I serve cooked oatmeal to my family about twice a week, and I’d probably serve it more often if it wasn’t for Mr. Handsome pooh-poohing it. I think cooked oatmeal is a beautiful thing. And very tasty. And very quick to make.

Cooked Oatmeal
They say you’re to use one cup of water for every half cup of oats, which I do, but then I always add an extra half cup of oats because I like my cereal thick.

This recipe will serve 4-8, depending on how hungry everyone is and whether or not they are big oatmeal eaters.

4 cups water
2 ½ cups rolled oats
½ teaspoon salt
1-3 tablespoons flax seeds, ground

Bring the water to a boil in a heavy-bottomed saucepan.

Pour in the oats, salt, and flaxmeal and whisk thoroughly.

Put the lid back on the saucepan, turn the heat back to low, and remove the saucepan from the burner for just a couple minutes while the burner cools off. (If you don’t do this, and you have an electric stove, the oatmeal mixture will boil up and out—note my messy kettle).

After the burner has cooled down, put the saucepan back on the stove and let it simmer for 5 minutes, with the lid on, stirring once or twice. Turn the burner all the way off and let set for another 5 minutes, stirring once or twice.

Dish the oatmeal into bowls, top with brown sugar and blueberries from the freezer, and pour milk over it all.

Note: Store any leftover oatmeal in the fridge. It reheats well for a quick bedtime snack, or the next time you make bread you can just throw it into the mix when you add the hot water.

The Baby Nickel is driving me bonkers. He is into everything. You doubt me? Think I’m exaggerating? I thought you might, so for an hour or two last evening, I took notes. Here we go:

*He squirted a blob of toothpaste out of our brand new tube. This happens a lot. Once we went through most of a tube in just two days (all the kids were culprits that time, I think). We even try to keep the toothpaste up high, but nothing deters The Baby Nickel.

*He chased Sweetsie with a cocked sippy cup.

*He unplugged the lamp, then quickly plugged it in when he heard me coming, and then he tried to stand on the head of the lamp cord, the part that sticks into the outlet.

*He made moves to open the woodstove door, but I got there in time.

*He made moves to pull a bucket of bleach water down off the counter in the bathroom, but, once again, I got there in time.

*He got up on the kitchen counter and crouched by the sink while he dumped concentrate dish detergent on his hands (I did not get there in time) and then washed them.

*He climbed up at the bathroom sink and stuck his head under the sink faucet to wet his hair so he could comb it. (Sorry about the blurry picture, but, like I said, he doesn’t hold still very well.)

*He hauled the bathroom footstool outside the house, down the concrete steps to the basement door, and locked the door, with him on the outside, in such a way that Yo-Yo Boy couldn’t unlock it and had to call me to come help. (This lock is just a metal latch, up high on the door, and we stick a metal hook through it to wedge it shut. The purpose of the lock is to keep The Baby Nickel out of the basement.) Then The Baby Nickel proceeded to unlock it himself and proudly show it to me.

Remember, this was over the course of only an hour or so. Do you now understand why I feel like I’m going crazy? All day long I’m running in circles, chasing the kid, cleaning up his messes. I have no place to put him where he will just be. I used to strap him into his little booster seat, but he can get out of it now. We have no crib for him (he would just climb out of it anyway). I called Mr. Handsome at work yesterday, at my wits’ end (I find I am there, at my wits’ end, a lot these days) to see if he could build a cage for The Baby Nickel. I wasn’t even really joking….

My Wise Girlfriend suggested sticking him in a car seat. I think we do have an extra one up in the attic or out in the barn. I might give it a shot.

No, no, no. Not the blog. Nothing to worry about there.

It’s garlic I’m talking about.

Last fall, right around my birthday, I planted garlic for the very first time. Every year, from now until I die, I will plant garlic right around my birthday. It’s very easy to do, so I know I’ll be able to do it when I’m taking tottery little steps and my teeth are falling out.

Anyway, my point is that a couple weeks ago I pulled the garlic up out of the dirt, cured the heads, and then this past weekend I cleaned them all up, tied them together with string, and had Mr. Handsome hang them in the doorway. What do you think? Rustic, huh?

I’m afraid they are going to start rotting there. They are in the light, though not direct sunlight, and my Girlfriend Kris told me that heads of garlic are to be stored in a dark, dry place, in mesh bags. (You know, the kind of mesh bag that you stick your lace bras in before putting them in the washing machine—makes garlic seem downright sexy, no?) My Girlfriend Amber saves the mesh bags that onions come in and stores her garlic in them—just hangs them up in the basement. But come on, Girlfriends, then you can’t see them! They are too dang sexy to stick off in the dark somewhere!

So I’m rebelling. At least till they start to stink.

Now, some of the heads were a little wormy when I pulled them out of the ground, so I tore them apart and saved the cloves that were still good. Then I talked to my Girlfriend Erika’s husband who, I just recently learned, used to be a sous-chef, and he told me that the best way to preserve garlic was to chop it all up, pack it into a glass jar, pour olive oil over top, and stick it in the fridge. So I did. I felt very chef-like, smashing the cloves and chop-chop-chopping. I think I’ll stick garlic in everything now.