I am Woman

Yesterday I successfully patched the tire of Porter's stroller.  This was my first successful tire-patch job ever.

My success made me recall my first (and last) attempt to patch a tire. I was a teenager and my bike had a flat.

I pulled the tire off the rim and pulled out the inner tube.  I don't remember how I found the hole because I know I didn't use the stick-it-in-the-sink-full-of-water-and-look-for-bubbles method.  But somehow I identified where the hole was and I stuck the patch on it.  The problem was, the patch didn't stick.

So what did I do?

Well, according to the Red Green show (which my siblings and I were faithful followers of at the time) duct tape is the handy-man's secret weapon.

Yep, I duct taped the patch to the inner tube.

Then I struggled to put the tire BACK onto the rim.  Have you EVER tried doing that?  It is no easy feat. After I finally got the tire on the rim I pumped it full of air and then took the bike for a spin.

I discovered that duct tape does not a wheel-patch make.  I was disgusted with the whole situation, put the bike back in the shed, and rode my sister's bike instead.

This whole experience occurred probably nine or ten years ago.  Since then I've avoided flat tires like the plague.  Until this week.

It is amazing what demons you will face for your child.

At first I just tried pushing the stroller with a flat tire.  But it would list so badly to the left that the muscles in my forearms were starting to get sore.  I didn't even know those muscles could get sore.

So yesterday I broke down and pulled the tire off the rim and took the inner tube out.  Then I identified the hole using the stick-it-in-the-sink-full-of-water-and-look-for-bubbles method.  When I couldn't see bubbles right away I knew I was destined to fail at my task.  I'm just not a good tire-patcher I thought.  But then I saw the tiny little bubbles!

I took the little metal scraper that came with the patch-kit and roughed up the area around the hole, per the instructions.  Then I put the patch on the tube, stuck the tube back in the tire and struggled to put the tire back onto the rim.  I repeat, have you EVER tried doing that???  It is no easy feat.

After I finally replaced the tire, I pumped it full of air.  I watched with bated breath to see if the tire would retain the air and it did!  Porter and I enjoyed a lovely walk, and the whole time I felt so proud of my accomplishment.

I am woman.  Hear me roar.

Super Bowl and Cutting Corners

This was the first year of my life that I've ever watched the Super Bowl.  (You may recall from my last post that I've already lived a long life, so this may go down in the record books as the longest an American has ever gone before watching the Super Bowl.)  (Of course, between caring for Porter and visiting with the other women I think I only saw two fumbles and half of a Budweiser commercial.)

Anyway, we got together with some of Nate's friends from school to watch the game.  Nate and I were assigned to provide desserts.  I bought candy and made cookies and cupcakes.  The cupcakes were my masterpiece.  I'm so proud of them and grateful we have cameras so edible creations can be recorded for posterity before they get gobbled.  Because I know Porter's children will want to see pictures of the food I consumed.

I received the inspiration for these cupcakes here.  I say inspiration because I am lazy.  I went for a similar outward appearance but I took shortcuts to get there.

She made her cupcakes from scratch.

I made mine with help from the dough boy.

She made her icing from scratch.

I used the stuff from a can.

But hey, they look similar, don't they??  And I received complements on how good they tasted.  I've never received complements on the taste of any cakes I've made from scratch.

So the moral of this story is: it is possible to watch the Super Bowl without actually watching it and...cutting corners works and yields compliments!

Old Lady

The first week in our new ward (church congregation) another woman approached me.

"How old are you?  You look older than me but I want to make sure," she said.  When I told her my age she sighed in relief.  "Oh good, you are older than me."

A few days later I received this hint in the mail: