The accidental garden

As it turns out, I'm not nearly as bad of a gardener as this story suggests. In fact, I can grow quite the onion crop. Just not when I actually try to. 

A couple months ago, I threw out a bunch of onions that were finally going bad on us (we'd had them since last summer). Before that, I had thrown out some rotten apples. 

The hole in the corner of our yard had been a good place for the apples, so I dumped the onions there too. 

Now, this is what we have on our hands: 

 

And I'm thinking I should have just tried onions to begin with. They just sprouted up without us doing a thing, and the dogs haven't bothered them a bit. I noticed them a couple weeks ago, but I didn't mention anything to Brandon. He found them over the weekend. 

He came in and asked if I was aware we had a bunch of onions sprouting in our yard. 

As he was headed back out, he added, "Oh, and the next time you want to grow a million onions? How about we try somewhere other than the drain for our yard? I just hope we don't have apple trees growing in there soon."

Anyone interested in a few onion bulbs to plant?

The first failure

It finally happened. It took almost a year, and it was even from a recipe. Not a Katie Surprise. And in a crockpot of all things!

But it was awful. It looked bad, smelled bad and definitely tasted bad. 

Yes, last night's supper was a complete and utter failure. From the moment I dished it up, I was dreading taking that first bite. With good reason, turns out. 

I waited until Brandon tried it first. He took three huge bites (probably trying to stuff as much in his mouth at once, to limit the pain to only a few big swallows). So, I mustered up the courage to take one tiny bite. And promptly declared I would not be eating any more of it. Brandon dropped his fork upon hearing that. 

He said, "I would have kept eating it if you were going to, but if you're throwing yours out, mine's going with it." 

Good thing we had leftover twice-baked potatoes from the weekend. As soon as we finished those off, I walked outside with the crockpot and poured the whole thing out for Wilbur and Dixie. 

I was not happy for the rest of the night. First, you have the time it took to put it all together. Then, there's all the wasted food. And on top of that, one hour later I was hungry.

Hopefully I can redeem myself tonight. 

Unwelcome guests

I hate birds. All of them. Everything about them. Especially the feathers. Along with the constant chirping and surprises they leave behind everywhere marking their presence. 

That said, I am currently cohabiting with them. 

Four months ago, I woke up early one morning to an awful sound. Birds chirping. Loudly. I woke Brandon up and I was all, That bird has to be in our house. No way could it be that loud. And he, unfazed, said, "Yeah, it probably is. It's happened before," then rolls over to go back to sleep. 

I was not having it. "You mean you're not going to go get the BIRD out of our HOUSE?"

So he begrudgingly drug himself out of bed to retrieve the bird. When he opened the door to our renovated (read: demolished) master bathroom, sure enough, there was one live bird flying around in there making all kinds of racket, and one dead bird on the ground (not making racket). He let the live bird out the window, and disposed of the dead bird. 

Then, just a couple months ago, I had a pigeon problem. Two pigeons sat in our laundry area (assuming our washer and dryer were connected) and went coo, coo. All day long. Not pleasant. And rather distracting when you're trying to concentrate. 

I kept trying to shoot the pigeons with Brandon's BB gun, but it's so old and used you have to hold the thing together in two or three places while you try to shoot it. I never did get it to work. 

That's when I requested the Red Rider BB gun my brother got for Christmas when he was six. They both think they're much too old for BB guns now, so it was perfect. But my parents left it in Texas when they came to visit. 

Luckily, the pigeons have now moved on. Probably to our barn, judging by the bird population there. 

Just about a month ago, I complained politely mentioned to Brandon there were some scratching noises in our attic during the day. It sounded like little birds scurrying about over my head in the hallway. He's used to me "hearing things" when I get scared at night, so he dismissed it. Told me I was crazy. Nothing up there, no sir. 

Well, fast forward to yesterday. 

Baby birds are hatching all over our house. 

I first noticed them through the air vent in the hallway. There must be a whole nest of them on top of the air vent. It's that loud. Then, I was changing the sheets on our bed later that morning. More loud birds. I opened the door to the gutted bathroom. Sure enough, there's a partial nest hanging out of the corner of the wall. IN OUR HOUSE. 

Brandon thinks the birds in the bathroom are okay. "Happens all the time," he says, "No big deal." He doesn't really see that bathroom as "part of the house." I, on the other hand, do not think it's okay. 

When he learned about the birds near the air vent, he did show some concern, which made me feel a little better. I explained to him exactly where the loud chirping was coming from - you know, that place I was telling you a whole month ago had critters living in it? Remember that? That's where the baby birds live now. 

He said, "Oh. That's not good." 

Then rolled over to take a nap. 

[He's been working nights, so the "nap" was more his sleep for the day. But still. There are birds in our house.] 

Recycling casseroles

I've wanted to start making a weekly meal plan for a while now. I like knowing what's for dinner, and being more prepared so I don't have to use the microwave defroster or plan on something all day to find out at 7pm I don't have one ingredient I really need. 

Another good reason for the meal plan is to keep ingredients fresh. With only two people to feed, we end up eating nearly-ready-to-be-thrown-out produce all the time, mainly because I buy too many vegetables, forgetting that if we cooked every night our fridge would be stuffed with leftovers. Sometimes, I have to throw out a potato or only use half the head of cabbage, and it kills me to do so. 

This week, I am determined. It is on my schedule for today: Make meal plan and grocery list. Wednesdays are going to be designated meal planning days because Thursdays are going to be designated grocery shopping days. Starting this week. 

Brandon and I were both working at home yesterday afternoon, but he was on his computer in the dining room, so I sent him a Gchat to remind him about today's meal planning so he could send any requests.  Yes, we were only 30 feet from each other, but what's the convenience of technology if you don't utilize it?

He sent his one request for the week:  fried game meat (his favorite), served with mashed potatoes and gravy. 

Then, he wrote: "No more Katie surpises. You made a 2nd generation Katie surprise by turning a first generation Katie surprise into a new Katie suprise. Dangerous. Let's stick with the first generation Katie surprises."

You see, for lunch yesterday, I took a casserole I made last week (I actually had a recipe for this one, so he was wrong about it being a Katie Surprise), threw it in a skillet with a chopped up leftover baked potato, some barbeque sauce, topped it with cheese, and poured it between two layers of biscuits in another casserole dish. I thought it was a creative way to get rid of the one serving of casserole left no one wanted to eat.

When we started eating, Brandon said, "This is good. What all did you put in here?"

"Um, you really don't want to know. If you like it, just keep eating."

"No, I really do want to know. What is it?"

"You remember that casserole from last week? It's in there. With a potato, barbeque sauce and cheese."

"What casserole was it?"

"You know, the one with the beef, rice, cornflakes, you liked it..." [I realize it doesn't sound appetizing, but it really was good, and he really did like it. We're way past the pretend-it's-good-and-choke-it-down phase.]

"Oh. Yeah, I didn't want to know."

And then, after eating in silence for a few moments, he said, "So, you took a leftover casserole, and made another casserole with it?" 

"Yeah, pretty much."

"I think my favorite part is the biscuit now."

When two economics students make ice cream

Or rather, when a frugal couple makes ice cream.

Ice cream is my dessert of choice. I could go without ever eating any other sweet thing. But I have a weakness for ice cream. Several months after we started dating, Brandon told me, over a bowl of ice cream, "You know, I think I've eaten more ice cream since I met you than the rest of my life put together." 

Which is impressive, when you consider his age. (He says the same thing every time I make rice. What can I say? Sticking to my swampy, rice-growing area roots.)

When I moved to Arizona, I introduced Brandon's family to Blue Bell ice cream. There is no other ice cream in Texas. And now, there is no other ice cream for the whole family, either. I have converted all of them, Grandma Mary included. 

But, Brandon and I received a giant, very nice ice cream maker as a wedding gift last June. We opened it and used it for the first time in March. And he really likes it. He likes the ice cream, and he likes the fact that we made it. 

At first, we were just making this orange-flavored (if you can imagine that) sherbet-like blend, that doesn't require very many ingredients. We made it from the Big Red ice cream recipe my mom uses, but we had to substitute with Orange Crush. It's more of a slushy frozen treat, rather than creamy ice cream, but good nonetheless. 

After making the orange stuff, we were thinking the homemade version might be the way to go. It didn't take many ingredients, it was fun to make, and made a giant bucket that lasted quite a while. It seemed like a fairly good deal, compared to $5-6 for a half-gallon of Blue Bell. It wasn't quite that good, but it was ice cream.

Then, for Easter, since we were on a roll with this ice cream-making, we decided we would make a bucket of homemade vanilla for the family. We just didn't realize how much would be required. Once we dumped all the ingredients in the bucket, we started to consider whether the homemade version was really worth it. 

So, being the number-crunchers we are, we gathered prices on the ingredients (which took some time to convert all those quarts to gallons and cups to ounces and account for partial egg cartons).

A general idea of the cost analysis: 

Blue Bell wins on price alone, not to mention the time factor involved of gathering all those ingredients and the actual process of making the ice cream. So, in the end, we decided to stick with Blue Bell, and save the Brandon and Katie ice cream for special occasions. 

This isn't the first time we've had spreadsheets dedicated to trivial decisions. I made a similar one when deciding which cookware set to register for: 

I was told, "But Katie, you're not even buying it. What's the point?"

"No, I'm not. But I want whoever does to get the best deal on it. It's the principle."

If you ask my family, they would probably say "It's the principle," is my signature line. For example, I refuse to eat in ball parks - $7 for a hot dog? My parents say, "Katie, it's okay. We'll buy the hot dog."

"No, Mom. It's the principle. I don't want anyone spending seven bucks on a hot dog. It doesn't matter where the money is coming from."

This exact conversation happened while they were visiting, when I was busy making everyone a sandwich before we left for a spring training baseball game. 

Now, we'll have to see what calculations we come up with for the $1 burger specials at McDonald's and Jack in the Box. From previous discussions, we don't think you can make them cheaper. 

Signs of adulthood: Anniversaries

We're almost there. Just one month and a few days before the big "anniversary". 

I was never one of those girls who thought you had those when you were dating someone. To me, anniversaries only applied to those who were married. So, this is the first one I will be celebrating. Which makes me feel rather grown up.  

A few days ago, I asked Brandon, "Can you believe that in just one month we'll have been married for a whole year? Isn't that crazy?"

Brandon: "Yeah, I know. Seems like a lot longer than that."

Me: "Actually, no. That's not where I was going with that. I was thinking it had gone by fast...It really seems like a long time to you?"

Brandon, with his I'm-saying-this-to-make-you-happy face: "Umm...no...of course not..." 

Apparently we have different perspectives on our first year of marriage.

We did both agree that it felt like it had been pretty easy. Easier than we expected, anyway. Which leaves you wondering if we had bad expectations, or were just realistic enough to not have them too high?

Either way, we were feeling pretty good about the fact neither of us thought this first year had been difficult. 

Then I asked, "But don't they say that most marital issues revolve around money and kids?"

Brandon replied, "Yeah, I think so. And we don't have either one of those to be fighting over."

So maybe we're still in the "calm before the storm" stage? We're hoping it stays this easy though. 

As we approach that milestone first anniversary, I was wondering...How long do you have to be married to ditch the "newlywed" title? Are we already past that? Is it at the 12-month mark? Or later? 

Oh, those lonely summer nights

A couple days ago, Brandon sat down with his dad and a calendar, and mapped out the Leister Farms and Rocker 7 Farms hay harvesting schedules for the summer. 

The result of the schedule can be summed up in one sentence:  Katie will be sleeping alone for many, many nights this summer. 

Which also translates into:  Katie will be sleeping with a shotgun in her hand. 

Now, this would be perfectly fine in another climate, where hay season only lasts a few months. But when "summer" is April to October? I just thought we had a long one in Texas. 

Another thing that makes it different than Texas:  There, we practically have to wait until midday to bale any hay, because there's too much moisture until then. Here? You bale hay in the middle of the night because it's the only time there is any moisture. 

Today, my little basketball team had a pizza and pool party. One of the parents asked, "Hey, did anyone else notice that tiny bit of moisture in the air yesterday. Anyone? I felt it." I was thinking these people would drown in the air where I'm from. 

Anyway, at this point I am fully convinced I will be spending my first anniversary cuddled up with a bottle of wine. Or maybe riding on the armrest of a tractor seat, which is comfortable for about 32 seconds. Now I'm just trying to decide which option is most appealing. 

I am hoping Brandon's night irrigating and hay harvesting schedule will help me overcome some of my fears of the dark and being alone in our house at night. I'm sure my parents hoped I would overcome my fear of the dark by age 16, but that didn't happen. 

When I started driving, my dad had to install a flood light to keep me from pulling up to the house and laying on the horn until someone turned on a light for me. When Brandon realized how serious my fear of the dark was, he just gave me a shotgun.   

Hopefully, I will have a little company later this summer. Mason plans to spend the whole month of July with us, so unless he's going to be on the hay harvesting crew every night, I might have a new protector in my house for a while. And he did make me feel pretty good last night when we were talking about his visit. 

Mason has always been the "mama's boy" in our family, and now that he's a teenager, it's especially fun to tease him about that. So, last night I told him, "Now Mason, are you sure about this? This means three whole weeks without your mommy." 

He said, "Yeah, but I'll have my sister."

[But he'll probably think differently when he finds out I wrote that.]

Then he said, "As long as you feed me, anyway. Like the last time I was there. Not like the first time I came and you starved me."

Me: "Mason, there was plenty to eat."

Mason, at 10pm Texas time: "Katie, don't you know? I eat like 24-7. I'm even eating a Fruit Roll-Up right now." 

So looks like I'll be stocking up on groceries before then.

Brandon is excited about the free labor. Not so much about having a 14-year-old hell-on-wheels trouble-making boy in our care for an entire month. 

Me? I'm just hoping one of my boys will be at home for a night or two.