Things have settled down a bit and Bill and I are concentrating on getting back into some sort of routine. We got off to a good start yesterday morning by going to the gym, something we hadn’t done for about three weeks. Packing up, traveling home, unpacking, Bill’s Chicago trip, a new baby. Lots of excuses.  But, we are once again determined to make exercise part of our routine. Gotta. My legs are scolding me this morning.

I’m also determined to get back into the habit of cooking. We have been so busy that it’s actually quite embarrassing to think of how seldom I have cooked as of late. That, too, is going to change.

That is why I reached under my stove yesterday morning to retrieve a skillet in which to cook some eggs and sausage. I pulled out my small red sauté pan and was horrified – HORRIFIED I TELL YOU – to see that the outside was covered in black burned-on stains. You seriously could barely tell it was red. It was not as I left it five months ago. That’s all I’ll say about that.

At the same time, I noticed my tiny little skillet with the copper bottom that I use infrequently, but strategically, was also stained – this stain being inside the pan.

I got out my scrub brush and began working on both of these pans to no avail. I brought out Bill’s hearty citrusy Gojo cleaner – that stuff will clean anything. It was a no-go. Not even the tiniest dent on the stain. Oh nooooooo.

Here’s what I did, based on an internet search:

I sprinkled the powdered form of Barkeeper’s Friend on the outside of the red pan. I crumpled a piece of aluminum foil and began scrubbing. My friends, it was magical. Unfortunately, I neglected to take a “before” shot of my pan because frankly, I didn’t think it had a chance of working. It did. Here’s what my pan looks like now…

But, would it work on the copper-bottomed pan with the serious internal stain that looked like this?

Here’s what it looks like now….

Now I don’t want to fool you. It took a bit of elbow grease. But not more elbow grease than my 60-year-old arthritic hands could provide. I was amazed.

The good news is that aluminum is softer than steel, so this process doesn’t do as much damage as stainless steel would. However, you would probably want to be a bit careful about what you scrub. No non-stick surfaces, for example.  If you have questions, scrub a small part of the pan first to see if it gets damaged.

One more quick trick with simple household items….

I have a glass-top stove that I find tiresome to keep clean. Here is a quick and easy solution to keeping your glass-top stove shiny. I do this once every couple of weeks.

Sprinkle baking soda liberally onto the stove top.

In the meantime, fill a bowl or your sink with HOT water mixed with some dishwashing soap. Soak some clean rags in the water, then wring out about halfway so that the rags are still pretty damp. Lay the damp rags on top of the glass top and let it sit for 15 minutes or so. Once the time is up, swirl the rags around in circles, using the baking soda as a scrub. Rinse and dry, and shine it with a clean cloth. You will be amazed.

Not too bad for a 20-year stovetop.

By the way, the temperature this morning was 30 degrees. Brrrr. Come back Springtime!

They say fate is a fickle mistress. I say Colorado weather is a fickle mistress.

Here is was– the middle of May, and Mother’s Day to boot – and it looked like it could be the middle of January. Snow is the reason we bought a house in Arizona. How DARE it snow in May – and especially when I had plans for Mother’s Day brunch?

It certainly isn’t unusual to have a spring snowstorm. I can think of two major storms that took place in March and April in Colorado. And it isn’t even particularly unusual to have a snow storm in May, much as it pains me to say it. It doesn’t happen often, but it happens. And it happened yesterday.

I was looking forward to our annual trek to the Greenbriar Inn just outside of Boulder in the foothills of Colorado to enjoy Mother’s Day brunch with my sister Jen and my nephew BJ. Bill and I have done it almost every year for a very long time. Our son Court used to join us until he married and started his own family and his own Mother’s Day traditions. We miss him, but not enough to prevent us from enjoying oodles of fresh oysters, millions of mussels, and a plethora of delicious desserts, on top of the normal brunch fare of breakfast and a carving station. Yum.

But yesterday, sometime while we were at Mass, the rain in which we drove to get to church turned to snow, and it snowed for hours. The weather folks told us it was coming, but somehow I was not a believer. It simply couldn’t happen, I thought. Last week I was wearing shorts and t-shirts and playing at parks with my grandchildren. Last week I planted my herbs (luckily in pots that I could bring inside) and last week I began cleaning up my yard. Last week we enjoyed the smell of my apple and pear blossoms and watched as the petals rained down on Mylee and Kaiya.

And just to rub salt in the wound, the storm didn’t come until the blossoms had completely fallen off the tree, thereby ensuring that we WILL have apples in the fall. That used to make me happy; now it stresses me because I have to think of a million uses for apples. Stay tuned for recipes on apple butter, apple cakes, apple pies, apple betties, apple sauce, apple hand creams and apple soaps come fall. And that’s not even mentioning the pear tree. Same scenario.

Bill and I spent the day indoors watching old movies and making plans to eat brunch at the Greenbriar next weekend. We did venture out to our neighborhood Mexican restaurant where we enjoyed such typical Mother’s Day fare as taquitos al carbon and chips and salsa, and I had the world’s biggest margarita. It just seemed like the Mother’s Day thing to do.

Nothing says Mother’s Day like Taquitos Al Carbon and tequila.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Mother’s Day.

By the way, though it is definitely only flurries, it is still snowing this morning as I write this blog. It is the winter that won’t quit.

As you have been able to tell from my recent blog posts, this has been a busy, but happy, couple of weeks in our lives. There have been pageants and festivals and dances and soccer games and — oh yeah — births. And having spent so much time this past week with my grandkids, I have lots of stories I could tell you that made me laugh.

First I want to show you a picture that made me smile…..

Cole is wrapped in a blanket, and then placed inside this swaddling sack. I’m sure that’s not the technical name, but that’s basically what it is. He is perfectly content, but it makes me hyperventilate to think about being wrapped up like that. I commented that he looked like a little burrito, and his mommy, with a nod to her Cambodian heritage, said, “No Nana, he looks like an eggroll.” I guess with his daddy’s Swiss and Polish heritage, you could also say he looks like a little sausage!

But here is the story that made me laugh out loud this week.

Alyx’s labor didn’t begin with contractions; it began when her water broke in the middle of last Sunday night. This somewhat dramatic event got mentioned a number of times over the next few days.

On Monday, Kaiya, being a proud big sister, told her teacher and her class that she had a new baby brother. According to Kaiya’s teacher, this is what Kaiya told her: “My mommy broke a glass of water and then she knew she was having a baby.”

Have a good weekend.

I’ve learned something in the past few days. At age 60, I am fairly ill-equipped to choreograph the day of small children. God knew what he was doing when he invented menopause (though it would have been nice if he had left out the hot flashes). Sixty-somethingers shouldn’t be in charge of small kids.

And choreograph is the correct word, I think. Parenting children is like a grand dance where everyone needs to be in their place and the music has to be just so and all parties involved must know the correct steps.

I spent one night and three days (so far) handling my 5-year-old and 3-year old granddaughters who just added a brother to the mix. Mom and Dad and brother are still in the hospital (hope to get out today). I’m pretty good during the day. I bring out the Play Do and they can entertain themselves for hours. At the end of it all, the floor is littered with little tiny bits of blue and green and yellow and red dough, but hey, it sweeps up.

It’s getting them ready for bed and then ready for school in the morning (at least one of them) where I struggle. The bedtime routine went fairly smoothly. PJs on, teeth brushed, go potty, night night (the night I watched them, they were too tired even for a single story).

But the morning was a different story altogether.

I had grand plans to make them a good breakfast including a healthy protein and orange juice, get them dressed in adorable clothes (perhaps matching), braid their hair in elaborate fashion, brush their teeth and gargle, and have Kaiya at school in time to have a few minutes on the playground.

Here’s what really happened. I managed to find pants and a shirt to fit each of them. They were almost color coordinated. Their teeth got brushed. I plopped a headband on Kaiya’s head and pulled Mylee’s hair into a couple of really sad looking pony tails. We ran into Safeway on the way to school and grabbed a couple of donuts and some chocolate milk, which they ate sitting on my lap on the ground just outside the door, because there was no eating area. We looked like sad homeless people. When I got off the ground, my yoga pants were covered in sugary glaze (and I’m sad to say I kept those pants on all day long, being too tired to put on any makeup or change into presentable clothes). I got Kaiya inside the school on time, only to have her look at me sadly and say, “Nana, where’s my backpack?”

“Never fear,” I said. “I left it in the car.”

I ordered the girls to stay put, and raced back to the car to retrieve the backpack. I was buzzed back into the school and handed Kaiya her backpack. She began walking down the hall, and Mylee and I started following her. She turned around and said, “Nana, you don’t have to walk me to my classroom. You can leave.” I’m pretty sure it was the sugar on the yoga pants.

Here’s the thing. I’m really not entirely inept. I was a single mother (at a much younger age of course) and I managed to get him through grade school, high school and college. It just was easier at that younger age. I had more energy. And I wasn’t so out of practice.

And as long as I’m ‘fessing up to incompetencies, I must tell you about yesterday morning’s debacle. I needed to get some groceries, and I decided I would walk to the nearest grocery store. It is almost exactly one mile.

It was a good plan except for one thing. I forgot how difficult it is for me to moderate myself at a grocery store. I picked up the things on my list. I got a few extra things. Quite a few extra things, really. I went through the self-check-out, and filled my cloth bag. When I lifted it up, I was stunned. In the words of that linguistic genius Scooby Doo, “Roh roh.”

I trudged back home carrying 14 pounds of groceries. I’m not some kind of a savant. I weighed the bag when I got home. It was very heavy.

But back to choreography. I think the kids will be glad to be with better dancers.

Like these…. (And, once again, notice Mo Mo made the family portrait.)

This post linked to the GRAND Social

You will all be happy to know that this post won’t feature one single picture of my new grandson Cole Jonathan. But his appearance has made a significant impact on my life, in more ways than one.

Since learning that he was born early Sunday morning, I have been on the run. I believe the way I can be of the most help is to take care of Cole’s two sisters so that Mom and Dad can become acquainted with little mister, and perhaps catch up on some sleep. But the kids have been keeping me in constant acceleration, and I’m certain I have it rougher than Mom and Dad. Well, except for the whole surgery thing and sleeping on a futon on which scads of sweaty dads have slept before. Whatevah……

After dropping the girls off at the hospital late yesterday afternoon, I took a little time to visit one of our newly-opened Trader Joe’s stores. Trader Joe’s has been hesitant to come to Colorado because of our alcohol laws. In Colorado, only one store in any chain can sell alcohol. Since Trader Joe’s relies heavily on their wine sales – and particularly their well-known and mostly-loved trademark wine affectionately known as Two Buck Chuck – it has taken some time to get them here, but here they are. The store I visited was not the store that had the wine, and it was frankly a little strange to see a Two-Buck-Chuckless TJ’s.

I took my time, roaming around and seeing what kinds of things were available. I was particularly interested in buying something yummy to make for dinner last night that was simple and quick. I was frankly too tired to cook.

What I found was a ready-made ravioli filled with arugula and parmigiano reggiano – a nice change-up from the typical spinach. I also bought a bottle of Trader Joe’s spaghetti sauce – a delicious roasted garlic tomato sauce. In 10 minutes time, I had a delicious meal in front of me. That, with a glass of red wine and a quick salad, made me very happy.

Who says I need a baby brother? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

We arrived back in Denver last Tuesday. On Wednesday, I had lunch with my daughter-in-law who was almost eight-and-a-half months pregnant. Her due date was May 20. For almost nine months she has told me she wasn’t going to make it to May 20. Secretly I thought to myself, you never know what God has planned.

The plan was for me to watch the girls when she went into the hospital. I had a conversation with her about having a back-up plan. Late last year, my nephew and his wife barely made it to the hospital as she gave birth to Baby Number 4 – still in her clothes and with nary a doctor in sight. Their designated caregiver was her mom, but there was no way she would have gotten to them in time, so a neighbor came to the rescue. I cautioned my daughter-in-law to be duly prepared.

“No need,” she said. “I always have my babies early and I have long labors. We won’t need a back-up.”

I guess I should have trusted her intuition and experience.

Sunday morning, about 1:30, I awoke to my telephone ringing. I was so sound asleep that it was one of those situations where the phone call became part of my dream. Bill is out of town visiting his mother, so he wasn’t there to alert me to the ringing telephone (in the unlikely chance he would have heard it).

Finally, I drug myself out of bed to answer the telephone. It was my daughter-in-law’s mother – The Other Nana. Whaaaaat?

“Did you get my text?” she asked.

Get her text? I’m pretty sure I would have had trouble hearing a helicopter landing on my roof had she chosen to alert me that way. A little “ting” indicating a text message? Wasn’t going to happen.

“No,” I said.

“They’re at the hospital,” The Other Nana (who wasn’t supposed to be babysitting; I was) said. “Her water broke.”

That’ll do it.

“Are you with the girls?” I asked. Or had Court also sent me a text telling me to come watch the girls, also assuming I could hear little “tings” in the night. (As it turns out, he had sent me a text telling me what was going on. These people must be very light sleepers.)

The Other Nana told me they had spent Saturday with my son and his wife, and at the last minute, decided to spend the night since they live 45 minutes to an hour away. So they were there when the waters gushed and my son whisked my daughter-in-law off to the hospital.

I return to my bed, still dazed and half in a stupor. I laid there for a long time, trying to decide if I should go to the hospital. According to Court’s text, the C-Section was scheduled for 2:30. It was about 2.

It would be dumb to go to the hospital, I told myself. Only drunks and perverts are out at 2 o’clock on Sunday morning. Your car has been giving you trouble. They will already be in surgery by time you arrive. Go back to sleep and get up really early to go see the baby. You aren’t even sure how to get to the hospital.

By this time, I had brushed my teeth and thrown on clothes. While there were a million reasons why I shouldn’t go out at 2 o’clock on a Sunday morning, the one reason I should is that I had been there for almost all of my grandchildren’s births – and the only reason I missed any of their births was that I was far, far away at the time. I wasn’t far, far away.

Two o’clock on Sunday morning is a very weird and oddly peaceful time to be out driving, by the way. There really aren’t many people on the road, and as long as you realize almost everyone but you is drunk and drive accordingly, you are probably safe.

I made it to the hospital and found my son, who seemed relieved to see me but instructed me to turn around and go back home. Surgery had been pushed back and by time they had the surgery and did all of the post-partum stuff, he said it would be a more reasonable hour like 6 a.m. At 6 a.m., in addition to a few dedicated drunks, you have newspaper deliverers and people going to a really early Mass. A more civilized population.

So I did.

When next I saw the interior of the hospital, I was able to meet Cole Jonathan Zierk, who is entirely perfect. I arrived just after his sisters, and was able to watch them meet their baby brother for the first time.

Kaiya was awestruck. Mylee feigned disinterest. (Perhaps if I ignore him, he’ll go away.)

Eventually I took the girls home with me so that their parents could catch up on a bit of sleep. We arrived back at the hospital late in the afternoon, and the girls were going to spend the night at the hospital. That’s when I’m glad I’m the nana.

The Other Nana.

One of the things I miss most when we are in Arizona is seeing the grandkids in their school activities. We hit the ground running and were able — in a single day — to see Maggie Faith (two weeks short of being 6) and 11-year-old Adelaide in school programs.

Maggie’s kindergarten class put on a dance performance, featuring such greats as the Macarena and the Cha Cha Slide. Maggie performed perfectly. We could see her faithfully counting as she danced. Maggie is in the front row on the right.

Addie’s fifth grade class performed an opera that was a crazy version of the Revolutionary War story featuring Sam Adams and Paul Revere. Or, as they called it, the Revol – oops- tionary War. The clever fifth graders wrote the play themselves, including the lyrics to the music. In addition to being Lady Liberty, Addie was the stage director — a perfect fit for this first-born. Addie is also on the right.

Here are the two stars of the shows after the events were both completed…..

Have a good weekend.

The first few days that we are at either house, we spend an inordinate amount of time trying to figure out where things are.

“Where do we keep the Q-tips?” Bill will ask, rooting around a cabinet where the Q-tips aren’t, and never were.

“Do you remember where I keep my spare phone chargers,” I ask Bill, who, of course, doesn’t have the least idea.

But, worst of all are all of the issues we come back to. When we return to Denver, Bill always comes back to a lawn that looks like the jungles of the Amazon. He spends a couple of days cutting the grass that is so long it requires him to empty the bag about every seven seconds. I expect him to bring out the scythe any second.

However, this time our biggest obstacle was that MY YELLOW BUG WOULDN’T START. Oh, and when we got it started by charging the battery, why-oh-why was there a red flashing light on my dashboard. Flashing lights are never good. They bode serious trouble.

We charged up the battery and figured out how to refill the coolant in the bug which was the cause of the flashing red light. (When I say “we” I obviously mean “Bill”). And let me just tell you that none of this is easy when it comes to Volkswagens. They don’t just use normal radiator fluid. Ooooooh nooooo. That would be too easy. It takes a special, EXPENSIVE kind of radiator fluid that’s hard to find. And you can’t just go and buy a battery because it’s extremely difficult for anyone who isn’t a certified Volkswagen Mechanic  to replace anything on a Volkswagen. Last time I bought a new battery it took a team of Walmartians way longer than it should have to put it in because of where the battery is located.

We thought we had the battery problem fixed. I picked up my granddaughter from school and met her mommy and sister for lunch. After lunch, I cheerfully climbed into my car, turned the key, and – well –nothing happened. Well, that’s not entirely true. There was a sad click click click, which is German for “reach in your pocket because this is going to cost you some big money, meine Frau.”

My daughter-in-law gave me a ride home, and Bill drove me back to my car, where he gave me a jump. The car started, and we agreed that, like it or not, a new battery was in order. He agreed to follow me to Costco to purchase and install said battery. What could possibly go wrong?

So there we are, driving down County Line Road, one of the busiest thoroughfares in the south suburbs of Denver. It’s 3:30ish, nearing rush hour. I stop at a red light at the MAJOR INTERSECTION of University Boulevard and County Line Road, and my car dies. I am in the middle lane, and the car was absolutely dead. I put on my flashers; Bill, who is right behind me, does the same. People are roaring up to him about 75 miles per hour before they realize he is at a dead stop. Apparently the red flashing lights don’t mean anything. Perhaps it involves the legalization of marijuana.

I called AAA, and they agreed to send help as soon as possible and to replace my battery on the spot. In about an hour.  AN HOUR. I am stalled in the middle lane of an extraordinarily busy street as rush hour is bearing down upon us.

I said, “You do that,” hung up and called 911. A very nice cop quickly arrived. Then a second car pulls up. And a third. Pretty soon I hear the theme song to COPS. Bad boy bad boy, whatcha gonna do when they come for you?

The nice cop stopped traffic on this busy street, which made all of the other drivers really happy, and allowed Bill to pull up next to me to again give me a jump. My car started. I prayed to the patron saint of crappy batteries, and successfully made my way to the nearest parking lot.

About this time two things happened. One, a tow truck appeared, and two, AAA called to inform me that they can put batteries in every other car in the world except Volkswagen Beetles. See my earlier paragraph. Apparently the Germans are getting even with the Americans for WWII when they designed the engine compartment of the Beetle. Payback is a bitch.

But Mr. Nice Tow Truck Guy suggested I call Sears – just down the road – to see if they were willing and able to install said battery, and they were. He was nice enough to follow me all the way there so that if I stalled out again, the angry drivers would have to deal with him. And he was big. Or at least his tow truck was. He deserved the big tip Bill gave him when we arrived safely and said our goodbyes.

As we waited for my car to have its battery replaced, I said to Bill, “Well, this is certainly not how I expected to spend my first afternoon back in Denver.”

“No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,” he said in perfect Monte Python manner.

As I write this, my car is safe and sound in my garage with a new battery that cost me a lot of money. But my car runs, and I am ready to be the babysitter when the new baby decides to come.

Just don’t tell the Germans. And Bill will get the scythe out of the storage shed and finish cutting the grass today.

Bill and I are back in the Mile High City, and glad of it.

Our trip home went fine. As usual, we drove the first night to Albuquerque. We did make one change-up, in that we visited the Petrified National Forest. We have driven by it several thousand times, but decided to take an extra hour and drive back into it a bit. It was very pretty. The painted desert was gorgeous, and the petrified wood is astounding.

We then hit the road yesterday early, and made it to Denver by late afternoon. I always hold my breath as we turn the corner onto our street, hoping hoping hoping that the house will still be standing. Silly, because undoubtedly Allen would have thought to mention it to us if it had burned down.

Since I spoke yesterday about the things I will miss about Arizona, I want to tell you about a few things I am happy to be back to here in Denver.

Tap Water

The water in the Phoenix metro area is nasty, plain and simple. It is terrifically hard, full of minerals, and tastes absolutely awful. No one drinks unfiltered tap water in Phoenix. Bottled water, filtered water, or water freshened up via a reverse osmosis method is the norm. I think Denver has good tap water. It is heavenly to me to be able to turn on my faucet and get a glass of water. Now if I could just make myself drink eight of them a day…..

No scorpions

I have never seen a live scorpion. That is very good news. I don’t know why it is the case, but we have had not a single one in our house or our yard in Arizona. Nevertheless, I know they’re out there because our house is in the desert. So I never walk barefoot in my house or outside – never, ever. I never leave dirty clothes on the floor. And I always – every single time – shake out my shoes and slippers before putting them on my feet. Yay! I don’t have to do that in Denver. It will take some getting used to.

300 Days of Sunshine a Year

I was just recently reminded that Denver has 300 days of sunshine a year. I thrive on sunshine. I’m quite serious about that. My doctor has told me I visually change when the days get longer and I can enjoy warmer weather and more sunshine. So now I have the perfect world because Phoenix also enjoys sunshine most days – 296 days of it a year I recently read.

Springtime in the Rockies

We are seriously getting home just in time to enjoy the most beautiful time of the year in Colorado. In May, it isn’t unheard of to have some cold days, even days where the temperature dips below freezing. It only took one time of me planting my flowers early in May only to have a freeze for me to learn that YOU NEVER PLANT YOUR GARDEN BEFORE MOTHERS DAY. NEVER. EVER. Having said that, there are more nice days than cold in May, and it’s fun to see my perennials start pooking out of the ground. Yay. And the really nice part is that the nights are still chilly. Nice sleeping.

My Own Car

We have only one car in Arizona. There is actually a second car that currently isn’t running. We are determined to get it fixed, but one thing becomes the next and before you know it, we are ready to leave and still only have the one car in Arizona. We are seriously able to get by with one car about 90 percent of the time. Still, there are just a few times when I want to do one thing and Bill wants to do another. We made it work.

Here in Denver, I have a Volkswagen Bug. Collectively referred to by all of the grandchildren as “Nana’s Yellow Bug.” They love it, as do I, despite the fact that it only fits four people. Period. But it’s brightly colored so that when I come out of any store, I immediately spot it in the parking lot. It runs like a little top (except when it doesn’t) and I can climb in it anytime I want and go anywhere I want without having to make sure Bill doesn’t need the car. Of course, when I went to start it yesterday afternoon, it was dead as a doornail. More about that tomorrow.

And finally….

My Family

And just as my family was the thing I was going to miss most in Arizona, it is my family that is the best reason for my joy at being back in Denver. My sister Jen, my nephew BJ, all of our kids and a good portion of our grandkids – and most exciting of all – one more baby boy coming along ANY DAY NOW. Stay tuned.

After all, wouldn’t you be happy coming home to this…..

Dagny, Adelaide, and Alastair enjoying a sunny afternoon with an ice cream cone.

And this….

Kaiya and Mylee enjoying ice cream as well!

And this….

Maggie Faith with her Uncle Mike.