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Remember, people, this is important. Vote early, and often (use the little scrolly thing...it ain't perty, but it was easy)!
Colleen has touched many of our lives with her intelligence, wit, humor,One last thing...if you have children, hug them extra hard right now. Hug anyone you love extra hard the next time you have a chance.
generosity, talent, and amazing outlook on life. The ladies here at Tiny Lady
Cooperative have had the fortune of being business partners with her, and many
others have enjoyed her fibers and yarns. Friends from real life, as well as
online, have rallied together to show Colleen how much we love, support and
admire her.Please join us October 28th-November 4th as we host an event to raise
funds for Colleen and her family. All funds raised will be placed into a college
fund for her children.Thank you in advance for your generosity in supporting
Because now that I think about it, I really, really miss them.
I ate them all the time as a child because they were one of my favorite things EVAH (I know, I was a weird kid...not into candy much but I loved me my butter beans); I loved the slippery outer skin and the creamy interior. YUM!
My daughter is an oddity like me; she loves beans. LOVES them. Fresh or canned or frozen; she doesn't care. A delish snack to her is Mama opening up a can of, say, pinto beans, heating them on the stove with a few twists of garlic salt and pepper. She literally gets all giddy and dances around singing, "Beans! Yummy beans! Yeah!"
So in an attempt to expand her bean repertoire, I've been purchasing different types. She has yet to find one she doesn't like. And then one day out of the blue I thought of butter beans! Yes! I could buy her butter beans!
But I have been scouring local grocery stores and I can't find them. Anywhere. What's up with that? Did they have to remove them to make way for edamame? Because if that's the case, that's whack!
In fact, I think that's elitist. Sure, edamame is yummy, too. But butter beans (and their less delicious cousin, lima beans)(which are actually the ones in the above picture because it seems not only are butter beans hard to find in the store, but I can't find a good image of one, either!) don't have the same cache as edamame. Butter beans sound old-fashioned and not a bit hip.
But edamame, that's hip. I mean, it's a soy bean for Pete's sake... you can go get your chai soy latte and eat edamame and you're automatically happening, right? But a butter bean? Pfffft. Try finding a chai butter bean latte and get back to me!
And a quick nutritional analysis shows that butter beans stack up quite nicely against edamame, particularly in the area of molybdenum, which you are probably lacking right this minute!
I think it is either a vast right-wing conspiracy, or perhaps a vast left-wing conspiracy. I'm fuzzy on the details right now, but all I know is that there is butter bean-ism out there. And it must be stopped.
In the name of slippery outside skins and creamy interiors everywhere, it must. be. stopped.
JackieW. forumed for years until dipping into the blog world early this year & blogs @ Buried in Legos and Bologna Donuts. She twitters & plurks as Abbreviated. She homeschools in Kansas with a husband, 3 sons, one grandson, 2 dogs, a cat & a herd of Belted Galloway beef cattle.
Spent 2 weeks driving kids to swimming lessons.
When I was growing up this was called a swimming pool.
Now it's called an aquatic center.
While no_watch_me is gone, I offered to guest post for her. I thought I would show my butt. Or rather, my son's butt...wait, let me back up. He did enough showing for everyone....
He is nine now. This happened when he was four.
It wasn't something he said, not this time. We were standing in line at The Evil Hamburger place, hereafter known as McDonalds. I was hungry and tired, and had three kids in tow who were also hungry and tired. The line was moving at a snail's pace, the cashier wasn't moving at all. We waited. My one year old was in the sling, squirmy and awake. She wanted my attention. My 8 year old was trying to be on her best behavior, but she had grown weary of the hold up. She wanted to eat. Now. Even if it was McDonalds.
My son has autism. He has no mouth filter. He makes rash decisions. Bored and with nothing to do, he struck up a conversation with the man in front of us. I eyed the stranger warily. The conversation started the way they always did: "Do you like Indiana Jones? I have seen Raiders of the Lost Ark, it's a good movie, did you like it?" The man agreed, it was a good movie and that Indy was cool and yes, his hat was cool and yes, son's hat was cool, too. I breathed a little, so far, there hadn't been anything out of ordinary. That was about to change.
My son was diagnosed with high-functioning autism, but not until the end of Kindergarten. At this point, he was just "quirky." The line moved up, just a little. Still two people were in front of me. Was this ever going to end? We needed Chicken McNuggets! Some fairly loud and boisterous construction workers joined the line, which was now fairly long. We waited some more as the guy in front of us was ordering.
I tend to start up conversations in line with random strangers. It seems to be the curse of my semi-extroverted personality. I say semi-extroverted because when I am home alone, I revel in my aloneness. But when I am out, I will actually talk to other people. The introverts in my house don't understand it. Luckily, my son is an absolute extrovert and likes to talk to people. People don''t always like to listen, however. The burly construction guy asked how old my kids were, and here it comes the requisite, "You certainly have your hands full," along with my stock answer: "Yes, and my heart is full as well." About this time, my son decided to horn in on the conversation. Being polite, Mr. Big & Burly Construction Guy turrned and asked him his name. I have no idea what possessed my son. To this day, he still doesn't know.
We are standing there, in the middle of a food establishment as loosely defined as McDonalds is food and my son, the fruit of my loins, turned around, pulled his pants down and mooned the entire line of customers! I stood frozen in shock while the construction crew guffawed loudly. That was when, the voice of sanity spoke up. It was my daughter, wise beyond her years. "He is SO mortifying!" said she. Why yes. Yes, he is.
I had made up my mind that we were finished having babies, while driving and enjoying the sweet, sweet deliciousness known as being ALONE. Something about the first warm day of the spring, an open sunroof, and thumping music made me certain that we were out of the business of making babies. Of course, twenty minutes prior, I had been trying on baby girl names for possible future daughters like Avery, or Leah, and Emeline, remembering only the good parts of pregnancy, childbirth, and life with a newborn...ahhh, the joys of selective memory.
But anyway, right at this moment, I was sure. No more kids. I felt the freedom that only comes as your children are old enough to be left for more than 2 hour segments.
"I'm almost free," I thought to myself. "In just a few short months, I'll have my body back all to myself! I'll finally get to throw those nursing bras away! I won't have to carry the enormous diaper bag, I'll actually be able to carry a purse!" The decision, for the time being, was made.
I got to my destination, Tar-zhay, and began my much anticipated solo quest for nothing. I was simply going to wander around the store, with no need to worry about the possibility of having to change a diaper or rushing to get home to save the precious nap. Not two minutes into my aimless stroll, I saw the first baby, a newborn baby, being held by her very exhausted looking mother. This baby had to be fresh out of the womb, she was impossibly tiny, with wrinkled feet and ankles.
"Look away. Just look away," I told myself. "We're DONE, remember??? Done!"
A good three minutes passed before I saw the next one. Another newborn baby, that also looked to have come straight to Target from it's birth at the hospital. The parents were fussing over the baby, who was so tiny and completely enveloped by it's carseat. The baby had that unfixed stare and googly eyes that only newborns have and appeared to be drifting off to sleep.
I realized I had been staring with my head cocked to the side and my mouth slightly open in the shape of "aaah." But I couldn't help myself. I closed my eyes and shook my head, getting the image of that darling baby out of my head. "Keep walking. You've seen plenty of newborn babies, including TWO of your own. Now skedaddle," I silently thought to myself.
Luckily I got a good twenty minutes of browsing in before I spotted the last newborn. During those glorious twenty minutes, I had purposely browsed in the lingerie section at pretty, non-nursing bras and dreamed of that day when I could where them again.
"Yes, I'm certain. No more children." I smiled contently as I left the lingerie section.
Of course, though, as I left the lingerie section, I saw the baby. Her daddy was cradling her in his arms as she slept. He gazed upon her face and appeared to study her every feature. His free hand gently touched his daughter's wee fingers as he bent over to kiss her tiny face. After the kiss, he paused and sniffed her wee newborn smell.
Right then and there, I ovulated. I simply cannot resist a daddy sniffing his baby.
As I finished my shopping trip, I imagined a future baby boy and tried on a few names for him...Keegan? Chase? Sean? Ryan?
Then I arrived home to my daughter's beautiful face. Ella, my eleven month old daughter, who charms me with nothing more than her soft cheeks and her gummy, slobbery grin.
It's no wonder I can't help but fantasize about all of my unborn children.
Originally published April 9, 2007 at Playgroups are no place for children.
So what I'm going to do is remove the cover to the console and disconnect the fan. Ha! Take that console manufacturers!
(Told you I can waste time. Do you have any idea how many boxes I could have packed in the time it took me to write this post about nothing?)