, it is hard and it sure does suck. I've done my fair share of crying, but I hold it together most days. Cry time generally happens while driving home from work as I listen to Chicago and Air Supply on the mix tape made for me in eighth grade by Jimmy Jo Billy Bob. I keep my  double cassette boom box in tip top shape and buckled into the backseat of my Stank Wagon. That boom box is still going strong, just like the day I bought it from Bill's Dollar Store in 1986. I'm sure I'm as sad as I am supposed to be. I'm sure most grieving daughters bawl on Interstate 35 during rush hour. I'm sure most mourners cry over lost deer jerky. Even through all the sadness, my family and I have had lots of laughs. We aren't sure how appropriate it all is, but when have we ever been appropriate? That would be never. Laugh number 1: the day after he died, my youngest sister typed a really nice tribute to him on Facebook. My mom was reading it and on the verge of tears when she got to the last sentence. My sister had typed "I love Jim." My stepdad's name was Walter. Autocorrect had changed "him" to "Jim." Damn you, autocorrect. Laugh number 2: Weeks before his death, I had bought my nephew a Skippy Jon Jones toy from Kohl's. Skippy is a character in a children's book. You should totally read it. Funniest kid's book ever. E-ver. So that my 16 year niece would not feel left out, I bought her a toy from another character in the book. It was a giant, fat, stuffed bumblebee. I presented the toys to my niece and nephew when they got to my mom's house the day my stepdad died. I thought the toys might bring them some comfort in the tough times ahead. I thought the toys might help them sleep at night. I felt really great about being thoughtful Aunt Amanda until, days later, my sister called me in tears- from laughter. She and my niece had been reflecting on the previous days and how they just could not believe what had happened. In the middle of the conversation, my niece said, "And then Aunt 'Manda gave me that STUPID stuffed bee." What I did not tell you in the beginning of this was that my stepdad had died from the sting of an insect, most likely at yellow jacket. The whole time my niece was with us, she  and the bee slept in bed with my mom. My niece, who was extremely close to my stepdad, and my mom were forced to sleep with a stuffed stinging, potentially deadly insect! I just imagine my mom waking at 2:42 am into her life which was like a bad dream, and that bee just staring at her. Mocking her. Boy did I feel like an insensitive witch for not recognizing how inappropriate my gift was. Laugh number 3: At the funeral, programs were handed out. It said my last name was Goring, not Boring. I guess that's an improvement? Or is it? Laugh number 4: CNN picked up an interview I did for a local TV station. Because I did not mention my stepdad's last name in the interview, CNN took the liberty of giving him my last name. Yea? No. Laugh number 5: I'm not sure if larger market newspapers do this, but in small towns, when someone dies, you put a thank you note in to show appreciation for all the thoughts and prayers. I put one in our hometown newspaper, where we all grew up. My middle sister put one in her small town newspaper. When her's came out the next week, we were surprised to see that my husband, Ray, had been listed as Ray Ray. I know many Southern folks have a hankerin' for the double first name. I mean, in my hometown we had Billy Bob, a couple of Jim Bobs, a couple of Joe Bobs, Jim Bill, Billy Mac, Anna Beth, Jimmy Tom- it's just way things were and continue to be. But, I will tell you, I would never marry someone with two of the SAME first names. Nope. No way. Now, 99% of my sister's town thinks I married a Ray Ray. Lots of laughs on that one. The mistakes that happened were public and 1000's of people saw them. Granted, only about 20 people will think all of these things are funny. Yet, I'm still publishing it.

I saw this on the Today show today. Not yesterday. Quinoa is quite the sexy, little food and packed with protein. I love chocolate. Chocolate makes me hungry. Quinoa is loaded with protein and protein keeps me from gettin' hungry. Perfect combination, don't you think?

Recipe: Chocolate chip quinoa cookies
Peggy Kotsopoulos Ingredients

1 cup cooked quinoa1 cup uncooked quinoa flakes (or oatmeal flakes)
1 cup unsweetened, shredded coconut (sweeetened is all I had)
2 tablespoons almond butter (I used natural peanut butter)
4 large VERY RIPE bananas (tons in my freezer)
1/2 cup coconut sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup chocolate chips
Pinch sea salt (regular ol' kind worked just fine for me)

Preparation
These cookies are SOOO GOOD! The are jam-packed with protein, fiber, stress-busting B-vitamins, energizing goodness and deliciousness! They're also gluten-free and will kick your cravings to the curb.

To prepare the cookies:

Pre-heat oven to 375 degrees. In a large mixing bowl, mash bananas in bowl with a fork and add vanilla, almond butter and coconut sugar. Add quinoa, oatmeal, coconut and pinch of salt. Mix until well combined. Stir in chocolate chips. Line baking sheet with parchment paper and drop batter on to cooking sheet. Bake for 25-30 minutes (watch them. at 25 minutes, the bottoms of mine got too done). Remove from oven and let cool.

Serving Size
Makes about 25 cookies that look more like muffin-tops and are chewy.

If it ain't green beans, it's crap.

Yesterday my daughter had a drop to the floor, super freak out because I would not cook asparagus for supper. When the super freak comes out, the kids go to their rooms to defrizz. Since she was little, the best method was to put her in bed and cover her up with a blanket. There's some magical force field under the blanket that sucks out the craziness. Works every time. I am always amazed at how she will go to town on the foul-pee-inducing stalks. I never even heard of asparagus until I was 24 and I never ate it until I was in my 30's. Did Mason even sell it? Why, when I was growing up (had to do it), we ate green beans with every meal. None of those fancy vegetables like aspargus, broccoli, or cauliflower. My poor mom, I bet she dreamed of having meals with something other than green beans or mashed potatoes. If we'd had enough money to have more than 5 channels and had the Food Network, I could see my mom salivating over the meals she couldn't cook. I bet she dreamed of the day when she could branch out with her culinary skills beyond meatloaf and spaghetti. I feel her pain. Hance is a picky eater. He is one of those people that will gag and almost puke if he eats something he does not like. And he doesn't fake it, it's a full on heave. It's the test we use to know if we need to make him finish something. No gag means you like it and you're gonna eat it. I'm sorry mom for being so picky.