country ham

When you get right down to it, there are really only 2 kinds of people in the world.

Those who like country ham.  And those who don't.

I happen to like country ham.

Usually I get country ham sandwiches by way of buying them from a high school softball team or choir or some such fundraiser.

When we were kids, my mom used to make a whole country ham - studded with cloves and glistening with a yummy glaze which we picked off and might be one of the most delicious things in the whole world.

This year, it was my turn to make the country ham.  I asked my mom what to do and felt confident that I could pull it off.

Step One:  Soak the ham.  I put mine in a cooler and soaked for 2 days, changing the water once. This picture was taken while changing the water - you should cover the ham completely with water.  Actually, if you are coming here for cooking advice of any sort, you should probably stop now and re-google.

Step Two:  Stud with cloves and cover in mustard and brown sugar mixture.  Some say you should cut off the ham hock, but that would require a hacksaw and a husband who was home, neither of which I possessed at the moment of baking.  Plus, it fit in the pan with the hock, so my ham kept it's hock.

Step Three:  Put some water in the pan and bake for about 4 hours until ham reaches an internal temperature of 160 degrees.  I'm pretty sure this is the first time I've ever used my handy dandy Pampered Chef thermometer.  My ham was 165 degrees, but who likes rare country ham?  Not me.

Step Four:  Have Superfrydad slice thinly with an electric knife.

Disclaimer:  Between Steps 2 & 3, I had a mini-disaster.  I painfully put all of those cloves in and covered it with the glaze, as Step 2 says.  However, I failed to put any water in the pan as my mother instructed.

When I checked it two hours later, it looked like a giant leather football.  Guess they call a football a pigskin for a reason because the skin on this ham looked EXACTLY like leather.  No glistening glaze, just a giant piece of meat encased with hard skin.  So I called my mom.  She said, "Did you take off the skin?"  I said, "No, you didn't tell me to do that, plus I forgot to put water in the pan!"

So I put some water in the pan, got Superfrydad (who was now home) to cut off the skin, and re-cloved and  reglazed the newly skinned ham.  Baked for 2 more hours and it turned out fine.  I did not take any pictures because I was too mad and wanted to throw the ham out into the yard.

Lessons learned from country ham:
Scouring pads are a girl's best friend when it comes to cleaning your roasting pan after almost ruining a country ham.
Some things, like making country ham, are better left to the professionals.  Or your mom.

broccoli ballet

This is Superfrykid's first year of ballet.

She's 8, which by many standards is probably WAAAAY too late to really get a good foundation for becoming the professional dancer that I'm sure she will aspire to be.  But I'm a slacker mom like that, so stop judging me.

Anyway, if you don't know me in real life, dance is probably #1027 on my list of things I don't like.  It's not that I have anything against it, but it's just not my "thing", ya know?

Probably this has something to do with the fact that I have no dancing skills whatsoever.  In general, I only like things I'm good at, and dancing is not one of those.  As a matter of fact, maybe that's why I pretty much hate everything because I'm not really good at much.  But that's a discussion for another day.

Back to ballet.

Superfrykid has really been enjoying her class and this week she was really excited because they were going to see a picture of their costumes for their recital.

Superfrydad went in to pick her up while I sat in the car. (Because he's awesome and I hate going into the waiting area and pretending to be normal and nice and dance-mom-ish).....anyway...Superfrykid came out to the car and here's how the conversation went:

ME:  "Did you see your costume?"

Silence from the back seat.

SUPERFRYDAD: "It's green and it's sparkly."

ME: (Trying to feign excitement because really I could care less as long as it doesn't look like it was made for a midget streetwalker.):  "Ooooh....sparkly!  That sounds pretty!"

Silence from the back seat.

ME: (turns around to look at SFK) "Do you like it?"

SFK:  (crosses arms and makes a snooty face)

ME:  "What's wrong with green and sparkly?"

SFK: (shrieking) "I"M BROCCOLI!!!!!"

ME: (quickly turning back to the front to hide my face while laughing uncontrollably) "I didn't know broccoli could dance!"  (Laughter turns to snorts and uncontrollable giggles)

SFK: "Mommmmmmmmm!  You're mean!"

ME:  (singing) "Broc-co-leeeeee, Cel-er-eeeee, Gotta Beeeeeeee, VeggieTales.  Lima Beeeeeeeeeans, Collard Greeeeeeens, Peachy Keeeeeen, Veggietales." (to the tune of the theme song from VeggieTales, for you heathens)

She may never speak to me again because I could not get my laughter under control.

But, really?  Broccoli?

This ballet class is not cheap and you're telling me that my kid is going to be broccoli in the recital?

You know what?  Dancing broccoli could be the beginning of something great in her life.  I shouldn't laugh at it.  I can't wait for the recital.  I was thinking that I was going to try to get out of volunteering in the dressing room, but maybe volunteering in the dressing room is preferable over sitting through all of the food groups expressing themselves through dance, which is what I am thinking the theme MIGHT be.

On second thought, I might still try to avoid that dressing room duty because I might miss the macaroni macarena or the rutabaga rumba.  Oh, and of course, the broccoli ballet.

Diarrhea Song

Warning:  this post is about poop.  Again.  I know.  I'm sorry.  Not really.

I was reading People I Want to Punch in the Throat and was directed to this lovely little site.

Its The Official Diarrhea Song blog.

I only read a few before I had tears running down my face.

Wait.

That could be a song.

When tears are running down your face
and poop runs out of it's poop place
Diarrhea, Diarrhea

Not my best work, but I'm okay with mediocrity.

But I think if you made it this far into this post, you already knew that.

Now you're singing that song, aren't you?

You're welcome.  Have a great time trying to replace that in your head.

someone (almost) stole my identity

Last Thursday was Thanksgiving. 

Around 9:30 pm, I got an order confirmation email from Best Buy.

They thanked me for ordering the Complete Fifth Season DVD set of "The Big Bang Theory".

First of all, I did not order anything from Best Buy.

Secondly, I never order DVDs when I can watch reruns for free on TBS.

Thirdly, I think Sheldon is only funny sometimes.  Maybe I'm not smart enough to "get" The Big Bang Theory, but if I was going to order a complete season of something, it would probably be "Duck Dynasty".  That's my new favorite TV show, which has nothing to do with any of this, but if you haven't seen it, you are missing out.

Anyway, when I got the email, I didn't really think those 3 things right away.  What I did think was.......SOMEONE STOLE MY IDENTITY!!!!!!!!!

The email had my name ALISSA FRY, but the address was not mine.  Clearly, a hacker had hijacked my Best Buy account and ordered a $9.95 DVD set as a test before moving on to larger purchases.

So I called the 1-800 number for Best Buy.  Which is actually an 888 number, but whatever.  

Basically, here's what happened:  

There are 2 people named Alissa Fry.  One is me.  The other lives in another state and is not me.

Somehow, the other person placed an order and paid for it, but the email confirmation came to me.

Somehow, customer service at Best Buy could not wrap their heads around this and gave me the run around.  

And put me on hold for over 50 minutes.  Twice.  That's almost 2 hours of my life on hold with Best Buy.  Not how I want to spend my time.  It does rate above having my cellulite shaved off with a cheese grater, but only slightly.  

AND, they gave me the other Alissa Fry's phone number, which is clearly not something they should do.

Because I called the other Alissa Fry.  

Thankfully, she wasn't like "how did you get this number?"   She was cool.  We do share the same name, which must count for something.

The other Alissa Fry confirmed that she did place the order and that she checked her account and had been charged for it.  

She also promised to never steal my identity.  I also promised I would never steal her identity.    

We clearly share high moral values as well as the same first and last names.

There's more to the frustration part of the story, but I will spare you.  Suffice it to say that after 2 plus hours of phone time and one trip to my local store, I was very irritated.  

So I called the 888 number again and complained.  

And guess what?  They are sending me a $100 Best Buy Gift Card.

I hope they send it to me and not the other me.

So then I sent the other me a text and told her she should complain too and see if she can get a gift card. 

So what I'd like to say to Best Buy is..........BAZINGA!

halloween, the day after

Yesterday was Halloween.

Superfrykid was a Sailor Girl.

Not because she wanted to be a Sailor Girl, but because that's the most appropriate costume in her size that was on clearance last year after Halloween.

She put it on last week to make sure it fit, and decided it was itchy.

So we put a shirt and leggings under it.

Then it was too tight.

So I snipped the elastic in the waist.

Then the hat was not right.

So I put it on her head with bobby pins.

Then the hat made her hot.

You get the idea.

Superfrykid was not happy about the costume.  I almost faltered and purchased a $35 piece of crap costume made of flimsy material worth about $1.79.  Then I thought to myself, "Nope. Not doing it.  She's going to wear what I told her to wear or she's not going to dress up."

So Halloween night came.  I prepared myself for battle.
All for naught.  She wore the costume and had a great time.  She would have been happy to wear a garbage bag.  (I know, I'm so mean.  But I should get extra points for using the word "naught" in a sentence, right?)

We stopped to see Great-Grandma (aka "The Don") first.
The Don keeps a small basket of candy on her counter.  On top of the candy, though, is a large ziploc bag of Fig Newtons.  She had to pick up the Fig Newtons to get to the candy, and I could see the look of relief on Superfrykid's face when she was offered candy only and not Fig Newtons.

I was talking to a few of my friends who were handing out candy and we were discussing how much candy is the right amount to give.

For those who are interested, here are my recommended guidelines:
Kingsize Candy Bar            Homemade Costume
2 Handfuls of Candy           Funny or Creative Costume
(even those that slightly miss the mark, like "Reigning Cats and Dogs"-New Girl fan, anyone?)
1 Handful of Candy            Storebought costume for ages 3-12
2 pieces of Candy              Those who clearly made no effort until 2 minutes before leaving
1 piece of Candy               Anyone with a real mustache (male or female)
1 piece of Candy               Babies with no teeth because who are you kidding?
Dots                                 Adults who follow their kids with their own bag.

I must say, I'm glad Halloween is over.  I actually took down my pumpkins and put up my Nativity today.  (Arrangement by SFK)

one size does not fit all

I'm not a fan of "one size fits all".

Because it doesn't.

As you know, I've been reading A Year of Biblical Womanhood by Rachel Held Evans.  If you don't, read about it here and here.

One of the things I appreciate about this book is that it demonstrates that being a "biblical woman" is not a "one size fits all" deal.

Thinking that "biblical" looks the same on all women is like telling all of the women in the world that they have to wear the same bridesmaid dress and look good in it. 

A yellow, halter bridesmaid dress.

Who looks good in that?

Not many of us.

And those who do would still probably choose something else.

Maybe we need to rethink what it means to be a "biblical" woman and worry less about what others are wearing and more about making sure our own skirt is not tucked into our underwear in the back.

the not so secret secret

Ok, so I bragged about told you about being selected as part of the launch team for Rachel Held Evans' upcoming book A Year of Biblical Womanhood.

I downloaded my copy of the book last night and started reading. I made myself stop at the end of the second chapter, because I want to make it last.  It's pretty good so far.  Informative, but not boring.  Funny, but not crass.  Interesting, but not fluffy.  I think I'm going to like it.

But today's post is not about the book.  I will post a review after I finish reading it.

Today I want to talk about the secret facebook group that goes along with being in the launch group.  It's a closed group, which is why they call it a secret, I guess.

Dear Thomas Nelson Publishers: calling something a secret doesn't really make it secret.

Because I am totally going to talk about it here.
And my 2 readers  all of my readers will know about it, which makes it a closed group, not a secret group.  But I confess, I may not have applied to be a part of the launch team if a secret facebook group was not included.  I kind of wish it included a secret handshake too, but I guess I'll just have to be disappointed.

Anyway, a suggestion was made for the group members to write a little bio so everyone can find each other on their blogs, or twitter, or whatever.  I added mine, satisfied that it was sufficient.

Then I went back and read some of the others.

I'm pretty sure everyone is better than me.

Seriously.

I am pretty much the only regular person on there.

Everyone else is super-awesome in some way.  There are pastors, authors, speakers, non-profit directors, bloggers, and  highly educated people on this list.  Everyone seems to have some sort of awesome career and still finds time to care for their biological twins, their adopted son and their foster daughter.  All of this while squeezing in their hobbies of training for a half-marathon, pottery glazing, writing an opera in Italian, and making gourmet, organic cupcakes.

And I am totally not exaggerating.  Well, maybe about the cupcakes.

These bios sound like a cross between a resume and an online dating profile. Although I'm pretty sure I didn't see any that said they enjoyed long walks on the beach.

So I've decided that I was selected for one of the following reasons:

1.  The assistant at Thomas Nelson publishers needed one more person and did eeny, meeny, miney, mo because they were so tired of reading all of the entries.

2.  They were trying to get a good cross-section of people and I represent the uneducated masses who sing along to Lady Gaga in the car and think Taco Bell is pretty good Mexican food.

3.  They actually did read my entry and thought they should include one regular person in the launch group.  I mean, aren't regular people the kind of people God likes to use?

I don't know why I was selected, but I sure do feel small in this company of people.

I'm hoping I don't get asked to leave.

That's probably why they don't have a secret handshake because once you learn it, you're in.  By NOT having a secret handshake, they could potentially weed out those they didn't want without fear of them sneaking back in because they know the secret handshake.