The Bestest Cookies

I made these for my mom's birthday today. They rival "Mike the Cookie Man" from work. They are so good that I can't even stand it.

Mrs. Field's Cranberry White Chocolate Chip Cookies
1 Cup (2 sticks) butter, softened

1½ Cups light brown sugar
¼ Cup granulated sugar
2 eggs
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2¾ Cups all-purpose flour
1 Cup rolled oats
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
¾ teaspoon salt
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
1½ Cups chopped dried cranberries
1 Cup chopped walnuts
¾ Cup white chocolate chips

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
2. In a large mixing bowl, cream together the butter, sugars, eggs and vanilla with an electric mixer on high speed.
3. In another bowl, mix together the flour, oats, baking powder, baking soda, salt and cinnamon.
4. Stir the dry ingredients into the wet stuff until blended. Stir in cranberries, walnuts and white chocolate.
5. Spoon ¼ Cup portions 2 inches apart onto a non-stick surface (parchment paper, Silpat or Release foil) on a baking sheet. Bake for 13 to 15 minutes or until edges of cookies are just beginning to brown. I check them after 13 minutes to see if they are a little brown. Cookies will still be soft in the center and not look done, but take them out JUST as the edges brown a little. Allow cookies to sit for at least 5 minutes before removing and placing on cooling rack.

Living Will for my Hair

I was pondering what would happen to me if I became incapacitated and how my family would deal with my basic personal care. It is odd to think about who (other than yourself) you would want bathing you, wiping your “area,” plucking your eyebrows, trimming your toenails, and waxing/bleaching your mustache. I feel pretty confident that most people in my family could handle any of the described. Mom and Candace have been formally trained in the bathing and personal care of bedridden people. The rest of my family could help deal with the basic care, as most perform some sort of personal hygiene (on at least an every other day basis). What does concern me most about my personal care and who could do it- is the care of my hair. The thought of that task going to someone else causes some anxiety for me. And, I feel sorry for those that may be charged with that task. Therefore, I feel compelled to write down the steps for its care. I will address the care of my hair if I am incapacitated, but still alive AND how to fix it in the event of my passing. The last thing I want people to see when I am in a coffin is some ratty, crazy hair. Not what you really want to be thinking about at age 35, but imagine if you were the person at the funeral home fixing my hair. Wouldn’t you like some sort of instruction on what makes it look best?




In the event of temporary incapacitation where I am either unable to use my arms or intubated, sedated, and lying in the ICU, here are your instructions.

1. As soon as possible after admission or my incapacitation, work with the nurses and let them know you MUST wash my hair. I have never used the no rinse shampoo, so you need to get creative to actually wet my hair and shampoo it.

a. Though you will be upset about my health, you have to know that if you do not take care of this within the first couple of days- my hair will become a big matted mess of hair.

2. Using a WIDE TOOTH COMB and while my hair is WET- start brushing out the tangles

a. You will be amazed at how tangled it is.

b. Start at the bottom of my hair and brush out tangles. Proceed on up the scalp.

3. Brush the hair straight, while still WET, and put it in a ponytail holder. Braid the ponytail.

a. If you take the time to brush it out straight and braid it- the next time you need to wash my hair there will be about 95% less tangles for you.

4. If you are absolutely unable to wash my hair with water- you still need to address the hair during the same timeframe

a. Use a spray bottle with water and wet the hair in sections and brush the tangles out of each section.

b. After all the tangles are out, wet is a thoroughly as possible and follow step 3 above.

5. If I was rendered helpless for days before you found me, yet I survived, my hair will probably already be in the super matted state.

a. After attempting to brush the tangles out, if you find that it is an impossible job- I know that you will have to cut it all off. I will be sad about it when I wake up, but I will understand.



If I am permanently unable to care for my hair or if I die, I want you (or the funeral home person) to know how to make it look the best. I prefer you not pull it up and braid it everyday. On some occasions, I would like for you to “fix it up real purty.” It is easy for my hair to look like a hot mess, so hopefully this will be a good guide for you.

1. The best way to brush my hair out, is in the shower. After washing it with a decent shampoo (I prefer Aveda, but over the counter will do as long as it is not too cheap. Nothing moisturizing, though. The curls won’t work if the hair’s too soft), apply a lot of conditioner. About the palm of your hand.

2. Using the wide tooth comb, brush it out as described above.

3. Rinse thoroughly

4. Gather the hair in sections in the palm of your hand and squeeze it gently up the scalp, gathering (scrunching) it up the scalp. Squeeze out as much water at possible.

5. Using the towel, gently squeeze the excess water out as described above.

6. DO NOT put a brush or comb to the hair after rinsing.

7. Apply Aveda Phomollient mousse (yes, it’s expensive, but it works) in sections using the scrunching method. Make sure all sections of hair get moussed, or it will be frizzy.

a. The trick here is to be gentle with the hair, otherwise you will break up the curls. Don’t flounce it around or stick your fingers up in the hair and shake it around. Hairstylists do this and it really messes it up!

8. Using a hair dryer with a diffuser (key ingredient here), scrunch the hair gently up in sections and direct the air into your hand.

a. Do this on all sections. Be extra gentle with the hair on the top of the head near the scalp. Messing around too much with it will make it get frizzed.

b. If parts start to look frizzy, apply some hairspray to those parts to keep the frizz from magnifying.

c. After the hair is almost all the way dry, if the dryer has a cold air function, do that all over the hair. At this point, you don’t have to scrunch anymore, but don’t let the dryer blow the hair all over the place. The diffuser should prevent it, but sometimes people go a little nuts.

9. Apply hair spray as needed to frizzy spots.

10. After an hour or so, check back on the hair. After it has rested for a while, it sometimes draws up some more and some frizz appears. May need a little more hairspray.

11. If the funeral home is doing this, they need to follow the steps as much as possible so I look nice.

12. That is all there is to it.



Yea, it’s a weird instruction manual, but it’s necessary. It will be a part of my living will someday.

Blog Written By Ray Dec 2009

I have never claimed to be some sort of tough guy. I would like to think that I could take care of myself if it came down to it. I have never been afraid of people or things as long as the sun was up or a light was on. Let me tell you about me being scared. Darkness has never been a close and personal friend of mine. My imagination runs rampant when the lights go out. So when my 2 1/2 year old woke up at 115 this morning screaming for her mother, I was concerned. She will usually lay in bed and cry at times but she is still asleep. My daughter will usually settle down and stop hollering just after a couple of minutes. But, this time rather than going back to sleep she said "don't touch me and leave me alone" and screamed in terror. Upon hearing these words, I just FREAKED! The hands of time instantaneously turned back about 25 years. So there I lay, a 6'1" 245 pound 10 year old with my mind just spinning out of control. I remember seeing all of the horror movies as a kid. All of the spookies and creepy crawlies and things that had no business in my sight or in my mind were making there long absence known. I asked my wife if she wanted to get my daughter and bring her into the bed with us. She said no and got up to check on my daughter. Well my wife got her to calm down and got her settled back in. She told me that my daughter was running a fever and was probably in a lot of pain. I thought all was well but there came the screams again and my wife brought her into our room. She asked if I wanted to go to the other room to get some sleep. I assumed that it was just because my wife does worry about our children when it comes to sickness and this was a way for her to monitor my daughter's breathing patterns while sleeping and make sure that she is OK. I did go to the other room and she slept with my daughter in our bed. I lay there until about 4 am because I am who I am- unable to go back to sleep for the fear of what she saw in her room! The working part of me wishing to fall asleep, the dad part of me wanting to go into my daughter's room and investigate, and the little boy part of me just laying there staring at the ceiling worrying about every little noise that I heard. As though I was not scared enough last night- my wife just called me and told me another detail that was left out of our conversation in the wee hours of the morning (she said she did not want to tell me at the time because she knew I would be scared. The second or third time my wife got up and went into our daughter's room, she said Tanner was in the corner of her bed sitting there crying and pointing to the opposite end of the bed. She mentioned something about that thing bothering her. So all of the screams that I thought were just bad dreams now have a new definition. I am getting goose bumps just thinking about it. If anyone drives past my house tonight, every light in the house will be on. Yea, like I am going to be able to go to sleep. Especially if my wife goes to work. I am such a chicken.

Memories

March 3, 2009 During the summers, my middle sister and I would stay with my dad. Three main things come to mind when I think about our summers with him: Coca Cola, beer, and cigarettes. Besides us (I think) those were my dad's favorite things in life. He smoked like a chimney. This was back when people did not know how socially unacceptable it was to smoke in front of your kids. I remember being trapped in his old clunker of a car (he got about 4 a year and they were always pieces of crap) with the windows up and the whole car filled with smoke. I remember being so relieved when he would crack the window (sometimes the little bat wing window) and the smoke would go rushing out. Man, if it was in this day- my mom could have had him in court ordering him not to smoke in front of us! Not in the 80's. Smoke it up parents, smoke it up. My mom once told me that the minute she got us back home, she would immediately wash all of our clothes because they reeked of smoke. We usually stayed at my grandma's (the Holy Roller I wrote about a couple of weeks ago). Things were always the same when we pulled up. Weeds crotch high in places, a run down chicken coop that may or may not have had chickens, a broken down Gremlin and Pacer in the yard, at least one additional broken down car in the yard each visit, and a trailer house in the yard that my dad lived in on occasions. I remember one year my dad found a baby racoon and named it Rocky. He tied some thick wire between 2 trees, put a leash on Rocky, and clipped it around the wire so he could run back and forth. I have not idea why he kept this racoon. It bit my sister once. Thankfully, she did not get rabies as far as I know. I remember being so dirty during those summers with my dad. I remember before going to bed each night having to dust our feet off before we crawled between the sheets. I am so grossed out by that because I imagine our feet were black as tar and we thought dusting them off was enough! Why weren't we wearing slippers? The room we slept in (called the "back room", which was about 4 feet from the "front room") had 2 old timey iron beds in them. For some reason, they were never all the way up against the wall, so there was about a one foot crack between the wall and bed. I used to make Candace sleep over on that side. She was so scared that something was going to reach up and grab her in that crack. I am sure that is why I did not want to sleep over there either! That room was always packed with crap. The room was about 15 feet wide by 20 feet long and there was only about 5 feet by 10 feet of really usable space because of the clutter. That place would definitely be a candidate for the show Clean House. I am a pretty healthy person, and I attribute my excellent immune system to all those summers in the dirt fest.

When I die, I better not have chin hairs.

03/37/07 Yes, it is 4am. I have been up since 3am. Kid woke me up and now I cannot go back to sleep. I am sure I will be dead later about 3pm when I am supposed to be lively at a party. Anyways, I cannot take credit for the following blog. A lady at work brought it up and I was very moved by it. I wanted to talk about it, elaborate on it, and welcome your comments.We were commenting about seeing little old lady patients that had long, grey chin hairs. We agreed that many of these ladies were either in nursing homes with no family, could not see the hairs, or had no one who cared enough about them to pluck the hairs (we called this neglect). My friend stated that in her will she has already stipulated that if she has a beard or stray facial hairs when she dies- her children will not receive any of her riches. She said that they had to take care of her and assure that she did not have the old lady chin hairs, or they would be written off. When she said this, I thought it was so profound. Now, I know most of my friends are old enough to understand the chin hair dilemma, but for those of you who do not- here is the deal. When you are a teenager, your skin is perfect (except for a few zits). You have no wrinkles, your skin tone is even, and the only thing you pluck is your eyebrows. Here is a quick aside: ladies, do not overdo the eyebrow plucking/waxing. Yes, those superthin eyebrows may be in, but just know that they will not always be. I believe that the cosmetic tatooing and model industries work together on eyebrow fashion. When the tatoo industry starts to feel a drop in customers, they pay the model industry (magazines, runway, etc) to begin flaunting the superthin brow. After about 2 years of this, the tatoo industry pays the model industry to being showing a more thick brow. Now, it will not be a dramatic change all at once. Over the course of a couple of years, the models will begin sporting increasingly thicker brows. Soon, the women of the world will begin flocking to the cosmetic tatoo artists to have their pencil thin brows filled in. I know this is how it happens. Anyways, back to my original story. In your mid twenties, you start to see some uneven skin tones. By the end of your twenties, you have the brown spots- which can generally be managed with makeup. But then. Oh, but then. You start finding------- the old lady chin hairs. It starts out as one that you need to pluck every few months. Then that one turns grey and hard. Then, you find another one, that needs to be plucked every month or so. And one day, you will find 3-5 long, black and grey hairs dangling from your chin. You wonder why no one told you. How could your closest friends not have told you? So, you pluck these hairs and feel relieved that you do not need to worry about this embarrassment for another month. Then, 2 weeks later, some have come back. Then, 2 weeks later, more have come back. Soon, you are having to check everyday since the hairs all grow at different rates. Damn those hair follicles with their different growth cycles!!! What I used to call my weekly chin hairs, are now my daily chin hairs. Since my friends do not have the cajones to tell me when I have a dangler, as we will now call them, my children and husband have inherited that duty. When I die, I WILL not have chin hairs, a beard, or a mustache (don't even get me started on that). I will make sure my lawyer, Howard K. Stern, will contact the appropriate authorities to visually inspect my hair situation upon my death. If anything is awry, my entire estate will be willed to the Aesthetician, Electrolysis, Laser Hair Removal Association of America. I will direct them to conduct weekly educational programs around the country discussing the options for hair removal. Please comment on your personal wants/desires when you die.

Ray + AC/DC= Love 4 Ever

Dec 2008: I wrote this after taking Benadryl, so if the tense is wrong- sorry. My husband love love loves heavy metal music. He is not an angry, black wearing, tattoo covered kind of guy. Just a regular person that likes heavy metal. He has always had a thing for AC/DC, Ozzy Osbourne, some guitar player for Black Sabbath, Van Halen (I would not really put them in the heavy metal category, but who am I to judge?), and probably many other gravelly sounding bands. I used to listen to that type of music, back when I lived in Mason and that’s all I knew. I remember when I discovered AC/DC in about 1989. I know they were around much longer than that, but my family was into country music and I was in a private Christian school for 2 years. The only rock I heard when I was at the private school was Whitesnake that Rodney listened to. Needless to say I really loved AC/DC for a few years, too. But I did not know any better. In a small town, especially when I was in high school, we were not exposed to much of anything outside our city limits. Believe it or not, when I was in high school (only a mere 15 years ago), the internet had not gone mainstream. I really don’t remember anyone that even had a computer. The first time I remember touching one was in 1993 when we used it for word processing. I had no earthly idea the world that existed beyond my Word Perfect. So back to Ray, he has been obsessed with AC/DC for as long as I have known him. Recently, Ray’s work friends invited him to an AC/DC concert. Like every concert that Ray has ever attended, he always has certain rituals he must complete. He always wants to take his own car, so the rituals mainly focus around it. Months before the concert, Ray begins the “stereo enhancement” tasks. There always seems to be a new or improved stereo that gets installed in his vehicle within a few months of the concert. In my own car, I can have the same stereo for 10 years, but Ray has to have a new one for one reason or another about every 1.5 years. So, sometime in the summer, he installed another stereo. I am sure that I had to tell him how much better it sounded than the last one- even though I could not really tell the difference. Also this year, Ray had a friend help him build a speaker box for (what I think was) a subwoofer. Ray spent many days and nights carefully crafting this box that had the speaker on one side and storage on the other. What he keeps in that storage, I don’t know. Probably some eight tracks, bandanas to tie around his thighs, a tshirt with rolled up sleeves, some tapered leg pants, some Rave hairspray for his heavy metal hair wig, some spandex leopard print pants, and some kaepa tennis shoes. It was like Santa’s workshop in there- hammers hammering, drills drilling, dust dusting, and spray paint spraying. After the box was completed, Ray would frequently (as he did with all the other concerts recently) request that I take the kids to school or he would offer to run errands. I used to wonder why he did this, but it finally occurred to me one day that during those alone times, Ray could turn up his 1980’s headbanger music, roll down the windows, and relive his teen years---I mean test out his stereo. I could just picture him with his left arm resting on the open window, breathing in the fumes of I35. I could see his (upper arm) hair whipping in the wind, as if headbanging to Highway to Hell. I imagine him thumping and bassing along in his little red wagon- feeling totally awesome. I see him at a stop light looking at some cute chicks with his eyes squinted slightly, pursing his lips, jutting them out, and doing the head nod in time to the music. Once the girls notice him, he sticks out his tougue (like Kiss) and does the rock and roll salute to them. I imagine him in utter bliss feeling like the coolest (old) guy on the street. As with all concerts, within a couple of days of the concert, Ray’s next ritual is the “cleansing of the kids” from his car. All the Hot Wheels cars, board books, diapers, wipes, and cheerios are removed from the Rock Wagon. There is never to be any sign of children. He always works on the MP3 compilation CDs that, surprisingly, are all the songs ever done by the band they are going to see. This year, Ray worked tirelessly on his rituals, especially the speaker box. Oh how I longed for his attention and for his embrace during these times. I missed my sweet natured husband who selfishly devoted his time only to the box. I knew my time would come again, but I also knew that I could not hold him back in these endeavors. To keep him sane, I had to let him have his time. Now that he has kids, I know this time is even more important. I am happy to report that this year, he did not attempt to grow the greatest goatee ever. It is the first time EVER that he has not done this for a concert. I am sure it had something to do with my blog bashing his facial hair. I know I should support the hair, for it provides great material for me, but I can’t do it. But, what he did do this year, that made me chuckle was have a special concert shirt made. He took a cartoon picture of Angus Young and had a guy at this work draw it on a tshirt in Sharpie. The following website should take you to the pic. http://www.amazon.com/AC-DC-Angus-Young-Sticker/dp/B000SJMRVS/ref=pd_bbs_sr_8?ie=UTF8&s=automotive&qid=1229831744&sr=8-8 And oh yes, he wore it. He loved that shirt. It was very well done and I am sure he was the envy of all the other concert goers (probably 98 percent men). I love my husband. He is a real sweetheart and I am very lucky to have him. He cooks, he cleans, he cares for his kids, and he puts up with me. He is just a little crazy in the head (yes, like you Banning).

A note to those WITH children

March 19, 2009 I was with some funny chicks yesterday and one of the girls began to discuss how out of touch many parents were with reality when it came to their kids. She first asked me if I would be offended if she talked about it and, or course, I said no. I told her that I totally remembered what it was like without kids (ahh, sleeping in, drinking at all hours of the day, laying around on the couch watching Price is Right or an America's Next Top Model marathon ALL DAY without interruption!) and how I felt about those parents. Throughout the discussion, I realized that her complaints/concerns/suggestions should not be quietly discussed among those who have not experienced the joys of parenthood. I realized that they should not feel shamed into talking about us in private- their side of the story needs to be heard! So, all you Mamas and Daddies, listen up. I will write as if I am the one without children. First, and probably most importantly- your children aren't as cute as you think. Every little poop, word, gesture, and breath is not impressive to us. Unless you are related to me or live in the same house as me, I really don't care. When I finally get to go out with you after not seeing you for 8 months, don't talk about your kid(s). If you are "sooooo freakin' glad to be out," then don't talk about the kids! When you talk about them, you think about them, when you think abou them, you talk about them more. When you bring your kid to a restaurant, do not let them run around. They need to stay in their chairs. I should probably be concerned about them getting hot food spilled on them, but mainly I don't want the waiter to dump hot food on me after your rugrat tripped him! I mean, come on, I come to Golden Corral for a nice, relaxing buffet experience. Buffet. What can I say. Do NOT let your kid go through the buffet line and get their own food. How many times do I have to see them casually stick the chocolate pudding spoon into their mouths, then put it back in the container?? I am at the Corral (that's what we regulars call it. The senior citizens and I) at least 4 times a months and the pudding incident happens almost every time. And the screaming (kid). Yea, I understand it is going to happen at times, but there is a maximum time of about 15 seconds that the rest of the world can stand it. Just because you have learned to tune out that frequency of shrill, does not mean you should. Take the kids outside, feed them some cheerios and Goldfish, then come back when all is well. We will think your kid is much cuter when they come back and be quiet. Now, onto the Wal Mart crowd (sorry Wal Marters, I go there, but it really gives a good visual for the story). It is not acceptable for you to ever bring your child out in public with only a diaper on. Perhaps if a tornado came to your house and sucked up all the other clothes and you had to drive to Wal Mart to buy new clothes, your kid always needs to have clothes on. You know all of you have seen this scenario- you go to Wal Mart to buy more dog food and contact lens cleaner. The Mama is there in her too tight knit lime green pants. They clearly show her granny panty line and they are pulled up way to high over her waist. The tractor pull tshirt (again, just for the story, I like watching tractor pulls!) has seen it's better days. You can see her pale gut throught the cigarette burn on the front of the shirt. Her flip flops are the $1 type and her calloused heels are hanging off the sides. Her toes with chipped hot pink polish are extending past the end of the flip flop. She has her 4 kids all under the age of 3. Two in the basket, one tugging on her waistband (DON'T PULL TOO HARD KID!) and one in the seat. The one in the seat has only a diaper on that is bulging because it has been on for 7 hours. Mama is yelling at her in a thick East Texas drawl, "Topenga, yeww better git ta drankin' that straaawwwberry melk. Yew know yer doctor woonnts ya start drankin' more nutrishous stuff!" The baby is holding a splintery a popcicle stick, dripping with drool, and she has sticky grape popsicle juice from her chin to diaper. The two kids in the basket are playing tug of war with a toilet plunger and one clearly has untreated pink eye. I notice he rubs his eye, then touches the basket- leaving a little germy present for the rest us. The mama screams loudly every 20-47 seconds at the kids. She says "Wylene, yew better quet tuggin' own ma stretch paaaants. Yer pullin' that eeeelastic down onto ma boil! Now stop it bafooorr I woop yew right heeeerrrre!' I ain't like those faaaancy mamas thet'll put yew in time ooouuuttt! I will poooolllll that wooden spoon outa my purse so faaasstttt!!!" So in addition to always dressing your children, do not wear lime green stretch pants. It makes you yell at your children. I can imagine how upsetting those pants would make you as they cut off the circulation to your brain. So Mama's and Daddies, take all this to heart and when I have kids-- please support me. I will need it if that is how my life is gonna be.