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Image courtesy of Lindsey Turner

*****

Aunt Patty’s Baked Potato Soup

Prep Time: 1.5 hours       Cook Time: 45 minutes       Difficulty: Medium         Serves: 6

Ingredients

4 pounds of Russet potatoes (5 or 6 big ones)
2/3 cup butter (for best flavor, I recommend real butter, not margarine)
2/3 cup flour
6 cups milk (whole milk is best, otherwise soup takes FOREVER to thicken)
3/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 teaspoon pepper
4 green onions (scallions)
12 slices bacon
1 1/2 cup shredded cheddar cheese
8 ounces sour cream

Preparation

Bake potatoes and let cool. Once cooled, cut each lengthwise and scoop out pulp. Fry bacon on stovetop, using a skillet or griddle, until very crispy. Set potato pulp and bacon aside.
Chop green onions.

In stockpot (5 or 6 quart will work), melt butter over low heat. Slowly add flour, stirring constantly and until smooth.

Increase heat to medium and gradually add milk. Continue stirring until thick and bubbly (be patient, it takes a little while).

Stir in potato pulp, salt and pepper. Add 2 tablespoons of the green onions, 1/2 cup of the bacon, and 1 cup of the shredded cheddar cheese. Set aside remainder of those for garnish.

Stir in sour cream and cook until thoroughly heated, stirring frequently.

Serve in bowls and garnish with remaining bacon, onion, and cheese.

*****

Just think, if I were The Pioneer Woman, I would have pretty pictures of the ingredients and the process to show you. Of course, if I were The Pioneer Woman, I would also have eleventeen thrillion readers a month, a bestselling cookbook, and a movie deal with Columbia Pictures, but I’m not bitter because I have a DELICIOUS! BAKED POTATO SOUP RECIPE!

And now so do you.

WE WIN.

For much of my childhood, my Grandma Jean lived in Claremore, Oklahoma, about a forty-five minute drive from our home in Tulsa. Probably once a month, my parents, my brother Jeremy, and I made the trip there to see her and my Grandpa Bernard. During the car ride, my brother and I would measure how near to Claremore we were by keeping watch out for the Big Blue Whale in a Catoosa, OK pond just off of Route 66.

By the time I was a teenager my grandparents had moved out of Claremore, so whale-sightings became few and far-between. Still, even as an adult, I have had occasion to pass by the pond, and seeing the whale always makes me think of my Grandma and Grandpa, our midnight Uno games, crappie fishing, and jelly-roll baking lessons. For many years, I have wanted to take some pictures of the whale, since, for me,  it symbolizes so many happy memories. The other day, I made the trip to Catoosa to do just that.

The Big Blue Whale, now an official Route 66 Roadside Attraction, has an interesting back story. A love story. And, while there’s no longer swimming allowed at the whale pond, it’s still a great destination for a Sunday drive with the kids.

The girls and I are on our way out the door to see the new animated feature Rio, which just opened today in theatres. We all loved the Ice Age movies, so we are pretty psyched about Rio.

To celebrate, here are five free printable coloring pages of the characters from the movie Rio. Just click on each image below to be taken to the pdf pages for printing.

Rio Coloring Page :: Blu

Rio Coloring Page :: Jewel

Rio Coloring Page :: Luiz

Rio Coloring Page :: Nico + Pedro

Rio Coloring Page :: Rafael

Have a great weekend!

For the past couple of years, I’ve made many (many, MANY) choices about the books I read (and the TV shows I watch) (and the kind of lipstick I wear) based on recommendations I get from Google searches, Facebook friends, Twitter conversations, and blog posts.

Not that I can’t make decisions for myself, just why waste time wading through all the options out there? Someone, somewhere has already tried everything, and posted online about it.

After gorging myself on novel after novel during the holidays last year—most of them recommended by The Internet—I finally burned myself out. I hadn’t picked up my Nook in months.

Last week, my internet friends changed all that.

Early in the week, I started seeing mentions of the book 50 Shades of Grey on Facebook. Just a few comments at first, sprinkled here and there in my News Feed. But by the end of the week, chatter about the book had reached fever pitch in my social network. I had to find out what all the fuss was about.

So on Saturday, I downloaded the book and started reading it, nestled into my spot on the chaise section of our sofa, my two youngest daughters on the floor next to me, playing Barbie Monopoly.

By page 60 (and 75) (and 85) , I realized I must not have paid enough attention to exactly what everyone was saying about the book, because what I read would have me putting it away until the girls were safely and soundly asleep in their beds later that night.

I had assumed 50 Shades of Grey was another young-adult fiction selection turned grown-adult obsession, à la Harry Potter or the Twilight series.

Expecting ABC Family, I got HBO After Hours. Times a thousand.

This is what has Facebook abuzz? I wondered. Page after page of graphic, hot, rough, steamy, bubbly, naked, sexy sex? I blushed a little at the thought. (But kept reading.)

Recent sales figures are proof positive that the book is definitely hot in more ways than one. By the week ending March 3, it had rocketed to No. 1 on the New York Times e-book fiction best-seller list and No. 3 on Amazon’s best-seller list.

But 50 Shades is not without its critics.

Frank Santo of the NY Daily News wrote,

I can’t believe anyone would argue otherwise, 50 Shades of Grey is pornography, plain and simple. [It is] not a good book in the same sense that a monster truck is not a good car: in both cases the art is in the deviation, and the audience’s collective roar in response.

(Another columnist suggested that a much better option for steamy fiction is Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead.)

So, why the viral popularity of a book that’s been simplified as “Mommy Porn”? I think Brittany Gibbons, the Barefoot Foodie, perfectly sums up the book’s appeal:

50 Shades of Grey gave me what Twilight and Hunger Games didn’t. Hot sex. Not vague or obtuse vampire honeymoon sex. The dirty kind of sex real people have.

What do you think about this so-called “Mommy Porn” genre of fiction? Is it a new twist on modern erotica, or just the usual romance novel, re-labeled to amp-up its image?

Will you be reading?

(source) (source) (Some of the above are affiliate links.)

And since Being a Marine was what he did for a living back then, his coif required bi-weekly touch-ups. So, every other Saturday morning he would take off for the barbershop.

Sometimes as he kissed me goodbye, he would kid me saying, “Maybe I’ll just shave it all off this time.” And I would laugh and rub his head whilst reminding him what a bad idea that would be on the grounds that I suspected his cranium might be shaped like a Sleestak’s.

He must have had the same suspicion since he always came home with at least some hair on his head.

Fast forward to a few months ago when I walked in on Rob standing in the bathroom scrutinizing his hairline from all angles with a handheld mirror. From the look on his face, I could tell he had just realized what the rest of us have known for a year or more: That his receding hairline was VERY NEARLY UNITED with his bald spot.

As in: hairline and bald spot are engaged, with the wedding approaching fast. And the two shall become one. Amen.

He looked very depressed and was mumbling something about how he’ll wake up one day soon old and fat with man boobs and HAIR EVERYWHERE EXCEPT HIS HEAD and I tried to reassure him that nonono baby, you’re still HOT, and men just get sexier as they age, and I’D STILL DO YOU, and blahblahblah. But I guess it didn’t help because thus commenced his Daily Cursing of the Follicles and more crazytalk about shaving it all off.

Minus the kidding tone.

This went on until one morning a few weeks ago when Rob appeared in the doorway of our bedroom and boldly declared that he was “ready to do it.”

My first instinct was to fake a headache, but I quickly noticed he was holding our electric clippers and realized what he meant because electric clippers aren’t usually part of our “boudoir repertoire” as it were.

Curling irons maybe.

I leapt out of bed and ran into the bathroom behind him because I knew he needed my moral support and I have to stand by my man.

Plus I’ve never been one to look away from a trainwreck about to happen.

Rob turned on the clippers and stood dead still. I began chanting go go go GO GO!GO!GO! but he suddenly shut off the clippers and tossed them down on the counter without having even touched a single one of his [five] hairs.

“I can’t do it,” he said in exasperation, “You do it.”

A tempting offer, to be sure, but not without risks. I could foresee this whole thing going very wrong and Bald Rob becoming the butt of endless jokes and taunts and next thing you know he’s telling the story like it was all my idea and after a few years of telling it that way he convinces himself that it really was my idea and even when it’s just the two of us behind closed doors he blames me for giving him The Haircut That Ruined His Life and then I put a pillow over his head and smother him in his sleep (since his life was all ruined anyway) and I go to prison for life without parole and then WHO WILL RAISE MY CHILDREN?

Anyway.

I figured we’re pretty much all stocked up in the Blame and Resentment Department around here so I politely declined to be an active participant in the process.

At this point, Emma, the five-year-old, tuned-in from her perch — a barstool in the kitchen where she was eating some strawberry yogurt — and came to see what was going on in the bathroom. (On a related note, that kid has a sixth sense for knowing when anything is going on in the bathroom. I can’t even pluck an eyebrow without an audience.)

Rob motioned her over and stood her up on the vanity stool. He handed her the clippers and said “Emma. Shave Daddy’s head.” Which was a brilliant idea really since her hairstyling résumé includes two previous asymmetrical whack-jobs to her own mane.

She’s a PRO.

Emma giggled, and I detected a somewhat lunatic sparkle in her eyes as she picked up the clippers and made a single pass right down the middle of Rob’s scalp, forehead-to-crown.

Kind of a reverse Mohawk.

And apparently exactly the statement she wanted to make since she then put the clippers down and skipped off to the family room to help that bonehead Steve find the third Blue’s Clue.

Defeated and all alternatives exhausted, Rob finished the job himself.
And died a little on the inside when he was finished.

Because he looked exactly like a Sleestak.

But a HOT Sleestak.

(Originally published 4/1/08.)

You decide to use social-sharing sweetheart Pinterest so you log in and create a board called “Hell on Heels,” then spend the next hour-and-a-half on Zappos.com et al. shopping and pinning. By the time you finish, you have a couple dozen serious contenders for the pair most likely steal your sister’s thunder.

The problem? You’ve also likely annoyed (at least) a couple dozen of your Pinterest followers in the process.

It’s easy to get caught up in the thrill of filling boards with tons of stellar finds, but don’t forget about the social aspect of the site in the process.

Because while you are feverishly pinning away image after image of leather, suede, mock crock, 4-inch, 6-inch, 10-inch(!) closed or open-toed red beauties, you are also filling followers’ streams with the same.

And, let’s face it, people go to Pinterest for the diverse visual stimulation. Not to scroll through pages of your sibling-rivalry issues.

What to do instead?

As an alternative to pinning everything you find, how about creating a browser bookmark to keep track of the URLs until that payday purchase? (Firefox, Chrome, Safari, Internet Explorer—heck, even your iPhone—all have nifty website bookmarking features.) Then, pin just a few of your fave choices for fellow pinners to enjoy.

But, please, be kind and space those puppies out a bit.

Bonus tip: when browsing Pinterest, if you find yourself tempted to over-Repin similar items, use Like instead.

Think of your Like cache as a temporary storage bin for potential future pins. Use Like to your heart’s content, then revisit your Likes page every couple of days and promote selected Likes to Repins. A few at a time.

Your followers will thank you.

Be sure to friend me on Pinterest and follow my Blogging & Social Media board for more great tips from all over the web.

Your bosses have figured out that, in your free time, you might possibly be engaging in activities that call your character into question.

Not that you couldn’t have been table dancing and body-shotting at Club Nitro every Saturday night since you turned 21. The difference is now you might be sharing evidence of all those crazy nights with your entire Facebook community. And your employer wants to know about it.

News is spreading that not only are many employers now routinely requesting access to their employees’ Facebook accounts, some are taking it one step further.

Imagine this. You are sitting nervously across from an HR manager, interviewing for your dream job. You manage to sound confident and knowledgeable while answering her questions and she seems to think you are a great fit for the job.

As the interview wraps up, you are certain a job offer is coming, but instead, the HR manager asks if she may view your Facebook profile. When you respond that “Sure, but you won’t be able to see much because of my privacy settings,” she replies by asking if you are willing to log in to your account while she observes.

How would you respond?

This scenario isn’t just hypothetical.

Last week, the Associated Press reported that a new trend in human resources and hiring is asking for access to applicants’ social media accounts at the point of hire—even during interviews—and that, in an effort to protect users’ privacy, Facebook is responding to the practice:

Some private and public agencies around the country [are] asking job seekers for their social media credentials. The practice has alarmed privacy advocates, but its legality remains murky.

Facebook warned employers not to ask job applicants for their passwords, presumably so they could view applicant profiles on the site. The company threatened legal action against applications that violated its longstanding policy against sharing passwords.

And while the legality of this action may be questionable, whether or not there are already specific laws in place to protect job seekers from discrimination based on things learned from a Facebook wall (or Twitter stream) remains to be seen.

So think twice before you upload all those pictures of yourself in that Naughty Nurse Nancy Halloween costume. Because, while you may want to show the world that you have the bod to pull off that look, someone with the power to make or break your career may be one of the people asking to take a look.

What do you think?
Will this trend affect what you share via social media?
Leave a comment and weigh in on the issue.

Two shades of brown. Circular-ish in shape, but certainly asymmetrical. Slightly raised in one area.

I remember Googling pictures of moles, comparing the looks of basal-cell and squamous-cell carcinomas, and melanomas to my own brown blob. I saw a couple that could have been its twin. The look-alikes were classic melanomas.

I researched further, finding an article about the ABCDEs of melanoma. I made a mental checklist. Asymmetrical? Check. Border irregularity? Check. Color variation? Check. Elevation? Check.

The only descriptor that didn’t fit was the D — Diameter. Because my mole was smaller than a pencil eraser. Slightly.

Brushing aside all the signs that pointed to something more ominous, I allowed one unchecked box to convince me that my mole was simply that, a mole. Not some scary tumor the name for which ended in -oma. No way.

Months passed during which I only occasionally thought about the mole. Usually, I would be sitting on the chaise section of our living room sofa, and I would cross my left leg over my right leg at the knee, catching a glimpse of it. Of my smaller-than-a-pencil-eraser-probably-totally-nothing “age spot.”

In late May, I read and commented on a post by writer Megan Jordan of Velveteen Mind. In the post, Megan told the story of her then-recent diagnosis of melanoma. In my comment, I said,

Well crap, Megan. So terribly sorry this is on your plate right now. I’m thinking of you and sending loads of positive thoughts your way.

And yeah, I’ll make the appointment I’ve been putting off to check that weird freckle on my calf. First thing in the morning. Thanks.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I added “find a dermatologist and make appointment” to my lengthy to-do list. At the bottom. Naturally. And another two months passed.

On my 40th birthday, July 9th, my family gathered at our home to celebrate. Near the end of the evening, I was chatting with my sister-in-law, who is a physician’s assistant, and the thought crossed my mind that I should show her the spot and see if she thought it was something.

And I didn’t.

You know how people say sometimes God — or the universe, or fate, or destiny, or intuition or whatever or whomever you believe in — whispers things to you and then, if you don’t respond, SCREAMS things at you? Consider the following:

On July 24th, I was drying off after a shower and stopped to really study that mole of mine. I thought, You know Jenny, deep down, you are worried that it is something. You know it is something. You should really find a dermatologist and make an appointment right now. Really. Now.

But instead of listening to my gut, I took a couple of pictures of the area with my iPhone, intent on posting them to Facebook or Twitter and asking for opinions on the matter. Then I changed my mind and did nothing. Again.

Until . . .

The very next day, a friend of mine (not to mention one of the smartest, funniest women I know), Melanie Nelson of Blogging Basics 101 posted this on her Facebook wall:

Can anyone in Tulsa recommend a good dermatologist? Preferably in south Tulsa, but it’s important enough that I’ll go past 61st if I HAVE to. Anyone?

I nearly fell out of my chair when I read it. Why hadn’t I posted a similar query to my own Facebook wall nearly a year ago? Why had I waited and wondered and worried for so many months?

I watched Melanie’s wall as her friends made recommendations that day, and then I called and made an appointment.

On August 15th, Dr. Tracy Kuykendall examined my mole. She looked at it standing up. She knelt down and got a closer look. She ran her index finger lightly over its top. She pressed it flat. Then she said, “Let’s just shave it off and do a biopsy. I don’t think it’s melanoma, but let’s just do it. I’ve been surprised before.”

Click here to see a picture of the post-biopsy wound.

Two days later, my iPhone rang. “Hi Jenny, this is Dr. Kuykendall’s office. We got the results of your biopsy back today and I need to let you know that it is definitely melanoma.”

Surprise.

• Did you know that Oklahoma has only three seasons? Winter, summer, and tornado.

• Did you know that by May 12th of the year you first begin homeschooling you will be so ready for the school year to end that you will start to incorporate into your curriculum things like jumping on the trampoline (counts as P.E.), games of Twister (reinforces the concept of left vs. right, also the colors green, blue, yellow, and red), and flower bed gardening (because nature = science).

• Did you know there are muscles in your thighs and butt that you only ever discover are there on the day after you spend seven hours in a flower bed squatted down ripping out viney ground cover and rogue Bermuda grass from the dirt?

• Did you know that if you find a baby robin hopping around your backyard after a fall from its nest, you can put on gardening gloves and chase the little bird, despite protests in the form of  loud squawks and repeated dive-bombings from the robin’s parents, until you (gently) capture the baby, and return it to its nest?

• Did you know that you were lied to as a child when your Dad told you that if you touched a baby bird then its parents would abandon it because they would smell the human scent on their baby?

• Did you know that birds have a very poor sense of smell?

• Did you know that bees and dogs can smell fear*?

Enjoy your day.

**********

(*Name that movie.)