Have you ever had a Chili Dog?  I would suggest that likely 97% of the people reading this blog would answer YES and if they liked it, they would have some sort of sparkle in their eye and fade back into a memory at a ball park or picnic when they enjoyed the perfect Chili Dog. 

I don’t like hot dogs.  In fact, the only place I enjoy a hot dog is inside Wrigley Field, for an afternoon game and it has to be a Chicago style hot dog that includes everything but the kitchen sink (yellow mustard, chopped white onions, bright green sweet pickle relish, a dill pickle spear, tomato slices or wedges, pickled sport peppers and a dash of celery salt and DON’T ask for ketchup) on a poppy-seed covered bun.  Why on earth would that be the hot dog that I pick as my favorite, you ask?  Because it has so much stuff on it you CANT TASTE THE HOT DOG would be the answer.  (Did you not have to watch that movie in the 5^th grade?) With that in mind, sit back and hear a story about chili, chili dogs and more. 

Michael loves a Chili Dog.  When we were first married and moved into our first home, we lived out in the middle of nowhere.  As a result I made a lot of crockpot meals so it would be ready when we got home from work, etc.  One cold weekend, I had made some mighty fine chili and as we were enjoying it for dinner on a Friday evening, Michael exclaimed how much he loved a chili dog.  That was Friday and being the wonderful wife I am, when we got home from church on Sunday I made some football-worthy lunch in the form of a chili dog.  Being a logical human being and having made chili earlier in the weekend, I made hot dogs, warmed up some chili and plopped it onto the hot dog and handed it over.  The look on Michael’s face was priceless – “What is this?” he asked.  “A chili dog.  You said you liked chili dogs”, I replied.  He looked at it again, looked up at me and said “It has beans”.  “Yes, I said, it has chili on it.”  It was at this time I learned of a thing called “hot dog chili” and that the best one to buy is made by Texas Pete.  Rest assured, any chili dog after that day was made with Texas Pete hot dog chili (and I always have some in the pantry just in case). 

Fast forward about 6 months and we had a family gathering at our house.  Michael’s sister brought sweet and sour meatballs.  Michael went crazy over them and found out from her it is easy as frozen meatballs, a jar of grape jelly and some chili sauce dumped into a crockpot and set on low for several hours.  If you have had meatballs at a cocktail party, you likely had these.  Of course, being the wonderful wife I am, I purchased the ingredients to make these meatballs and had it planned to have one Sunday afternoon during football season.  I put them on in the crockpot in the morning and when football started, brought a bowl of them in to the living room to surprise Michael.  He looked at them and said “What is this?”  “It’s those meatballs your sister made, you said you like them.” I answered.  “They’re fuzzy” he replied.  By this time I am getting a little peeved, both at Michael and at myself.  It’s a stupid meatball recipe with 2 simple ingredients, what is the matter with them I think.  Michael starts to laugh and asks what I used to make them.  Miffed, I replied “Just what you told me, Meatballs, Grape Jelly and Hot Dog chili.”  He snickered again, and explained that it is not made with hot dog chili, but with Chili Sauce.  By now I am really frustrated.  Who knew there are all these different kinds of chili!  Chili-chili, hot dog chili, chili sauce that I have no clue what is used for other than to make these meatballs. 

The following summer, Michael’s sister invited us to her house for a 4^th of July cookout and we were asked to bring a side dish.  When he found out she was going to have hot dogs, he asked me to pick up some chili to bring along for them.  Given my track record relative to chili dogs with beans and fuzzy meatballs, I bought every kind of chili I could find and brought it along.  This may have been overkill, but I am just a girl, who does not eat hot dogs unless I am watching a Cubs game at Wrigley, of course.  

<Insert Harry Carey’s voice here> Let’s Hear It Folks!  A-One…..A Two…….“Take me out to the Ball Game, Take me out to the Crowd……..”

Today if you went through my pantry, you would find all the fixings for Chili, Texas Pete Chili Dog sauce and Chili Sauce. #Lesson learned. 🙂

Many years ago when Hunter what maybe 2 years old, I like many other moms took her to the mall to sit on Santa’s lap and get a picture taken. I never thought I would be one of those moms, but then I became a mom and decided it was the best idea since sliced bread.

As Hunter and I stood in the line, inside a hot mall with our winter coats on and getting hotter by the minute , I tried to keep her entertained by making up stories about the fake reindeer and penguins they had on the fake snow. Once in awhile we would watch as a mom brought her child kicking and screaming toward the poor man dressed in a Santa suit in the hopes of snapping a quick picture where the crying looked like a smile.

I’m sure you can guess what happened……yup, we waited a good hour, me making up stories about the fake animals on the fake snow leading up to the fake Santa and when it was finally our turn, I walked Hunter up to the Santa and she promptly said NO! There was reasoning, Santa talked to her but NO! was the final answer. I had watched the other parents force their kids to sit on Santa’s lap crying and had decided early in the line I was not going to do the same, so we said thank you and walked away.

As for me, my Santa memories go way back to a little cabin that used to be set up right next to the railroad crossing at Central Avenue and Sheridan Road in Highland Park, Illinois. Each year the park district would erect this little tiny cabin and Santa would be in there weekends and evenings with a heater in the room, all decorated like it was where Santa lived and selling hot cocoa as we waited in line in the frigid Chicago-land winters (trust me, Winter was way colder with much more snow when I was a kid….global warming is real). Families would wait in line with their kids to go in and sit on Santa’s lap, take a picture and the kids would tell Santa what they wanted for Christmas.

As you can see by the pictures included with this post, I was young when we last went to visit Santa. Years later I worked at the Highland Park Theater just down the road from where the Santa House was usually set up and I had forgotten about it for a time until one Christmas season when Sue, Gini, Nancy, Shelly and I were walking down the street after a movie and stopped right at the site where the house once stood and I noted it was gone. They had never been to the Santa House when they were little because they grew up one town over from me so of course I had to stop everything and tell them all about it.

Michael’s favorite movie at Christmas time is A Christmas Story and while I did not grow up in 1940’s Ohio, each time I watch it and sends me back to snow-filled streets, Christmas Eve at the Rouses’ house and skitchin’ behind cars on Windsor Road and of course, The Santa House.