Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Mickey Dee(dee)'s!!!

Kimball and I had a lunch date.

Just the two of us.

We went to a really classy joint.

I treated this time around because, well, because I could. Kimball is a little strapped for cash at the moment, mostly due to the fact that his allowance hasn't actually kicked in yet. Kimball tried to contribute to the bill with the grimy little penny offered to him by the sweeping employee who had picked it out of the mess o' fries and tattered napkins on the floor after she heard Kimball exclaim, "money!" I quickly insinuated myself into that situation by thrusting my hand out for that nasty penny just as she was about to drop it into Kimball's waiting (and clean) hand, saving Kimball from who knows what flesh-eating germs I'm certain were hanging out on that linty penny. Ew. Thanks, but, uh, . . . .

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "If Deedee is so blasted uptight about Kimball touching a penny that had been plucked from the floor out of a pile of others' half-eaten, disgusting, slobbery food and crumpled napkins wet from wiping noses and mouths, why in tarnation would she let Kimball go play in the little adjoining romper room aka The Marriott Hotel for Germs (motto: All Germs Welcome!)?"

I can't really say why I'm okay with this except that I believe in moderation in most things (not all), and I also believe that kids need to be kids. And I also believe in eating first, playing second. I also believe in a good, thorough hand scrubbing when playtime in The Marriott Hotel for Germs (motto: All Germs Welcome!) is over. I also believe that I have THE. CUTEST. GRANDSON. ON. THIS. PLANET. Behold:

I'm definitely up for another date, Kimball. Text me.

Thursday, August 25, 2011


Please take notice of the lovely cinderblock backdrop.

I'm really trying to hold it together here, folks.

Christian is off to college.

(Big breaths. I'm taking big, deep breaths while also avoiding going into his bedroom. Man. This is way too hard for me . . . .)

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time, you certainly know my feelings about this incredible young man of mine. If you need a reminder of my absolute adoration, go here. And here. And here. Or here. Or, you could just basically cruise my blog history and find about a gazillion posts where I gush and quite inadequately express my love for Mr. Christian.

In the meantime, I'm trying to add a little levity to this emotional roller coaster by pointing out that the on-campus student housing apartment I lived in as a freshman is only two units away from Christian's--the carpeting appears to be the same (um, yuck), the closet doors and built-ins are most definitely the same, and the cinderblock painted walls will forever be exactly! the! same! as my lovely cinderblock walls. Man, talk about deja vu. All over again.

I miss my boy, and it hasn't even been 24 hours since he's been gone. Waaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Oh. Good thing he'll be back tonight for dinner :D

Monday, August 22, 2011

Wanna Hear a Good Joke?

Okay. So a goat, a sheep, a horse, a cow, and a pig walk into a bar, see, and . . .

Yikes. Do you think the joke might be on us?

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Why, Ah Do Declare!

We've come to know the Clabber Girl from her baking powder fame . . .

. . . and Aunt Jemima has sweetened our lives for years and years . . .

. . . Betty Crocker has charmed us with her plastic surgery refreshed looks over the decades . . .

. . . and Little Miss Morton Salt completely outclasses the Coppertone girl.

Now, I'd like to introduce you to our very own . . .
(Southern, as in, Southern California)

Move it, Little Debbie, there's a fresh new face in town! I think our Southern Belle would be the perfect model to be featured on the packaging of a baking product like sugar, or flour, or cornstarch, or tapioca (ew, yuck, tapioca!), don't you? Why, just look at her!

Pretty as a picture with her homemade berry pie with a crust made from scratch!

This pie took the honorable mention award at our neighborhood BBQ. Not a speck of it was left for us to bring home!

Ashley's Very Berry Pie


8 cups frozen mixed berries (I used a bag of blueberries, raspberries, and marion berries from Costco)
1 1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup instant tapioca
Squirt of lemon juice

Thaw the berries, then mix all ingredients in a bowl. Let the mixture sit while you make the crust.

For the crust, use your favorite recipe, search for one online, or just use this one from the Crisco packaging!

2 cups all purpose flour
1 tsp salt
3/4 cup Crisco shortening
4-8 TBS ice cold water

*You only need one crust, and this is a two crust recipe, but I found that I needed more dough than a one crust recipe provided. Use the extra to make a mini-pie or pie crust cookies!*

Blend flour and salt in mixing bowl. Cut cubed chilled shortening into flour mixture using a pastry blender or a food processor (that's my favorite way!) until mixture resembles pea-sized coarse crumbs. Sprinkle 4 TBS ice water over flour mixture and stir with a fork or pulse the food processor. Add more water by the TBS until the dough holds together. Flatten dough into a 1/2 inch disk, wrap in plastic wrap, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes. On lightly floured surface, roll dough outward from the center so that it is 2 inches wider than the pie plate. Ease the crust in the plate (tip: roll the crust around the rolling pin, and unroll it into the pie plate). Trim the edges, fold them under, and flute.

Pour the berry mixture into the pie crust, and cover the edges of the crust in tin foil, shiny side out. Bake the pie on a baking sheet at 450 degrees for 15 minutes, then reduce the temperature to 375 and bake until the crust is golden brown and the filling is bubbling, about 45 minutes more. Remove the foil for the last 10-15 minutes of baking. Let the pie cool completely on a rack, and then garnish with a layer of sugared berries.

Why, ah do declare--I just love that girl!

Monday, August 15, 2011

Who Are You Calling Old?

No old geezers around here. Just one Papa who accidentally took the NON-non-drowsy (in other words, the sleepy kind) of cold medicine which basically sent him off to nap time right on this very slide soon after our foray down that contraption. He just laid there at the bottom of the slide, as easy as you please, and conked out. Kimball didn't know what to make of it.

Once we were able to rouse Papa and get him on his feet again, his incoherent sentences clued us in that it was time to drag the old boy home, prop him up on the couch so he could watch a little I Love Lucy, and then ship him off to bed to sleep it off before he caused himself or his loved ones any sort of serious bodily harm with the tv remote control.

(Thank goodness we had a designated driver in Ashley to get us home--otherwise, Papa may have driven us somewhere even further away than Nebraska {see this post} in his loopy state of delirium.)

P.S. We should have known we were in for it when Papa was taking an extra long time coming out to the car as we were waiting to drive to the park. Turns out he had fallen asleep in the washroom. Oh, the wacky world of the Sagers fam . . . .

Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Mr. Blue Sky

Changes are a-comin'. In a very few short weeks one of my very best friends is moving on and moving out.

Christian will be leaving to live on campus as he attends a semester at BYU prior to serving an LDS mission for two years. Oh my, oh my. I'm a bundle of mixed emotions and conflicting desires. I wish he could stay. I want him to go. I wish I could be with him every single day. I want him to grow and become independent. I wish I could forever hang on to his coattails. I want him to break free and achieve his enormous potential. It's a complete mash-up, if you want to know the plain truth of it all.

The title of Christian's high school senior video, "Mr. Blue Sky," perfectly captures his nature--so positive, so cheerful, so full of hope that things will always work out, so happy, so forward thinking, so trusting in the goodness of others, so solid in his knowledge that God is in charge of all. Mr. Blue Skies--in living color. Can you see why I cherish this boy?! Oh, how I love him!!!

Christian really is one of my very, very best friends. And, I'm quite certain that I'm one of his. (He even told me so. That's how I know.)

Sunday, August 07, 2011

He Can Multitask!

Click on image to get a grander look at Santa's delicious beard.

In this series of photos, note how deftly Kimball: 1) speaks on the phone with his daddy; 2) eats his cookies and "kweem"; and, 3) manages to effectively impersonate Santa Claus. I'm telling you what--that kid has conquered what most men just can't seem to master: The art of multitasking!

What? I didn't even mention your name, Dave, so stop assuming anything. Although, now that you mention the whole multitasking thing . . . um, well . . . . jk! You're a good multitasker, Dave. With the exception of that sticky little problem of driving and carrying on a conversation at the same time resulting in ending up near Nebraska instead of at the Piggly Wiggly just down the road. Other than that, you're a good multitasker, Dave. Super good.

Psst. Is he gone? FYI, I'd advise against talking to Dave while he's behind the wheel if you're hoping to end up anywhere close to your desired destination within the decade. Just sayin'.

Oh, hi, Dave! Thought you were gone to the Piggly Wiggly.

Or Nebraska.


Thursday, August 04, 2011

Adventures in Babysitting

I babysat.

And, it was pretty stressful. Very stressful, if you want to know the bald truth. Heart-poundingly stressful.

I had the un-privilege of looking after a jumpy little whippersnapper who, as luck would have it, has eight (count 'em!) legs, while I was also pitiably trapped on a torture device also known as my much-despised stationery bike.*

See, the deal was that nobody asked me to babysit, nor did I offer, but it seems that I had the luck of the draw this time around. I usually don't take my responsibilities lightly; however, I was more than willing to ditch this arach-kid. There. I said it, and I'm not taking it back.

So, there I sat, peddling away like a woman possessed, illogically thinking that the faster I peddled, the further away I would get from this little persona non grata:
The fact that little Jumpy Jimmy here was merely ten inches away from my face only heightened my hatred for being stuck on that doggone stationery bike. Watching him closely (as any good babysitter would), I became all itchy and scratchy and wobbly as I sent silent messages to him to please go across the room to visit the treadmill! No need to stay so close to me! Go! Go off to explore the world, young one! Expand your horizons, and LEAVE ME ALONE! Alas, no.

Not only did Jumpy Jimmy not have the courtesy to give me my privacy during my time of sweat, but he never even extended a friendly silk string hand of greeting. That, in and of itself wasn't a bad thing, but it meant that there was the very real possibility that since he rudely eschewed the basic common courtesy of saying "howdy-do" with a silvery strand, he might just very well cut straight to the chase and jump right from his place on the wall and directly into my mouth.Which was wide open. Because I was panting like a dog. Because I was sucking air for all that it's worth. Because I was on that horrible, horrible stationery bike.

Only minutes to go before my torture session was to be over, Jumpy Jimmy made a break for it and went AWOL on me! I thought, "Oh, no you don't! I do and do and do for you, and this is what I get? Nuh-uh. I'll track you down! I'll send out the bloodhounds! I'll find you! I'll give you what you've got coming!" And I did.


The end.

* I was aboard my much-hated stationery bike and not out doing my run due to an annoying condition called a stress fracture. Or a stress reaction. Whatever. In other words, my leg is basically broken, apparently because I happen to put my heel down incorrectly when I run, or because my gait is off (whatever that means), or because my hips don't line up just right, or because I like the color pink. I don't know, and neither does the sports medicine doctor, but he's just itching to put me on a treadmill so he can point and laugh and tell me that for all of these years, I've been doing that whole "walking upright on two legs" thing ALL WRONG. But, he won't be doing that until my bones knit and purl and crochet back together again, because, YEOW, having a fracture in one's bone is not a walk in the park, even if that walk is with perfect form and correct posture.

I so hate that bike.

Monday, August 01, 2011

This One's For You, Harry!

Yesterday, July 31, was Harry Potter's birthday! I know that every single one of you celebrated, right?!!! It also happens to be Harry's brilliant creator's birthday too. Wow! How'd that happy coincidence happen, I wonder?

We are huge Potter fans at this house, and in honor of Harry's birthday, we whipped up some delicious butterbeer and settled in to watch the first movie in the Harry Potter series. (Whoooo boy, Daniel, Rupert and Emma have obviously been taking some very intense acting lessons from somebody like Lee Strasberg or Uta Hagen or some such old geezers since that debut movie; bless their hearts, those kids did think they were hot stuff back in the day, didn't they.)

This particular butterbeer recipe is a simplified version of others I have come across, but I'd wager a guess that even those snarky Slytherins would get their robes all in knots over this concoction. I do realize that the real butterbeer, the butterbeer that Harry, Hermione and Ron drink in Diagon Alley, has a touch of, er, shall we say, intoxicant (to put it delicately), but we choose to leave that particular element out of our batch of butterbeer. It was Sunday, after all. Sheesh, you guys.

Makes 1 serving

One 12 oz. can cream soda
1 teaspoon butter
2 tablespoons butterscotch topping
1/2 cup quality vanilla ice cream

Pour soda into microwavable bowl or large measuring cup. Add butter. Microwave on high for approximately 2-3 minutes, depending on your microwave. Stir. In the bottom of a mug add the butterscotch topping. Pour soda mixture over butterscotch. Drop a scoop of ice cream on top. Stir mixture to blend. Knock it back with a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean, and go nuts!

Guess what, boys and girls? You're in luck! As an additional treat to celebrate Harry's birthday, I tip my hat to him and his ability to speak parseltongue (thank you, Voldemort) by giving you this video to creep you out for the rest of your day. Yes, yes. I know. You can thank me when you see me. And, I just know you will. Thank me, that is. Ssssssssssseeeeeeeeeee here: