A couple of weeks ago my husband and I decided that it was time for our sixteen-year-old son to have his own cell phone. Our thinking went something like this: summer’s here and the cell phone would afford our son more freedom and responsibility. So we added limitless texting, crossed our fingers and handed off my husband’s old EnV2.
The results have been better than expected. We’ve eliminated our land line, saving us $23 a month; we can reach my son any time, so his “leash” is a little longer; he’s taken responsibility for handling the details of his social life, coordinating get-togethers and keeping us informed.
I adore my mother-in-law. There, I’ve said it. I know it’s not popular, but it’s true. Mothers-in-law get a bad rap. It’s cliche to complain about them. They’re easy targets, really.
But I’d like to think that my mother-in-law is different. She’s kind, thoughtful and incredibly generous. And she’s taught me so many things that I decided to start compiling a list. Here you go:
1. The best place to store kitchen garbage bags is in the bin under the bag currently in use.
2. Always buy the smallest jar/box possible when using a coupon. You’ll save the most money that way.
3. If you place a towel on top of your refrigerator, it makes cleaning it a snap: just toss the towel into the washer.
4. Keep duplicates of items where you use them: scissors, tape, note paper.
5. Liquid laundry detergent is best. And Biz rocks when it comes to stain removal.
6. No one really wants useless junk for birthdays or the holidays. A well-chosen given, any time of the year is best.
7. Food always tastes better if someone else prepares it, even if it’s a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
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Are you ready to rock with the best women in the business? We’ve got 1 pair of Lilith Fair tickets to give away courtesy of K103! All you have to do to be entered to win is email your name, phone number and your pick for the “baddest” woman in rock to publisher@portlandfamily.com by 5:00 p.m. Wednesday evening.
Winner will be chosen in a random drawing.
Note: You’ll need to pick up your tickets on Thursday.
Per several requests, here’s the famous baked bean recipe:
3-pound can of prepared beans (of the pork ‘n’ bean variety)
1 1/4 c. brown sugar (I use a little less.)
1 1/2 tsp. dry mustard
3 onions, diced
9 slices of bacon, chopped and fried crisp, drained
3/4 c. catsup
Combine all of the ingredients in a large casserole dish. Bake, uncovered, in a 325-degree oven for 3 hours.
This recipe comes with a saucy bit of gossip. When I was young I thought that this was my Mom’s recipe. Turns out it’s originally from my “Aunt” Alma, my Grandfather’s girlfriend. We kids always knew Grandpa Roy had a girlfriend. What we didn’t know, until years later, was that “Aunt” Alma had been in the picture even before Grandma died.
Yesterday’s post had me reminiscing about the letter writing we do in our family and the effect it’s had on our relationships. (It makes me want to sit down and pound out a few letters right now just thinking about it.) For those of you who may want to give this a try and may not know where to start, I’ve jotted down a couple of tips that may help you get started.
My husband writes me a lot of letters: always for birthdays, anniversaries and holidays, and sometimes for no reason in particular except to tell me he loves me. He started writing letters to the kids when they were mere infants, priceless letters expressing his hopes for their futures.
It has less to do with my faulty memory and more to do with the fact that I have so much to remember. That’s my story.
Last week while showering I noticed that the Herbal Essences bottle, containing a quarter of an inch of shampoo, was dangerously low. And so I made a note to self to add it to my “grocery” list. Every day over the past week the same story repeated itself. To no avail. This morning, as I blew the shampoo bottle’s nose (you know the sound), I contemplated solutions for this all-too-common problem.
I am sick, sick, sick of all of the “Perfect Item for Your Body Type” articles and their ilk. The editors mean well, but seriously, their understanding of “real bodies” and the everyday woman’s size 12 pear shape are worlds apart. I offer you two examples:
By Mary Rarick
