The Mac and Cheese Chronicles

Today’s post has an optional musical accompaniment. Click “play” below to listen while you read.

Pumpkin Girl takes the cake, she really does. Somehow she always manages to win a prize. Not necessarily for feats of skill or academic excellence, but in contests that have to do with luck.Today was our church’s annual Mass in the Grass and parish picnic. I think it’s a military thing. At our base here, mass was held along the banks of the Potomac river. Even though the forecast was for another hot and humid day, it was pleasantly warm and breezy. After mass we enjoyed a veritable cornucopia of culinary delights otherwise known as everyone’s best potluck dishes. Yum!

We stuck around for the children’s activities, including a jump tent, dunk tank, beading necklaces and face painting. We were sitting around watching the action at the dunk tank and getting ready to leave when they announced the cake walk. Now, I know what a cake walk is, musically speaking, having once learned to play “Golliwog’s Cakewalk” on the piano, which is what you’re listening to. But I didn’t know what sort of game it was going to be today. But I asked Boo and Pumpkin Girl if they wanted to do the cakewalk, and only Pumpkin wanted to. Off she went and I followed to watch.

Today, the cakewalk amounted to a game of hot potato, using a paper “cake” plate. The children were a little confused about the instructions and there were some 2 year olds who really didn’t understand what to do. But they gave it a shot and by the time the plate came around the second time, everyone knew how to play. And then the music stopped and would you believe it, Pumpkin was holding the plate.

Woohoo, she won and she was taken out of the circle and led to a table full of cakes. She was told she could pick one, then the organizer went back to get the next round started. Pumpkin picked the prettiest cake she could find, of course, then we stood there for a moment, wondering if she won a piece of cake or the whole cake. For all the other games, every participant got a tiny prize, like candy or a noise maker. But the organizer came back, asked Pumpkin which cake she wanted, then handed us the whole thing!

We couldn’t believe her luck! In the past, she has won a $25 gift certificate to the commissary and a pre-made Easter basket containing a stuffed Tweety Bird wearing a pink hat. But this time, she really did take the cake.

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I got my hair cut today. It’s been awhile because finding a good stylist is so hard. Especially when you live on a military base located in what we’ll call one of the not so desirable DC neighborhoods. Let’s just say it’s no Georgetown and leave it at that. But recently a stay-at-home haircutting dad moved on base. His wife is active duty Air Force, he’s decided to homeschool this year and already he’s quite the hit with the ladies. He did a wonderful job with my hair, which is super thick and super straight. It’s been a while since I’ve had a hair cut worth talking about. In fact, my last great cut was the one in my old blog avatar picture. Like most things in my life, it has A Story. Do you want to hear it?

It was October 2004 and we were living in Korea. We were busy doing who knows what one afternoon when there was a knock on our door. It was an MP, telling us that we needed to get everyone out of the house and go across the street. Turns out that unexploded ordnance from the Korean War had been found in our neighbor’s backyard. Why they thought we’d be safe on the other side of our cul-de-sac is beyond me. But there we waited for further instruction. Then an explosive ordnance disposal team was going to be brought in from another base, which was about an hour away, so we needed to go away for awhile. They allowed us 15 minutes back into our houses to gather what we needed. I guess the possibility of being blown to bits was mitigated by the fact that none of us had our keys or wallets and many of the children weren’t wearing shoes.

Most of us ended up going to the Dragon Hill Lodge, a beautiful, resort style hotel on base. In many ways it was the social hub of the base. Its amenities included 3 restaurants, a bakery, tailor, tavern and a salon (I think we were actually sitting at that same table in the picture). As we were sitting in one of the lobbies, I was complaining about my hair, which at the time was straight down my back. My friend recommended I go to her girl, who worked right there at the salon. So we walked over and it turns out she was able to get me in that afternoon. And what else did I have going on that afternoon, besides wondering how long we were going to be stranded, how they were going to let us know it was safe to return and if there was even going to be anything to return to.

Turns out this girl (sorry, she was quite a bit younger than me) had trained with Vidal Sassoon in London and was the type of stylist who could look at your hair and your face shape and come up with a great cut. I loved what she did so much that I had Philip take my picture as soon as we got back home. Here it is…
Oh, and as for the rest of the story, one of our evacuated neighbors was also an MP and kept in contact with them so he was able to tell us when it was safe to return to our homes.

Isn’t that a funny story? Or do you all have unexploded ordnance in your backyards, too? I really don’t make this stuff up. You can read the for-real account of it here: Unexploded mortar shell… But as you read it, remember that I told you the true story, where we were just told to leave and no one told us where to go or how we’d know when to return. I guess someone decided in hindsight that we should have been taken to a central location and taken great care of and that’s the story they told the paper.

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We’re getting new neighbors.  We weren’t sure that we were, because for various and sundry reasons our housing area was “frozen” to new people moving in.  Then on Friday I spied two children playing in the backyard of the empty house next door.  I didn’t recognize them and I didn’t think it was a good idea for them to be playing where their parents, wherever they were, couldn’t see them.  Then they moved closer to the house and I couldn’t see them any longer and they stayed out of my view for a long time.  I started to wonder if maybe…

So I checked the front yard, and sure enough there was an unfamiliar minivan parked next door.  Woo hoo!

Then I tried to decide how to “run into” these people.  I could grab the mail key, watch for them to appear and casually step out for the mail.  Or I could pretend to weed my garden. But our normal August heat and humidity had returned so I opted for staking them out from my air conditioned house.

I didn’t have to wait long.  The children I had seen earlier wandered over to check out my children’s bikes.  I made my way to the front door and they saw me and ran away.  I opened my door anyway and saw the mom.  I waved and asked if they were moving in.  She said that no, they were still just looking.  I started talking to her, then my brood started clamoring to come out, so I let them.  Which led to more talking during which I found out that this family

1) has a 7 year old boy, a 5 year old girl, a toddler boy 1 month older than Bip and a new born

2) is Catholic (but not homeschoolers).

Yippee!  I pointed out the advantages of this house in particular, especially my own 8 year old boy, 6 year old girl and 2 year old toddler.  I mentioned that being on the end of the cul-de-sac made for a great place to ride bikes.  And that the yard already has a fence.

When they left, I was pretty sure they’d choose this house over any others they might have seen.

Sure enough, this morning, I heard children out front and spied their minivan backed up to the house while they unloaded some of their things.

It’s hard not to worry about things you have no control over, isn’t it?  Especially when it involves all your children’s friends moving away and being one of only 3 families living in a 6-plex.  But God is good and knows the desires of our hearts, even before we can speak them.

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