If I Had a Nickel...

         Friends, you may not believe this, but I’m the person who invented those tortilla roll-up appetizers you see at grocery stores and at nearly every party.

          I used to enter cook-offs as a hobby, and in the 90's I entered the National Beef Cook-off after winning my state cook-off. Here’s what I made:

           Of course, it can also be cut into smaller segments. Flying to the competition in Arkansas, my husband said, “You know I love your cooking. And this is a great sandwich, but this is a cook-off. And you’re not actually cooking anything.”

          He was beginning the consolation for when I didn’t win. But I knew that, and I was thrilled just to be included. Little did I know I’d place 3^rd (!!!) and that my idea would sweep the nation.

          And that’s why I say, “If I had a nickel for every roll-up that’s made today…”

However, I’m still churning out ideas and life hacks on my Youtube Mom channel, right here. If you'd like to read my blog about why I'm no longer entering cook-offs, visit https://jonihilton.blogspot.com/2020/11/death-of-hobby.html

Batting A Thousand

           I cannot believe I’ve never written here about bats. 

          When we lived in Iowa, our house was more than 100 years old, and bats would hibernate in the walls during winter. In the Spring we’d hear scritching sounds, and the next thing you knew, they had found a vent and were swooping through the house.  Okay, two rooms.

          Unfortunately, one of those rooms was my bedroom. St. Bob would get home from work late at night, and would only devote about 20 minutes to this major catastrophe, then would hop in bed and go to sleep. 

          This left me to lie in bed, furious, and pulling the blankets up to my eyes, which darted back and forth as I tried to follow the path of these bloodthirsty terrorists.

        By the way, fun fact, if you are in the Emergency Room and have even been IN A ROOM with a bat, you have to be tested for Rabies because there are bats that can bite you and you can't feel it, nor does it leave a mark!

          You’re not supposed to kill them, but everyone we knew had a tennis racket under the bed. And allegedly they have echo-location that should guide them out of an open window, but this doesn’t work, either.

          Finally our bedroom bat hid behind a curtain and Bob scooted him out the window in the morning. I don’t think I slept a wink. I heard of an event at the Nature Center, about bat information. I signed up with all the kids, hoping to overcome my fear of these hideous creatures. But what was the first slide they showed?  A giant bat, snarling at the camera with a bear trap set of teeth in his mouth! This did NOTHING to abate my fear.

          So, wouldn’t you know, that when this goodie appeared in the local paper, St. Bob (Saint- ha!) had to save it for me, with key parts underlined: Bat Talk and Tour, fun-filled event, and opportunities to meet bats up close.

 

And no, I did not sign up.

But you should subscribe to my Youtube Mom channel-- hundreds of life hacks for you to enjoy, bat-free!

Soaked 'til I Nearly Croaked

           Folks, I nearly melted yesterday. First, I was wearing an oil-based lotion. Then I STUPIDLY decided this would be a good day to try on bras. That’s right, bras.

          First, I went to Nordstrom’s. I walked in and saw the cutest pair of  Max Mara striped pants. They looked perfect for this hot weather. I turned over the price tag. $1,135.00.  Yep, over a thousand dollars. I stopped. Had I suddenly stepped through a time warp to the future, when pants cost more than my first car?

          I looked at the bras. They were also several times as expensive as I was willing to go. Got back in my car and drove around the mall to the other side where I entered J.C. Penneys.

          A huge bra department, but right through it—RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE—a ten-foot wide pathway to the returns and purchases counter! This means that I am scrounging for the right size bra while a crowd of beer-bellied, unshaven men are watching me as they stand in line to return a pair of jeans. PLEASE!  Did they have to put the bra department right here?

          I grabbed an armful, went into the dressing room, and began the excruciating process of trying on bras that are too tight, too pinchy, too big, too everything. Few things in this world will make you sweatier than this endeavor, especially if there is not one employee to help.

          Finally, DRIPPING WET, I took the one bra I found that fit, and stood in line for purchasing. At the counter I asked the cashier if she possibly had any Kleenex back there, and she got me two. I mopped my face, the back of my neck, basically every surface I could.

          I wiped my eyes and realized my eyelashes had peeled off from the heat and moisture. I made a beeline for my car, and a nice postal worker opened the door for this soaking wet rhinoceros. “Thank you so much,” I said. “I’m so sorry you have to work outside in this heat.” (It was 104 degrees).

          The cheery guy just shrugged and said, “Oh, it’s okay-- I hum Christmas songs.” I could have thrown my arms around him (but he would’ve gagged).

          And I decided to share this brilliant tip with all of you, so you can pretend it’s cold out, even when people are baking cookies on their car hoods, so that you can survive the scorching weather.

          I should have hummed “White Christmas” while I was trying on those bras.

AND… quick life hacks are all yours as you stay inside with the air conditioner on.  Just visit my Youtube Mom website!

 

TANgo

           Okay, this is not about the Tango. This is about how I cannot seem to tan on my legs, despite spending hours outside, gardening.

          And I think I’ve finally figured it out. It’s because I’m not lying down, trying to get a tan, but up and about. 

          Here’s my science: The sun is overhead, right? So it tans my feet, with lovely flip flop stripes.

         It’s also happy to hit the point of my nose, which caused me to get MOHS skin cancer surgery there, a few years ago (just like Hugh Jackman).

          But the sun can’t hit my legs, unless it’s in a car, driving by.

          I think people who swim and surf are taking unfair advantage of the water reflections. There, I’ve said it.

          So next time you see someone with pale legs, just smile and say, “I’ll bet your garden looks great.”

          Be sure to subscribe to my Youtube Mom channel—every couple of weeks you’ll get a short, wonderful life hack!