Ten Things that should never have been invented.

I was craving some Brach's chocolate covered peanut clusters yesterday. They are difficult to find. Believe me. When I was pregnant, I craved this particular delectable in the last trimester, along with many other calorie-loaded foods like crab ragoon and spicy Mexican food. Oh, and Vlasic garlic pickles.

Yes, M'am. My digestive tract has never been the same.

We won't even discuss my girlish figure.

So yesterday I was looking for the Brach's chocolate covered peanut clusters and all I found was Bridge Mix.


I have never understood Bridge Mix. I mean, there is so much and so little going on in there. All you do is pick out what you like and leave the rest. This epiphany in Walgreens led me to write this post. It's a list of things I believe should never have been invented.

If your son or daughter invented this stuff, I apologize. I am sure your child is lovely. Just lovely.

In addition to Bridge Mix, here is my list.


1. Shredded wheat. Anything that you can use to clean the sink should not be considered a food item. And, the frosting? Puh-lease! I ain't falling for it.


2. Cottage cheese. Once something has gone bad you are supposed to throw it out, not add peaches to it.


3. Anchovies and sardines. Okay. I realize that God actually invented these and I have no problem with that at all.


Just so we are clear.


However, I am pretty sure God did not intend for us to put them on pizza or saltine crackers.


4. Home Gym Equipment. I already have somewhere to hang my clothes. It's called the closet.

5. Mommy Magazines. All of those projects for moms to do with their kids will just send you spiraling into depression. Never mind that the house isn't clean and the dishes are piled high. Now I am supposed to make cupcakes from scratch and pipe little clown faces on them.

Thanks, Martha. I suddenly feel like Mother Of The Year.

6. Letter openers. Let's be real. We all know they were just invented to be used as weapons in mystery novels.


7. Shoe horns. I have forever threatened to give my husband one of these. I honestly don't understand them. And why "horn?" Are you supposed to yell into it and announce that your shoes don't fit?


8. Low rise jeans.


No explanation needed.


9. Floam. I am convinced it was invented by a cruel person without children or carpet. It may even be featured in a Mommy Magazine.

10. Nutritional Information. Although that little chart is very helpful for people with heart disease, diabetes and a general sense of health responsibility, it just serves as a reminder to me that I can't eat all of the Brach's chocolate covered peanut clusters in one sitting.

So maybe Bridge Mix isn't so bad after all. At least I wouldn't eat the whole bag...

The real reason ski pants are padded.

Why is it that when you come home from a trip all the work you did before you left has to be done all over again?

Like laundry.

I know that I washed every piece of clothes we own before we left for our trip. And I know that we didn't wear every piece of clothes we own while we were on our trip. So how is it that it all got dirty in a matter of three days?

Dirty laundry multiplies when mixed together in a suitcase. (Thus the reason we keep laundry separated. Ahem.)

We just returned from a weekend trip to Santa Fe and let me say right here that I love Santa Fe. Love it. The mountains are beautiful. The food is fabulous. And then there is the best part.

It has Target and Starbucks.

Since living in Smalltown, I am shopping challenged. I have Wal-mart and dollar stores. On a fancy day out, I go to the mall and visit JCPenney or, as my grandmother would say, The JCPenney.

Yep. That's when I wear my good lipstick.

You can see that visiting a city with stores and all is quite exciting for me. So exciting that I had an agenda of retail activities.

Actually, the agenda looked something like this.

1. Go to Target.

2. Stay as long as possible.

3. Purchase spring shoes in the dead of winter because this could be your last Target visit until summer.

4. Ask Hubs to drive thru Starbucks.

5. Sip the Venti Mocha like it's your last meal.

I don't ask for much, really.

But even with all of the retail madness, the highlight of the trip was the snow. Real snow. It sticks and everything.

On our last day of the trip, we headed up the mountain one more time to find a fun place to sled and just play in the snow. We found a cute little spot where we joined a few other families.

Let me add here that we had been in the car a while and I had coffee earlier. Along with some bottled water.

Hubs and Daughter started sledding and I took lots of pictures. Then Hubs and I traded off and he took lots of pictures. I am sure that onlookers could spot us as tourists in a second. The Florida tag may have given it away.

After a while, I needed a little, ahem, break and started plodding through the snow towards what I thought was a standard state park restroom.

Hubs yelled,"You don't want to go in there."

I yelled,"Huh?"

"You don't want to go in there. Trrrussst Meeeee."

Well, one thing I've learned in nearly fifteen years of marriage is that trust is critical to the relationship. Especially when it involves the warning of a public restroom.

I returned to our little personal sledding hillside and Hubs explained that the little house that I thought was a standard state park restroom was really a building which held a porta potty.

Then he proceeded to describe it to me in detail. He had visited it earlier and had a clear description which I will spare you from now.

You're welcome.

I did what any normal person would do. I quit sledding and prayed that any unfortunate accident would not involve me having to dig through the suitcase for a fresh change of clothes.

Where two or more are gathered together on a hillside, there He is in the midst of them. I made it through our sledding session.

Later in the car, Hubs shared with me that he did not want me to get sick or be offended by the less-than-sanitary potty situation. More importantly, he didn't want me to break my porta potty record.

See, I told you. Trust in a marriage is crucial.

Cafe Post- Introductions

I am just returning from a long weekend. Lots of blog material there...

Until then, be sure to visit with me at The Internet Cafe.

Valentine's Day- The Reality Version

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, The Big One. The day when men are at their wit's end trying to figure out what to buy so that they don't end up on the couch.

We put a lot of pressure on them, girls. Let's cut them some slack.

Valentine's Day isn't about Pajama Grams and Teddy Bears.

Sarah eloquently writes about it here. Her post is a must read this weekend.

Hat tip to Roxanne.

Green Chile Chicken

I made this recipe last night. It is one that I had tucked away for a while and decided to make it again. It is always a hit. It's also known as Jalapeno Chicken, but since it doesn't have any jalapenos, I changed the name!

Green Chile Chicken

1/2 stick of butter
1 small onion, chopped
4 green onions, chopped
1 can chopped green chiles
1 pint sour cream
2 cans cream of chicken soup
1 (10 oz.) box chopped spinach, cooked and drained well (Be sure to squeeze out extra water)
6 cups of cooked chicken, chopped
tortilla chips (enough to cover bottom of dish)
8 oz. Monterey Jack cheese, freshly grated

In a saucepan, saute onions in butter until onions are soft. Add chiles, sour cream, soups, and cooked spinach. Simmer until well blended (about 5 minutes.)

Grease a 9 x 13 dish. Layer tortilla chips on bottom of dish. Cover chips with cooked chicken. Cover the chicken with chile/spinach mixture. Top with cheese. Cook uncovered @ 350 for 1 hour.

Serve with extra tortilla chips.

This is so easy and yummy. Enjoy!

Name, rank and serial number, M'am.

Over the years, I've become a connoisseur of field trips even though I am pretty sure a connoisseur is some kind of expert in food or the arts or fine wine. I don't really, you know, eat field trips. However, most of them have involved food of some kind, one involved a visit to an art museum, and most of them could have driven me to drink.

There should be some kind of field manual for the field trip, a little pocket-sized book that the teacher hands you when you sign up as a chaperon. Included in the manual are instructions for many emergency situations.

For example, the correct response to a child's sudden onset of the stomach yucks while you are smack dab in the middle of the post office. Never mind that your seriously warped anxiety concerning the location adds salt to the wound, fuel to the fire, heaves to the hurls.

Due to the mercy of God, the child makes it to the bathroom and another mother accompanies him. He feels better later and you are not left holding the bag. Literally.

However, you have participated in other field trip emergencies and would have been grateful for the field trip manual. The best you could do is wing it.

Like when you were forming a human shield against possible bullets from the drug thugs being frisked next to the McDonald's playground. You'll forever see a table with a booth as a bunker.

Or when the bratty kid in Kindergarten knocked another kid's tooth out at the pumpkin patch which was more than forty-five minutes away from a dentist or a doctor.

How about the time the five-year olds went to the rodeo and the entire class cried when the cowboy roped the calf?

Then there is the day that the little girl stepped in dog poo at the park and completely freaked out. She sat on the bench and sobbed while you scraped the poo from every. single. crook. and crevice of her shoe. Why does a child need that kind of tread?

Yes, the field trip manual would be packed full of survival tips and advice for the volunteer. In the very back there is a picture of a tired woman covered in pewk and poo and food stains with a caption that reads, "Friends Don't Let Friends Volunteer."

If only I had Jack Bauer to hold my hand.

If I should suddenly go missing from the blogosphere, please do not be alarmed.

My absence can be easily explained.

I will probably be in the hospital or the crazy ward because today is the day I go with my daughter's class on a field trip to The Post Office.

Please excuse me while I go start my Valium drip.

New Uses For The Baptist Hymnal

Baptist hymnals in Southern Baptist churches all over this country are waiting for someone to pick them up, blow off the dust, and crack them open.

Replaced by the big screen, these musty books are feeling lonely and forgotten, tucked inside that little shelf pocket in the back of the pew, next to the golf pencils.

Let's join hands across the aisle and come up with innovative ways to use the baptist hymnal. After all, we spent months raising money for them. The names of our loved ones are inscribed inside the front cover on a cheap sticker which reads, "In Memory Of."

If we don't do it for the hymnals, let's do it for Grandpa Jones and his family who dedicated five hymn books in his memory.

1. The baptist hymnal is just the right size to hold in your lap whenever you need something to press down on. Like when you're making out that huge check for the offering. Or when your toddler needs to doodle on the bulletin.

2. Baptist hymnals are great for back pain relief. Until chiropractors design church pews, sitting in church will always cause terrible back strain. Tucking the hymnal in the small of the back gives temporary relief.

It won't do anything for the sermon that is making you squirm in your seat.

3. Hymnals are good for small children to sit on so that they can see. Just be sure not to confuse it with that King James Bible right next to it. (Not familiar with the King James? I'll save that for another post.)

4. Hymnals are helpful during funerals when the family of the deceased chooses a hymn that no one has ever heard of. In this situation, you can take the opportunity to learn something new and comfort those in mourning.

5. Baptist hymnals are a good stand-by when there is a rookie in the sound booth. This is only used as a last resort. Wait until there is total confusion and the new guy can't keep up with the verses or doesn't know when to go back to the chorus.

Bless his heart. He doesn't wear a tie.

A Baby Harper Update

This just makes me smile.

Big miracles sometimes come in tiny packages.

Welcome Home to sweet Harper!

Exactly where is the fun in dysfunction?

I'm sitting here trying to concentrate on blogging when Maggie strolls in the room to tell me the news.

Let me say that again. Concentrate on blogging. Like it's calculus or something.

It is exactly 3:47 PM and Maggie thinks it is time for dinner. She is fed each day at 5:00 PM. Due to her addiction issues, she has begun to tremor and get a bit irritable between her regularly scheduled fixes... er meals.

I've said before that the canned cat food she eats must be laced with something. Normally I would get my husband to write a letter to the company, but that could start an ugly investigation which could lead to a recall.

Which would mean our supplier (in air quotes) would be gone.

Heaven forbid.

Let's just say, if that ever happened, I would thank the good Lord above that Maggie is declawed.

Every afternoon Maggie walks up to me and whines. She rubs her face on the furniture, paws at my leg, moans and belly-aches. She ate less than 8 hours before and there is dry cat food in her dish. Never mind that she hasn't done anything all day to burn any of the calories she has consumed.

And still, I love cats. I love this cat. She is nuts and needy and has a serious attitude.

Okay. Maybe I'm the one who is nuts.

You dog people have no idea how good you have it getting up in the night to take them out and picking up poo in used Wal-mart bags. Your lives are cake.

Sleepy-eyed Mamas

I just rolled out of bed
and there's a convoy up ahead
made of sleepy-eyed mamas with their posse.

One of them waves me in
and I join the gang again
hauling precious cargo to class.

My hair is all a mess.
I've got the attitude of Ness
'cause the elastic in my sweats is shot.

Cruisin in the zone at less than 20,
I yell, "Do you have your lunch money?"
and I drop off the kid in the back.

Cranking up the Krauss
and headed to the house,
this mama's got loads of laundry on her list.

Every morning we hit the street
and the ride is always sweet
when we get the kids to school on time.

These ladies have a mission
so don't you be dissin'
the sleepy-eyed mamas on the road.

Peace out.

Must have been a math major.

You grammar snobs out there will love this article about the apostrophe catastrophe.

My favorite quote:

"They are such sweet-looking things that play a crucial role in the English language..."

Through snow and sleet but not on Saturday.

Times. They are hard.

Just when I was waiting for the postage stamp to go up again, the Postmaster General has "threatened" to stop Saturday delivery.

And I was saving all those three-cents!

This may be the breaking point for me in this economy. I can cut coupons. I can reuse and recycle. I can even stretch my highlighting appointments to 8 weeks. (I know. Scary.) Now the Postmaster is "threatening" to stop my Saturday mail which means all of the junk mail will just double up for Monday.

Mr. Postmaster, go ahead and do whatever it is you have to do. I wasn't even aware that my mailman worked every Saturday anyway. Plus, they could use a real weekend.

While you're at it, give them Flag Day, too.

(Honestly, we won't notice.)

Now, what am I going to do with all those three-cents...

Newman!

People are wondering why she is yelling at her house.

I actually sat down to write something, but I couldn't come up with anything better than this.

Linda, you are one reason I get up and check my computer every morning.

Well, that and all the Spam in my Inbox.

Head over and enjoy the video.

Thermo-Cat

My toes have been cold since yesterday morning. Something is awry with my temperature regulations. I'm pretty sure it's glandular.

At one point I waved Maggie over to lay on my feet to keep them warm. She obliged by purring and pawing and then snoring. Sometimes you have to suffer for warmth.

This morning I opened my Inbox and read an email from my sweet friend back in The Sunshine State offering her sympathy to me for the freezing temps and then mentioning that it was unusually warm at her house.

I can picture her riding down the highway with her sunroof open, wind in her hair and beads of sweat beginning to form on her brow.

Thanks for the mental image, dear friend. I warmed up half a degree imagining your toasty environment, complete with All You Can Eat Shrimp.

;>)

At least she's keepin' it real.

This morning it is much nicer here. No snow. No ice. No harsh winds. It's quite balmy at 23 degrees.

I'm getting my hair done later today. Cut and color. The works. A new hairdo always lifts my spirits and the cape is an extra layer of clothing.

Do you think my stylist would let Maggie come along?

Climate Change

We woke up this morning to a cozy 15 degrees.

Fahrenheit.

Everything is covered in ice. No snow for us. (sigh) Other mothers were making snowmen with their children who got to stay home. I was outside in the arctic melting the ice from my windshield while trying to maintain my body temperature.

We bundled up and headed for school. We passed several cows with ice crystals on their backs. I am not a farmer, but I think that could be borderline cruelty. But, what do I know.

Oh, sure. Cows have fur and they can keep warm. But this is America, people. Cows have dreams. Cows have hopes. Cows have...

Sorry. I lost it for a minute there.

The cold temperatures are affecting my mental faculties.

This freezing weather is really helping me make my case that the polar bear welcomes global warming and that maybe we should just leave well enough alone.

Polar bears have dreams too, ya know.

Never order the enchiladas verdes in cotton country.

If you read Big Mama's blog, you know that she had some less than delicious Mexican food while visiting in Georgia.

For the record, on behalf of my home state, I would like to sincerely apologize.

From the comments on her blog, it appeared that many of us who are from east of the Mississippi agree that ordering any Mexican food (especially with the expert palette of a Texan) east of Old Man River is, to say it lightly, SCARY.

Folks from Georgia, Mississippi and Alabama may be proud of many things, but our tacos are not among them. Though good ethnic food in these regions is not impossible, like Beth Moore having a bad hair day, it is highly improbable.

So I thought I'd share a few more culinary warnings about ethnic and regional foods in the South so that, hopefully, none of you will suffer like Big Mama. At the very least, you can lower your expectations.

1. Mexican food served in Georgia is just like the Falcons' record. A gamble. Unless there is a large bell on top of the restaurant, be sure that you may or may not leave the establishment with disappointment, and quite possibly, some kind of intestinal distress.

2. If you enter an Italian restaurant and someone inside mispronounces the fine heritage as EYE-talian, you can bet that the house dressing is ranch. (As in Hidden Valley)

3. Chinese food in the South is really just a buffet of sweet and sour pork, snow crab legs, fried rice and won tons.

The finer establishments will give you a fortune cookie on a little plastic tray, along with your bill.

4. Don't even look in the phone book for any other kind of Asian cuisine unless it is hibachi. The hibachi restaurant's only measurement of excellence is whether or not the chef does the onion choo-choo.

Chooooo Choooo!

5. The certificate on the wall that declares "Voted The Best German Restaurant In Plains" is really misleading. What it should read is "The Only German Restaurant for Fifty Miles."

So, what's a girl to do? You can stick with the good ole' Southern standbys like BBQ and fish camps or go to the local MaMaw's Kitchen. Either way, you will never walk away hungry and you can (at least) recognize the eggs.

In Parentheses

Daughter and I were headed out the door to school. I had thrown on my favorite comfy shirt with some raggedy, worn-out yoga pants.


Just as a reminder, here is the shirt:

I''ll leave out the yoga pants to spare the small children in the room.

We walked to the car and my daughter commented on the shirt, "It pretty much means don't do anything stupid."

"Yep. That's what it means."

The funny thing is that I am usually the one who does something stupid! In fact, I am the primary source for material here. Sigh...

;>)

My Advice Part 2: On A Serious Note- The State of The Union

I will never forget the faces. People were weeping and waving flags. The weather in Washington was cold and dreary, but the spirit of that day warmed the crowd like the sun.

It was a historical moment for my country. Though my head was skeptical of policies and innuendo, my heart embraced the emotions of so many, the victories over oppression and the excitement of a new start.

Many of my fellow citizens had found hope in the man that stood before them. All the while, many of my conservative friends felt quite differently. The man they'd found hope in was headed home to Texas. The political party they believed was in their corner had lost the fight and hung up the gloves.

All of these images have played over in my mind and one thing has left an impression.

We all need hope.

We all need a reason to believe. We all need something or someone to believe in, to keep us going in these hard times.

It is honorable to look towards the future through the eyes of our leaders, but our hope can't rest on that leader's shoulders. Believe me, my friend, that load is too heavy for any person to carry.

Real hope isn't from Texas, Chicago, New York or Arkansas.

Real hope comes from God because God, unlike man, never disappoints us.

Just when I think I've come upon a remarkable, spiritual growth, Ah-Ha! moment in my life, God breaks my heart with one question.

Are you sharing my hope?

Ouch, God. That one stung.

People are hurting, in need of hope, for so many reasons.

Some of them are fearful of the future. Some of them can't pay their mortgage. Some have lost nearly every dime of their retirement fund. Some of them are praying that their grocery budget will stretch to the end of the month.

They need hope. They need God. And if they have God, maybe they could use a reminder of His love and provision . Or better, maybe they could use a bag of groceries.

I am a part of the Body of Christ, His arms, His hands, His feet, parts of the body that are supposed to be united, working together. What can I do?

I can start by living it. No one is going to ask me about my hope in Christ when they don't even see it, when all I do is mope around, live in fear, complain or shake my fist in the air.

I can put bumper stickers on my car and forward cute emails declaring God's Love for people, but until I get up off my comfortable couch and actually love them, they will never believe me.

I don't know who you voted for or if you even voted at all.

It doesn't matter to me what side of the aisle your team is on. What matters is that we stand together as believers and start believing. Start remembering and declaring Real Hope through our actions, our words, and our faith.

I am thankful that God is faithful to forgive me when I've failed Him. I am thankful that He is still molding and shaping my life, even when it is a mess. (Only a loving God could want to work on this!)

More than anything in this world, I am so grateful for Jesus Christ, my Savior, the only source of real hope.

Praise God! He doesn't have any term limits.

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15: 13

My Advice To The Republican Party: Have Your Credit Card Ready

Now that we're all dusting our televisions with our McCain/Palin t-shirts, it's time to get our tails in gear for the next four years. Our little Republican pity party is over.

So, what do we do now? Lean to the left, lean to the right, do the hokey pokey?

I am here to do my civic duty, to offer some real advice (wink wink) for the Republican Party. So listen up Sean Hannity. We've got some serious work to do.

We have four years to teach all those old folks how to dance at our next convention. Really, dancing skills are under-rated on the public official resume. It's starting to get embarrassing. Year after year the overbite dance gets worse. We need dance instructors or orthodontists.

How about we jazz up the flag lapel pin? Maybe add a few rhinestones or other kind of bling. Bling is in man, or dude, or whatever. (Just goes to show that we should work on our vocabulary, too.)

McCain's campaign strategy left me a little numb. I don't know about you, Sean. I think we need a new man running the 2012 campaign. I know just the man for the job.

Billy Mays.

The man can sell anything. He has single-handedly convinced every woman in America that OxiClean will get out anything, even blood stains and pet odors. He is the most clean-shaven person I've ever seen who has a beard.

Our other option is the ShamWow Guy. After watching his demonstration, I came very close to ordering the over sized towels and I suddenly wanted to wash my boat. Sean, I don't even own a boat.

I hope you'll take this advice to heart, Mr. Hannity. We've got to do something.

But, we'd better act now 'cause I can't do this all day.

Tomorrow- Part 2 of My Advice: On A Serious Note

Works For Me: Cleaning Sea Shells

I have the beach on the brain. (I realize it is January and freezing cold.)

I always have the beach on the brain, but a friend of mine is at the beach right now and we talked on the phone last night. She had collected shells and didn't think she had anything in her hotel room to clean them and get rid of the smell.

Ha! Oh, yes you do!

Most hotels offer a small bottle of mouthwash along with the shampoo and lotion. The mouthwash kills germs in your mouth, right? It will work for sea shells, too!

Brush off the sand in the trash first. The hotel handyman will appreciate that.

Rinse the shells well in the bathroom sink.

Fill the sink with enough water to cover the shells, pour the bottle of mouthwash in. Let it set. Rinse again.

This will help clean the shells enough to get them home.

Be careful and considerate. Please do not stop up the sink with sand or tiny shells. I don't want the folks at Holiday Inn to suddenly start reading my blog.

For more great tips, see Shannon!

Dreams

Today a man's dream is fulfilled.

So many have marched and fought for this day; it is a remarkable and moving moment in my nation's history. When I think of where we've been, I can't help but look forward to where we're going.

My hope is that there is one small child out there today, girl or boy, black or white, watching the inauguration whose eyes will be filled with hope and whose heart will be filled with courage.

Somewhere in those tiny eyes will be a little glimmer, a spark, a dream of their own and the will to make that dream come true.

A dream that all children are protected, nurtured and valued.

A dream that all veterans be welcomed home.

A dream that all people are treated equally with the dignity given to them by their Creator.

A dream that America stand tall for liberty, democracy, and decency.

I hope that small child will know that America is and, I pray will forever be, a place where anyone, girl or boy, black or white can do anything, be anything.

It all begins with a dream.


"If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you to go on in spite of all. And so today I still have a dream."
~Martin Luther King, Jr., The Trumpet of Conscience, 1968

Cat Myth Busters

Shannon has a rodent problem. Actually, the rodent problem has gone away (as in The Godfather gone away) but the rodent itself has not gone away.

Confused? See Shannon's post.

So now she is hesitantly considering a cat and asked for comments about cats. I'm a cat person and I'm long winded, so I decided to just post it.

Shannon, you are right. Cats are arrogant and stuck-up, on their high horse and all of those things. There is a reason they call them "little old ladies in fur coats." Just think of the lady at church who notices when you wear white after Labor Day. That's a cat, but without the bundt cake.

Dogs are pretty much loyal to anyone. Cats are choosy. They love people who love them back. If they choose a family and that family is mean to them, cats will pack up their little fur coats and high tail it out of town.

Don't let those mad scientists lie to you. No cat is hypo-allergenic. None that I've heard of. The hairless one- get this- require a weekly bath.

BWAAA- HA-HA-HA-HA!

I saw it on Animal Planet.

Plus, from what I've heard, all cats have some dander, no matter how much hair they have or if they are indeed bald and creepy. The dander is the issue.

It is possible to manage a cat allergy with medication. We have a family member who is mildly allergic. The cat cannot sleep in the room with the person who is allergic or sneak naps in there during the day either.

If you are still reading at this point, I should remind you of one more cat fact. They live forever.

Maggie is nearly twelve (which means she's in her sixties in human years) and she still plays like she's eighteen with a fake ID. This may have more to do with the fact that she is waited on hand and paw.

Nonetheless, cats (especially indoor ones) live a very long time compared to dogs. And I'm not even figuring in the nine lives.

As for the rodent problem and the cat dilemma, you might want to consider getting a rat terrier.

Or just moving.

If I'm curt, then I apologize.

We were at the Big W yesterday browsing the frozen food section.

That's when I found these.




Yep. Top Of The Muffin To You! (Really, they should add the exclamation point.)

I couldn't believe my eyes.

No, Hubs, I didn't buy them. Besides, I'm still wondering. What did they do with all the stumps?

Excitement and notsomuch at the Big W.

I would like to announce that the Wal-mart cashier in Aisle 14 has been awarded The Least Enthusiastic Worker award. Go ahead and make her plaque and hang it in customer service. She went above and beyond to look bored, work slowly and restrain herself from any friendly greetings.

I would also like to announce that after living in Small Town for nearly 6 months, I finally found my Mr. Clean with Febreze. WOO to the HOO! I have searched and searched and was forced at one time to purchase lemon scented Lysol. (It was painful.)

Now my bathroom will smell like Mr. Clean Lavender Vanilla and the fragrance of clean will linger for hours. HOURS!

As you can see, I would not have won the cashier award.

Have a fresh and enthusiastic evening.

How Is Your Firewall Protection?

I'm posting over at the Internet Cafe today.

Join me over there for some virtual coffee!

Please continue to pray for Kelly and her family.

You can go here for updates and prayer requests.

Call To Prayer

Please pray for Kelly and her family.



Thank you-

My Sentiments. Exactly.

I can be madder than a wet hen and cry my eyes out over tragedy. All in the scan of a minute. I'm a woman. I'm Southern. It comes honest.

Sometimes I get a little flack for it. When I express disappointment about something in the company of my peers (mostly women), I get the eye roll. When I express sadness with deep empathy, I get the eyebrow raise.

But, it's OK with me. Really. If it wasn't, well, there wouldn't be much I could do about it. When the frustration builds, the words fly. When the sadness overwhelms, the floodgates open.

I'm a woman. I'm Southern. It's just who I am.

So, tonight when I listened to the very last speech of President Bush, all the above emotions ran over me. Like water from the rain.

I listened as he reverently spoke of the tragedies of 9-11. Of evil and good. Of people who hate my country. And it makes me angry.

I heard him thank his staff, his wife, his family and the American people. He spoke of bravery and courage. Of defeat and victory.

As he closed his speech tonight, I realized these were his last words to the nation as President of The United States and I was overcome with sadness, nostalgia and gratitude. A gratitude that fills my heart and rises up in my throat.

Thank you, Mr. President.

My daughter rests quietly down the hall because of you. All because you chose to do what you felt was right in spite of opinion polls, in the face of adversity.

You took us to war (two of them) and, last time I checked, we were winning. (I don't pay attention to opinion polls either.)

People have died in the name of democracy and people are living free because of it.

You stood watch many nights while the nation slept peacefully, completely unaware of the possible threats to our freedom. Catastrophe was prevented. Evil was defeated.

We may never know how many times we could have been victims again. This is the benefit of liberty.

They say that history may paint a better portrait of you than the one that hangs in the halls today. I hope that is true.

But I have a feeling it won't really matter to you at all. You can rest quietly tonight because you did what you felt was right in spite of opinion polls, in the face of adversity.

For that, I am forever grateful.

God bless you. God Bless America.

Works for Me: Remembering Birthdays

Have a hard time remembering all those birthdays? Me, too.

You can sign up for email reminders from Birthday Alarm. After you have organized your list, you will receive reminders of those special birthdays. These have helped me tremendously because a lot of the time I have to mail birthday gifts. The reminders help me to get the gifts or cards in the mail on time.

To sign up, create an account and start your list. You'll be all set for those birthdays this year!

Visit Shannon for more great tips!

Pardon me while I go repair the edge of my seat.

Two words.

Jack Bauer.

I watched the opening 4 hours of intense action and suspense and OHMYWORD, I am glad to finally have some good television viewing again.

Since Agents Mulder, Scully, and Bristow left, I've been feeling a bit lost and unprotected.

But Jack Bauer is back. So forgive me if I start to say, "Copy that!" I just can't help myself. The 4th grade Charlie's Angel in me is showing her spunky side, without the bikini and wings.

Must. Go. Now.

Catch. My. Breath.

She totally rocks more than her dryer.

This little blog of mine has had a major face lift thanks to Shannon (Rocks In My Dryer,) one of the most talented and gracious women in the blogosphere.

I LOVE (all caps kind of love) the new design and I hope you do, too.

I've been wanting a change here at This Ain't New York for a long while and just couldn't figure out exactly what I wanted. (Never mind that I am completely html incompetent.) Shannon is so creative and talented; she knew exactly what would work.

I hope to meet her in "real life" one of these days and consider it an honor to know her, at least in cyberspace.

Until we can sit and chat over some sweet tea or a large Diet Coke from Sonic, extra ice...

Thank you, Shannon!

Stuff I've Never Done

Just as I sat down at the keyboard to write about the boring stuff I have done AKA stare into space and sip coffee, my brilliant blog friend Linda asks us to share what we haven't done that most people have done.

Is she smart or what?

Make sure you read Linda's list today. Linda, I wish I could join you and say I had never been skiing. We all know how that story turned out.

And, really. This list should inspire me to make resolutions to do all these things, but I'm too cynical for that. Plus, I'm proud of a few of them. (See #4)

1. I have never watched an entire Star Wars movie all the way through. I hear you gasping through cyberspace. I've seen clips here and there and I know all the characters, a little of the plots, but that's it. Please do not banish me from your blogrolls. My husband has recently taken pity on me and vowed to rent all the movies (see I can't even say if they are a trilogy or set or whatever) so that I can be a little more normal and less of a geek.

He's a good man.

2. I have never been water skiing. I lived in Florida for years, near Lake Blackshear in Georgia over half my life. And I'm a pretty good swimmer. Can't figure that one out.

3. I still have never had a real pedicure. I'm working on this one. Baby steps, baby steps. (Get it?) I bought the Ped Egg to use at home so that I don't send any pedicure people away screaming when I take off my mules.

4. I have never, ever used a porta-potty. No, not ever. One time Hubs and I were driving across Texas and I called him on the CB to ask for a pit stop. (Yes, the CB!)

We pulled over at the next rest area and all the bathrooms were closed. Porta-potties lined the parking lot. I picked up my CB and said, "Breaker 1-9, Keep driving."

I have a bladder that astronauts would envy.

5. I've never been to Mexico. This may seem like no big deal, but considering that I lived in Tucson, one would wonder.

I have, however, eaten some really good Mexican food.

And I know a little Spanish.

Por Favor.

6. I've never stolen anything. Not even a pack of gum as a kid.

7. I've never been on a cruise. This one will probably remain on this list, as I have no desire whatsoever to go on one. Neither does Hubs.

8. I have never broken a bone. This may come as no surprise since it appears I do not do anything that may cause me to break a bone, like water skiing or using a Porta-Potty.

Not sure if you could break a bone using a porta-potty, but I bet it's possible.

What about you? What haven't you done that most people have?

Vote for your favorite bachelorette.

Everyone is all excited about the new Bachelor season, but I think we should take a moment to vote for our favorite girl over here.

I can't decide between Alicia or Kirsten.

Pure creative genius.

Moo.

Works For Me: Cure for The Winter Blues

Okay. Christmas has arrived and left. We've packed away all the decorations, returned all the gifts that didn't work, and now what?

The months of January and February are always tough for me. The days are shorter, colder and the ending of the happy Christmas season can leave me feeling blah. It is a long time before Spring, so I've found a few ways to boost my spirits until that first bloom appears.

(I was going to repost an old post about this, but alas, I can't find it.)

1. I start my Spring Cleaning now. Moving furniture for tree decorations and boxing things up is a great opportunity to start cleaning. It just makes me feel better. I clean windows and baseboards, but I don't go crazy with it. The idea is to feel better, not overwhelmed.

2. Light or bright colored linens like white, cream or yellow. Pick a color that you think is cheerful. Change the throw pillows. Put out different place mats. Whatever works for you.

3. Shells. Who cares if you don't live at the beach? You can find shells at most craft stores. Put them in a pretty glass dish or whatever you love. Something about sea shells makes you think of summer.

4. Scented candles and fragrance for the home. I like linen, cotton, or beach scents. They smell fresh. Floral candles are a bit too much for the winter months.

5. Fresh flowers. Pick up some fresh cut flowers at the grocery store. Look for an inexpensive bouquet that has a variety of flowers. Put them all in one vase, or use them in smaller vases all over the house. A small container in the bathroom makes for a cheery morning. Use old jars or any other favorite container. No need to spend lots of money.

6. Change your curtains. Unless you need heavy curtains for warmth in your house, change them now for a lighter, brighter feel. Use light colored, lightweight panels. They will brighten up a dark room.

7. Soaps. Put some nice soaps in the bathroom scented with your favorite scents. Lavender and vanilla are always nice. Whatever works for you.

8. Your front door. Find ways to add brightness to your front door. Use a simple grapevine wreath with a pretty bow or a natural wreath of any kind. (Just make sure it doesn't scream Spring just yet.)

Find a new doormat. You'll be surprised the difference it will make.

If you have any ideas of how to cheer up your home and mood in the winter months, please leave them in the comments.

For more tips, see Shannon at her blog Rocks In My Dryer.

The Toothbrush 1 Out Of 5 Dentists Prefer

My husband is a letter writer.

If ever there is poor customer service, substandard product, or general injustices in the world, he writes a letter. It's the principle of the thing. If a company stands on 100% customer satisfaction and we are only 70% satisfied, my husband will contact them.

His letters are always well written, logical, and devoid of hysterical emotion. Much different from any letter I would write.

Which is why his letters get results.

Truly, he believes that if you will take the time to let a business know about a problem, they may in fact attempt to fix it. And your letter might just help them repair a problem they otherwise did not know existed.

Again. Principle.

Desperate for a transitional phrase here.

Every year we put new toothbrushes in each other's stockings. It's tradition. Along with an orange in the toe.

Well, the second time Hubs used his new toothbrush, it nearly broke in half. That's some serious brushing.

So he sat down at the computer a few days ago to send a nice email to a certain toothbrush company about his toothbrush. We can go out a buy another one, and believe me, we did. It's not a car or an expensive appliance.

But, again. Principle. Plus, this is how recalls begin.

Hubs found a certain toothbrush company's website and began to write an email. I sat beside him, looking over his shoulder like a good, respectful wife should.

He began to write:

"I received a (fill in the blank) toothbrush for Christmas and it broke..."

I interrupted like a good, respectful wife should.

"Whoa, you can't write that! It sounds pathetic. You got a toothbrush for Christmas and then it broke? They will either think you're making it up or you are pitiful and have no friends or family and all you got for Christmas is a toothbrush! They'll send you a whole case of toothbrushes!"

And then we started joking about an alternative email which would go like this...

"My wife gave me a toothbrush for Christmas and then it broke. Now, I can't do my wuuurk (in Fred Willard's voice) and my wife has put me on the couch because my breath is bad since I can't brush my teeth... and I've missed two job interviews."

Much laughter ensues.

Backspace. Delete.

"I recently purchased a (fill in the blank) toothbrush. Add more boring and logical writing."

More laughter and Fred Willard jokes.

Really. We should get out more.

And, we would if he would just brush his teeth.

;>)

Napkins trump ski masks every time.

Over the weekend, I bought a bag of Donettes powdered doughnuts. My daughter had asked me on several shopping trips if I'd buy some and finally, I caved.

I can remember going to the grocery store on Saturday mornings and my own mama buying us a bag of powdered doughnuts. They were not Donettes, but another brand that I can't remember. Powdered sugar can make you forget if you're eating Dunkin or Krispy Kreme. It literally covers a multitude of sins. And carbs.

Every morning my daughter asks for one doughnut for breakfast. Then one more. Then another. We try to balance the doughnuts with a good bowl of cereal or pancakes or some other source of carbs that doesn't sprinkle on the parenting guilt.

My weakness is a night. The little guys just call my name, waiting to be eaten with a glass of milk while I watch O'Reilly or Seinfeld reruns.

This morning, we danced the doughnut dance once again. My daughter asked for a doughnut, looked in the bag, counted, then asked if I wanted one. I declined, but later looked in the bag to find one doughnut. The little lonely guy just asked for me to rescue him from his solitude, so I popped him in my mouth with a sip of coffee.

I walked in the living room and found Hubs and our daughter snuggled on the couch watching cartoons. Leaning over, I covered their laps with a soft blanket. How sweet. The two of them creating a special moment.

When I reached over, my daughter said,"Did you eat the last doughnut?"

Hubs laughed and said,"Mommy is busted."

Apparently, if you are going to eat the last powdered doughnut, it is a good idea to wipe the powdered sugar from your mouth.

If OJ had stopped by Krispy Kreme on his way home, he would be doing hard time right now.

Blackeyed Peas

My Canadian friend, Susanne and my Hoosier friend, Linda asked for my blackeyed pea recipe. I really don't have a recipe, but I'll try my best to share how I make them.

You will need:

One 16 oz. bag of dried blackeyed peas (unless it is New Year's Eve and you have no other choice, always, always use dried blackeyed peas) You may want to use half a bag. A whole bag is a mess of peas. But, they're good, so they won't go to waste. I promise!

Chicken bouillon cubes

Ham pieces for flavor (ham hocks are best, but you can go with any kind of smoked ham)

Salt and pepper to taste


First, wash the dried peas, remove any debris or rocks. Yes, I have found small rocks before in a bag of peas. I didn't know rocks grew in the garden. Did you?

Wash and drain the peas with a colander 2-3 times.

Next, place the dried peas in a medium saucepan, cover well with water. Bring the water to a boil. Boil for one minute. Turn off the heat, cover and let them soak for several hours or overnight. This will shorten the actual cooking time. (Soaking the peas allows them to expand.)

Drain the peas once again in a colander.

Fill a saucepan with about 4-6 cups of water. (The key is to make sure you have enough water for the peas to simmer and not burn.) Add bite size ham pieces, 2 chicken bouillon cubes. Add about a teaspoon of salt and 1/2 teaspoon pepper. Bring to a boil. Add the peas. Return to a boil, cover, then cook on medium heat until peas are tender.

You will have to season the peas as they cook. Taste, then add salt and pepper as needed. I'm sorry that my recipe isn't an exact science. Just taste and season as you like. A lot depends on how salty your ham is.

Important- WATCH THE WATER LEVEL! The odor of scorched peas will remain in your house for a least a year. Well, maybe not. But, you don't want this smell in your house. Plus, you just ruined a perfectly good pot of peas!

If using ham hocks for seasoning, I remove them before serving. Otherwise, I just leave the ham pieces in the peas to serve. YUM!

Never drain the cooked peas before serving. The yummy broth that is formed is perfect for sopping with a good piece of cornbread!

Tip: Sometimes, for whatever reason, dried peas or beans can have an "earthy" or "dirt" taste. To solve this problem, I add a pinch of sugar. Works every time.

I love my peas over rice. Some people call this Hoppin' John. My people just call it good.

Let me know if you try the recipe!

Our fun always seems to involve a humidifier.

New Year's Eve was typical for us. Hubs stayed up until it was midnight somewhere, but not here. I stayed up until it was midnight everywhere.

On New Year's Day, we had our blackeyed peas. I convinced our daughter to eat them because it was tradition. She ended up having seconds. And that's saying something because I had to cook frozen blackeyed peas, not the coveted dried ones that I love.

The only place I've found dried ones here is Wal-mart. Because I didn't plan ahead, I was out New Year's Eve at 5:00 PM purchasing peas. There was no way I was going to Wal-mart on New Year's Eve. It wasn't even dark yet and it was scary.

So I went to Albertson's along with the other 500 people there. When you walk in and nearly all the carts are gone, you know it's going to be fun in the check-out line.

Back to the peas.

There are many sins in southern cooking for my family. One of them is eating frozen or canned blackeyed peas. Blech. But I was determined to make them edible and I doctored them up better than Paula could have done herself. I could tell they were not of the dried variety, but they were, as much as they could be, tasty.

Homemade hot pepper sauce also helps.

Yesterday, Hubs was starting to get sick again. The Sinus stuff just won't let go. Today he is on the couch with the humidifier on the coffee table.

I was going to ask him to help take down the tree, but I think heavy lifting just might do him in.

I could blame his sudden illness on the frozen blackeyes but they are supposed to bring you good luck. Maybe he should have had seconds, too.

Fondly

Today we'll be eating blackeyed peas and cornbread. It's a family tradition, along with avoiding washing clothes and sweeping floors.

As I start the new year with my sweet husband and daughter, I look back on 2008 with laughter, tears and a lot of learning.


1. I learned that I can handle much more than I thought. And sometimes God blesses us abundantly because He expects us to do something with those blessings.

2. I came to terms with my Starbucks addiction. Acceptance truly is the first step towards healing.

3. I found that if this blogging thing doesn't turn out that I could very well live a life of crime. Or at the very least, avoid dusting.

4. I was pretty much fed up with images directed at my daughter.

5. I finally told y'all about my warped aversion to the library.

6. I bonded with the Bug Man.

7. Our family said a few difficult good-byes.

8. I let my heart pull me in and found that giving is so much more than writing a check.

9. I voted in an election that nearly drove me batty.

10. I was horribly embarrassed by my fellow American consumers, but at the end of the day, I know in my heart that there is still hope in this fallen world.

I pray that you will find that Hope.

Have a Blessed New Year!

I kept waiting for Bobby Flay.

Before Mama and Daddy drove the long drive across the great state of Texas to get here, Hubs asked me what we would do during their visit.

Crickets chirping.

"Well," I said, "we'll go out for good Mexican food one night, maybe a movie, out for steaks another night, and that's about it."

Did I mention they were here for a week?

Now, my people do not really have to be entertained. We are a lot like the Culhanes from Hee Haw. Just sit us on the couch together and we're good.

This means one of two things. We are boring or we are entertaining on our own. I'll let you figure that one out.

Friday afternoon we went to the movies and saw The Tale of Despereaux. I never took French in high school; I took two years of Spanish. So, I have no idea what Despereaux means in French. My guess is that it translates, "falsely advertised movie full of creepy rats and only one cute mouse but the book is still great, so skip the eight bucks and buy the paperback for the kids."

After the movie we went out for Mexican food. So, in about three hours, we had used up over half of our planned entertainment.

On Saturday, Mama wanted to ride over to a little town nearby (littler than the one we are in) and "see what's there."

I tried to tell her there was pretty much nothing to see except for the downtown square. My friend N went for a girls' day out one day and the entire group visited about six stores and had lunch in roughly two hours.

Still, Mama wanted to go. The great steak place is in this little town, so we headed over for an afternoon of sightseeing, planning to end the outing with a steak dinner.

We stopped at one store in the downtown square. That took up about twenty minutes. We then piled back in the car, looked around and decided to head to Wal-mart.

The Wal-mart visit took up about an hour.

It was 3:00 PM.

So, Hubs decided to take us to the Peanut factory so we could visit their gift shop. (We were low on entertainment options and peanut products.)

I'm not making this stuff up.

Mama and I were doubtful that the peanut factory gift shop would be open for the holidays. When we drove up, there were no cars in the parking lot. Still, Hubs was sure they were open. Hubs was right.

Sitting inside the small gift shop was an older lady just waiting for us to buy a twenty pound bag of roasted peanuts. She was lovely. We walked around the small shop, and as I browsed the many flavors of peanut butter, I overheard my Daddy strike up a conversation.

My Daddy does not meet a stranger. He talks to everyone. And, like most Southerners, the conversation always begins with where people are from. (You have no idea how important that is.)

After Daddy told the nice lady they were here visiting his daughter and son-in-law, he then continued to tell her that they were from Southwest Georgia, The Peanut Capital Of The World.

He threw down the goober gauntlet.

Fortunately, there was no malice in Daddy's declaration or else there could have been a throw down right there in the peanut factory gift shop. Plus, the nice lady behind the counter really doesn't care about peanut capital titles. Her only concern is that her ride comes at 5:00.

We all bought something. I purchased some cinnamon peanut butter and Mama purchased some roasted peanuts. We passed on the raw peanuts because they were old and my people use raw peanuts for boiling, not roasting. We know that only fresh, green peanuts are good for boiling.

I guess you'd have to be from the Peanut Capital of The World to understand.

Not a creature was stirring, except for the cat.

Christmas Eve at our house is much like that of many other families. We hang the stockings with care (or in this house, drape them on the hearth because the mantle is not adaptable to cute stocking holders), we read the Christmas story, and leave food out for Santa.

Most years we've left cookies. One year we made him a sandwich because we thought he may be sick of all the sugar and need something to tide him over. You know, something to cut the sweet.

And we always leave something for the reindeer.

We've sprinkled reindeer food on the lawn and left carrots or apples on a plate next to Santa's cookies and ham sandwich.

This year, our daughter chose cookies for Santa and one apple for the all the reindeer. Looking back, the reindeer may have felt a bit slighted this time.

We placed a cup out on the coffee table and left it up to Santa to get his own beverage. He's been by our house a few years. By now, he should just make himself at home.

Now that Maggie is painfully addicted to Elegant Medleys, she harasses any person who gets up in the night. No matter what time of night it is. Once you are up, Maggie thinks you are supposed to feed her.

Our daughter thought about Santa arriving in the night, waking Maggie from her princess slumber, and then running away in frustration from Maggie's constant pawing and purring and begging.

So she left him a note.

Which I shall try to paraphrase here:


Dear Santa,

Here is a can of Elegant Medleys. Give it to Maggie so she will hush.


Santa must have taken her advice because we woke up the next morning and found an empty can of Medleys on the kitchen counter. Remnants of tenders morsels remained in the cat dish. .

Even Santa Claus knows to keep this cat happy. I'll bet he keeps a lint brush in the sleigh.

Catching up

Well, let's see. It has been, um, quite a few days since I wrote a real post.

Christmas. It came. It went. It conquered.

My parents arrived just before Christmas and will be headed back home in a day or so. Bless their hearts; they drove. From Georgia. To New Mexico. That's a long way between Cracker Barrels.

We've had a good time catching up and eating, eating, eating. It's what Southerners do when they get together. We eat when we get married. We eat when we have babies. We eat when we die. Well, we don't. The people left behind do.

Where two Southerners gather together there will be food in the midst of them.

Or something like that.

I'll be back soon for a few funny stories. Goodness knows I've got enough material.

Track Santa

Take a minute tonight to track Santa with the kids.

NORAD is on his trail.

Be sure to watch some of the video sightings!

The Journey

I was sitting here thinking about how stressful I can get this time of year.

Last minute shopping, wrapping, planning meals, cleaning the house, and all the regular household duties that we do year round.

Then I thought about what Mary was doing and thinking and feeling over two thousand years ago. My stress is nothing compared to what she endured. She traveled for miles across rough terrain, anxious and uncertain, knowing that the time was very near for her baby to be born.

It makes my few minutes waiting in line at Walmart so unimportant.

But, in a way, she and I do have something in common. We anticipate the birth of our savior, Jesus Christ. Full of hope, she waited for him to be born and full of hope, I look forward to celebrating that glorious birth.

So, if I'm not around in the next few days, you'll know why. I won't be on a donkey, crossing mountains under a night sky, but I am decidedly enjoying the journey to Bethlehem.

Merry Christmas, friends.

And yada yada yada, he won.

Some of our dearest friends were over for dinner on Saturday. We've known each other a long time. We met before the Internet was invented.

I know.

Ancient.

To you youngin's out there who think the Internet has always been around, let me tell you about the 80's. We thought computers could think. Hello, War Games.

Hubs and I are trying to shake a cold. We sound and look awful which makes for lovely dinner hosts. All I can say is that our friends must really love us or they are too gracious to offend. (Plus, they know we are obsessive with hand washing.) They suffered through my cooking and our hacks and wheezing.

Not on the food. That would be rude.

Seriously, my sweet friend N, the wife, called early in the day to ask if we were still up for company. She didn't want us to suffer through the evening for their sake. I assured her that we sounded worse than we felt and that I had doped up Hubs on Day-quil.

We had dinner and exchanged gifts. And guess what they gave us?

The Seinfeld Scene-It Game!! Game on.

We sat down at the coffee table to play. My playing piece was the Cigar Store Indian. Hubs was the puffy shirt because, truth be told, he really does want to be the pirate.

Hubs won. I blame it on the Day-quil. It must have the opposite affect on me. It turns my brain to mush. When I cannot remember a Seinfeld line, I am either suffering from medication side effects or a high fever.

I learned later that when our friends drove home, the husband D turned to his wife and said, "You know we're never going to beat them at that game."

To D I say, "Have you tried the Day-quil?"

The Gospel Message in a Burger King Hat

Between being a child, having a child and teaching children in church over the years, I've been witness to various pageants, plays and musicals.

The thing about kids is that, no matter what happens, the crowd will love them. Once you become a grown-up, people expect you to be, you know, talented and coordinated to be successful and entertaining.

Which must be what happened to The Jackson Five. All except for Michael, who really never grew up anyway.

Vacation Bible School productions are always a huge hit. By the end of the week, the kids are so high from craft glue and Capri-Suns that anything they do on stage is bound to be entertaining. And really, what's better than to corral one hundred sweaty kids on an elevated stage while they flail their arms and legs and sing?

Solid. Gold.

But my favorite kid productions are always the ones at Christmas. There is a certain sense of innocence and wonder and there is a least one kid picking his nose. Bless his mama's heart. That's a sweet video for the family collection.

In addition, there are always kids with costumes that are too big, kids whose Mamas didn't read the flyer that went home about wearing a certain color shirt, angel wings that fall off and halos made of cheap Christmas garland. At least there's still a good use for it.

There is also one little girl on the stage who is determined that baby Jesus is either under or over dressed. She becomes the pageant's Nurse On Call, which is a good thing because I'd hate for the Lord and Savior to get pneumonia.

Then there are the wise men. One Wise Man is wearing a Burger King crown, turned around so we can't see the logo. We all know that the Wise Men would never go to Burger King because the toys there are lame.

One kid waves to his parents during the entire program. He doesn't sing. Instead, he uses his energy to punch the shepherds in the arm or step on Mary's bare toes. (By the way, Mary is always wearing cute sandals like Crocs or pink flip flops under her over sized sheet costume. She may be innocent, but she knows fashion.)

People think the waving brat, I mean, kid is sweet. The crowd usually giggles and it makes for a great America's Funniest Videos moment.

But, all teachers know that the Perpetual Waving Kid is usually the one who took the clothes off baby Jesus in the first place and destroyed the original Wise Men crowns, which is why the music teacher had to run out at the last minute to beg for the cheap, paper Burger King ones.

At the end of every Christmas musical is an encore of a super cute, message-filled number when all the kids sing their little hearts out around the baby Jesus. Thanks to the Pre-K Nurse On Call, He is in costume and appropriately ready to be the center of attention.

And thanks to the real baby Jesus, that super cute, message-filled number declares the Gospel message of Christmas. To all of us.

Even the Perpetual Waving Kid.

Celebrating a Birthday in the Midst of Christmas

I went home from school with a friend that Friday. It was always a treat to go to a friend's house for a slumber party. This was special. She was my best friend and this was my birthday...


Read more over at The Internet Cafe.

A few of my favorite things: Christmas Crazy Edition

I have two posts I've been working on but can't seem to get them together. So, until my brain kicks into gear or I have a V-8 moment, I am going to fall back on the old, familiar, uninspiring list format.

Yawn.

Plus, I have like less than two days to finish a week's worth of errands. I have almost all my shopping done. Most of our family and friends are out of town so I planned well in advance for them, figuring in the UPS transit time. My parents are going to be here for Christmas, so I left their gifts for later. Which is NOW.

Not to mention the dear people who actually live with me.

You could say I have some catching up to do.

And I'd really like to be finished so I can relax and focus on what or Who really matters.

Now that you've heard about my issues, here is a list of a few of my favorite things.

1. Whale Wars- This is my new addiction. I don't really agree with the tactics of the group, but I can understand their passion. Plus, I am so far away from the ocean or any other body of water, that I love watching anything remotely ocean-y. I told Hubs the other night that I get thirsty watching the show. Analyze that one, Mr. Freud.


2. Online shopping- This has been a life saver for me this year. We really do not have many shopping choices here in Smalltown and I am quite certain that most of my family do not need the Ped Egg from Walgreens.

Plus, it gives me a chance to congratulate the UPS man for his fine work.

Today, it was a toasty 18 degrees and he showed up on our doorstep in his brown attire with a hood. If it had not been for the nice view of his brown truck, I would not have opened the door. I normally don't open the door for hooded men.

3. Free shipping. A plus with online shopping if you shop around for the best deals.

4. Angel Tree- There are so many wonderful opportunites to help needy families this time of year.

Prison Fellowship's Angel Tree is close to my heart. I've volunteered with them in the past and seen the miracles that can happen in torn families. Their angel tree is not based on need. They are designed to foster family relationships. If you are interested, there is still time to help this Christmas.

5. Mexican Hot Chocolate. Specifically, Nestle's Abuelita. Chocolate and cinnamon. Yum.

6. Warm kitty cats on cold days.

7. White House Christmas Tree ornaments. I just received this year's in the mail. Love it.

8. Warm kitty cats under Christmas trees. Just make sure you hang the White House ornaments way up high.

8. The Christmas episode of Little House on the Prairie when Laura gives away Bunny so Ma can have a new stove. Makes me cry every time.

9. A Christmas Story. Another chance to watch Ralphie shoot his eye out. Those icicles have been known to kill people.

Signing off and heading to Walgreens. ;>)

Twelve Days

Twelves days to check off my list.

Twelve days to mail the Christmas cards.

Did I forget someone?

Twelve days to fill the stockings.

Twelve days to return those angel tree gifts.

Who did I leave out?

Twelve days to plan the Christmas menu.

Twelve days to decide. Turkey, roast or ham?

What have I left out?

Twelve days to get it all done, make it all perfect, without losing my sanity.

Twelve days until Christmas.

Who have I left out?

With the hectic time of this season, when you're making your list and checking it twice, rest in the Peace of The One we celebrate.

Turn your eyes upon the manger and its message of grace.

Twelve Days...



Melanie- Please try my email address again. I have corrected it. (It should be dotcom instead of dotnet; I apologize.) I was going to email you, but your address wasn't available in your profile.

Life Lesson # 357

When you are in a hurry and have to pick up your child from school, never get in line behind two twenty-something young men at Wal-mart.

They do not understand the logistics of Wal-mart shopping.

Because I like to do my civic duty and all, I thought I'd share these logistical rules which are etched in a plaque somewhere in Bentonville, Arkansas.

First. Unload your cart in a timely manner. There are moms behind you in line who are in a hurry and should have gotten in line 10 minutes ago.

Second. Once you've unloaded all of the Hot Pockets and Ramen noodles, move out of the way and please put down a divider so that the mom behind you can unload her cart which is totally void of Hot Pockets and Ramen noodles but may include Lean Cuisines and a prescription of Xanax she just filled at the pharmacy. (Lucky you. She popped one about 30 minutes ago.)

Third. Please- for the love of Sam Walton and all things decent and holy- do not hash out who is paying for what using several credit cards, gift cards and whatever else you can find.

Fourth. Once you've paid, please get your stuff, put it in the cart, and let the cashier serve the next customer, which is in fact me, the mom who should have gotten in line 10 minutes ago.

This is a friendly lesson from a mother on a mission. Oh, and one day you will lose your taste for Ramen noodles.

Trust me.

Poor Time Management

The fact that you are reading this means that I have written it, which means that I have completely wasted at least 5 minutes when I should be doing things like grocery shopping, vacuuming, cooking, and the like.

We are having some people over tomorrow evening, so I have lots to do.

But nothing, no nothing stops me from blogging. Except for no Internet access, which, really doesn't stop me because I just go to the public library.

And we know that means I must be desperate.

So, anyhoo.

I'll be around over the weekend, checking in on my favorite bloggers. I just may not have time to post. Or write anything coherent or meaningful.

BTW, my father-in-law survived his Santa experience. As far as I know, none of the children or parents ran away screaming, which is a true measure of Santa success. Don't you think?

Happy Weekend!

How To Be A Good Santa (tongue in rosey cheek)

A little elf called me last night to tell me that my father-in-law is going to play Santa tonight at their church. Santa phoned him and asked for reinforcements because he is busy at the North Pole dealing with the Elf Union issues while trying to produce millions of Wii's.

Maybe Santa could use a bailout.

This is the first time my father-in-law has helped out Santa and donned the red suit, so I thought it may be nice to share some tips on how to be a good Santa.

Not that I've ever been a good Santa. I've never even been a bad Santa.

But I've been a kid. Once. Long, long ago.

So, here ya go.

1. Prepare to be a cool liar. Kids will ask you all kinds of things like, "Do you really live at The North Pole?" and "Is it cold there?"

Resist the urge to tell the kid to watch The Weather Channel and pay attention in geography class.

Two-year olds don't watch TWC.

2. Tell the kids how absolutely wonderful and lovely and helpful Mrs. Claus is and that you wouldn't be the man you are today without her.

This will get you a blank stare from the kids but Mrs. Claus will love you.

3. Pop a breath mint.

For some reason, all the Santas I talked to suffered from halitosis.

4. Tell the kids to leave out Reese's peanut butter cups and Starbucks coffee on Christmas Eve.

I hear that's Santa's favorite.

5. If a kid asks you if they've been good, look over at their mother.

If she looks put together and stands there smiling, holding a camera, tell them ,"Yes, keep up the good work!"

If she looks disheveled, is popping a Xanax or is in fact hiding, tell the kid "You're lucky I'm only allowed to give out coal. At least, that's what the law allows."

6. Keep some Purell on hand. And maybe a can of Lysol. Zycam for extra insurance.

7. If the mom talks on her cell phone while her child is experiencing one of the most precious and memorable parenting moments, repeat the following to the child:

"You can have the tricked out 4 wheeler but only if your parents are good and your mom gets off the cell phone while she is shopping, driving, and supposedly experiencing one of the most precious and memorable parenting moments, hello, lady with the bluetooth!"

You may want to yell a little.

8. As a rule, unless it is directed at the parents, yelling is frowned upon.

9. When you're bored, just for fun, tell the kids that you are a victim of Global Warming and your home is melting as you speak.

That'll make for a really happy time.

And a great Christmas card picture.

WFMW: Easy ways to make guests feel at home.

With Christmas around the corner, many of us will have people visiting this season. Here are a few things I've done over the years and a few things I've experienced as a guest that make an overnight stay more comfortable.

1. Double case the pillows. I purchase inexpensive white pillow cases, then use another pillow case over that. You will be surprised at the difference. Plush, fluffy and soft pillows with little effort!

2. Place a basket or other container in the guestroom with magazines, toothbrushes (the ones from the dentist work great), sample toothpaste, shampoo, anything that a person may forget to pack. Include some miniature candy bars or mints. Really, it's the thought that counts here. It is fun to sort through the basket and your guest will feel so special.

3. Turn down the bed. This may sound silly, but it is nice to find the comforter pulled back, the pillow fluffed and everything ready after a long day of chatting and visiting. (The key is to do this without them knowing it, so they will find it as a surprise when they retire for the night.)

4. Tell your guests where they can find fresh towels, but also leave some folded towels for them in their room. Again, it's the thought that counts.

5. If your guest is an early riser and you are not, set the coffee pot on the timer and put out some pretty mugs nearby. Hearty mugs are great and make them feel at home.

6. The Welcome Book. My mother-in-law gave us one when we purchased our first home. The book is designed for guests to simply sign or leave a note. You can find them in gift stores like Hallmark or online. You can also use a pretty journal. This makes an excellent house warming or wedding gift.


Remember, hospitality does not have to cost a lot of money. Anything you can do to make your guests feel comfortable and welcome will mean a lot.

Any ideas you would like to share? Leave them in the comments.

Be sure to visit Shannon for more tips this week!

But you can't take The South out of the girl.

This is what we found this morning after rubbing our eyes and slowly creeping out from under the warm covers.

Snow? Eh.

I opened the blinds so our daughter could see what was left from the powdery frozen sprinkles while she sat and ate her breakfast.

If I were a really good mother, I would have gotten up early and made hot pancakes and bacon for my sweet child. Alas, she ate her cold Kix cereal while gazing at the snowfall which did not meet any school closure standards.

Hubs leaves for work before we leave for school. I told him the ice scraper was in the SUV so he could scrape the ice from the windshield on his car. When I got out to my Honda, my windshield was clean. I love that man.

Here is a tip.

Once your spouse has cleaned the windshield for you, leave well enough alone. Don't try to melt away the rest of the icy glaze with your wiper fluid because your windshield wipers may in fact be frozen and the wiper fluid will freeze onto your windshield, leaving you blinded. Then, you will have to pull over, get out of your toasty warm car and scrape the windshield again after your kind husband cleaned it for you.

Hypothetically, of course.

I've mentioned before that I've experienced snow in North Carolina. The stark, cold difference here is the mighty wind.

I'm thinking Christopher Guest has been here.

Seriously, y'all, the wind will cut you like a cold, dull butter knife without the biscuits.

I really hope it snows a little more today, enough to make a difference. This little bit of snowfall is a lot like false labor- nothing good comes from it but there's just enough of it to ruin your day.

On that note, I have to add this picture. These are dairy cows who are normally grazing when I pass them on the way to school.

I call this the dairy cow version of a Sit In.

A Cow Whisperer would tell you that the one over to the left, yeah that one is saying,"Who's the idiot taking our picture?"

I apologize for any typing errors in this post. My knuckles are still thawing.

You can take a girl out of the South.

According to the weather forecast, we are going to have "snow showers" here in Smalltown, NM tomorrow.

Just to show my ignorance, I had to ask Hubs exactly what a snow shower is. Is it a flurry? Rain mixed with snow? Real snow?

They say transparency improves a person's writing. This may be true but, it doesn't improve your image.

Ahem.

This morning I asked him if there is anything special I need to buy or do to prepare for the snow shower. He assured me that it wouldn't be very different from the time we lived in North Carolina.

Hello. I was either pregnant or taking care of an infant then. My brain cells were slush.

Today I will go to Wal-mart and stock up on something. I just feel that I must. Maybe I'll buy up some toilet paper, water, and some pop-top soup. And cat food. Let's not forget the real necessities.

Hopefully, tomorrow you will find some great snow shower photos here on the blog. I can finally enjoy snow that sticks. (That's a real weather term, BTW.)

Cats and crabs and such.

Before I move on to the rest of my birthday, I want to show you Maggie sleeping under the tree. You could say she isn't showing her best side.

Not that she cares.

Hubs got home from work this evening, we all got dolled up, and headed to Red Lobster. Red Lobster is not usually my first choice for seafood. Once you've lived close to fresh Gulf Of Mexico seafood, The Big Red Crustacean is not your culinary choice.

But then you move to cattle country and The Big Red Crustacean becomes your only choice.

We decided a few weeks ago that Red Lobster was going to be my birthday celebration when the three of us were eating crab legs at the local Chinese buffet.

Blech.

Our daughter was tickled over the snow crab legs 'neath the red lanterns and tacky chandelier, but Hubs and I are were not inspired. However, the taste of sub par crab legs made us crave some above par crab legs. Since we can't really get above par, we went for par.

Thus, The Big Red Crustacean.

When we ordered tonight, our daughter said she wanted catfish. This child eats catfish like my Daddy and my grandmother. My grandmother weighed about 100 pounds, but she could eat catfish like a man. (Daintily of course.)

Hubs and I know how much catfish our sweet, delicate offspring can eat, so when we go out, she is allowed to order the adult portion. This is the only time we stray from the kid's menu. The mention of this always puzzles the waitress.

So, our daughter ordered the adult catfish. The waitress suggested that we go with the lunch portion because the dinner portion included two large fillets.

"No, she can have the dinner portion."

Then the waitress secretly rolled her eyes. (I'm a mom. I can see these things.)

Hubs ordered 1 1/2 pounds of snow crab legs. I ordered 1/ 1/2 pounds of King Crab legs.

You do the math.

May I also add that all three dinner orders included salad, bread and a potato.

Yes, we are pigs.

Really, if you eat crab legs, you know that there is not much meat in 1 1/2 pounds. At least, that's the lie we told ourselves.

But when you've been deprived of crustaceans dipped in butter for going on 5 months, your mind plays tricks on you.

Hubs and I shared our crab with our daughter. She ate most of her catfish, all but a few bites.

When our waitress brought the check and removed our crab shells and wet naps, I laughed and said,"Really. We didn't get enough crab."

To which she replied, "I've never seen such carnage in my life."

Can you believe that she didn't even ask if we wanted dessert?!

At least I don't look like a monkey...

Today, I turn old.

Maybe that was last year.

Seriously, I turn 38 today and I feel pretty much the same. I've spent the day decorating the house for Christmas while listening to Rush (Limbaugh, not the band.) Nothing puts you in the Yuletide spirit like a good right wing monologue.

We are going out to eat tonight. Red Lobster- the closest thing to seafood I can get here in the Land of Disenchantment.

I promise to post later. I have a few pictures of Maggie under the tree, neither of which are fuzzy and pleasant, so I guess you could say they capture her personality quite well.

So far, it's been a nice birthday. More to share, I'm sure.

To be continued...

(I totally left you hanging with the upcoming pictures of my delinquent cat. Who cares about the rest of my day.)

What I Really Want For Christmas

Everyone says I'm hard to shop for. At least, that's what my husband tells me. I tell Hubs that my close friends (and his mother) usually score right on target, so maybe, just maybe they know me well. Or they are women and great shoppers.

Really, it's a mystery.

So I decided to just make a list of what I really want for Christmas this year and every year and maybe it will make it easier on Hubs.

Ahem.

1. World Peace. Let me get that completely out of the way, so I can move on. Otherwise, I would look completely insensitive.

2. I would like for laundry to stay clean at least an hour after I fold it and put it away.

3. Someone to wash, fold and put away the laundry.

4. A permanent dust buster that cleans and repels dust forever. Forever.

5. A nap.

6. Removal of the tired eyes, saggy chin and gray hair look. Apparently, it is not in style.

7. I'd like for the greeter at Wal-mart to have a chair. She's 90. Let the woman sit down.

8. A Seinfeld marathon followed by 24 hours of A Christmas Story with Sonic commercials during the breaks.

9. Bill O'Reilly and Dennis Miller on the next Presidential ticket. (Hey, at least it makes it interesting.)

10. Diet Coke to come straight out of the tap.

11. STARBUCKS in my town. Not that I've mentioned it before or anything.

12. Donald Trump to get a haircut.

13. People to stop calling Christmas "holiday." It drives me insane.

Which leads me back to the next Presidential ticket and my last Christmas request...

14. A "We Say Merry Christmas" bumper sticker.

What say you about your Christmas wish list?

Rest, Ye Merry Big Fat Cat

My Christmas tree is snoring.

We put up the tree on Sunday. Maggie waited patiently as we brought out the dusty, old box, constructed the fake tannenbaum, then decorated it. She stood, OKAY lounged watch. Finally, our daughter wrapped the tree skirt around the bottom and Voila!

Maggie's fort.

She loves hiding under the Christmas tree. When she was a kitten, we would find her sleeping on top of the packages. She was so cute and tiny and cute and, did I mention tiny? then.

Then.

Back in the day, her cute and tiny furriness fit on top of a shirt box. Her teeny paws propped on a jewelry box. Now she's lucky if she can hoist herself up on a robe box.

Maggie, girlfriend. I feel your pain.

So now she is snoozing 'neath the tree, snoring her old lady cat heart out, dreaming of Elegant Medleys and porches void of strays. There's no box or bag or any other kind of package to be seen because I haven't wrapped a single thing. The tree skirt is her world.

I just wish she'd wear a Breathe Right strip.

The Cost of Christmas

This morning I opened my Inbox to find at least a dozen emails taunting me to click and save more money this Cyber Monday, the Monday following Black Friday.

Black Friday was branded such because it is reportedly the biggest day of the year for retailers, often the first day they are in "the black," making profits beyond what you or I could imagine. But I think, after this deplorable tragedy, Black Friday has taken on a new meaning.

It isn't often that I blog about news articles or scandals, but the death of a Wal-mart employee at the hands and feet of a mob cries out for commentary and serious thought.

If you are not familiar with the story by now, here is a summary.

A Wal-mart employee was killed while opening the store on Black Friday. He was literally trampled to death. Employees who ran to his rescue were also injured, along with customers, including an expectant mother.

When the store closed for several hours because of the tragic death, some of the customers complained.

I know what you're saying.

This is awful, sad, inhumane.

How could people be so greedy for a sale?

I would never do that.

Don't be so sure. The influence of a crowd can be powerful. This psychological phenomenon must not excuse any responsibility; it should be discussed.

Where does the responsibility fall?

On the excited mob which had been waiting for hours for the store to open?

On the retailer who markets the sale with limited quantities and doorbuster deals?

On the retail industry which continues to open their stores earlier and earlier each year, ratcheting the tension, and spurring adrenaline?

I am sure a panel of lawyers will sort it all out.

While sitting and watching the news story, reading the headline and wondering who is to blame, the person who comes to my mind is very clear.

Me.

I am the consumer.

I am the mom who wants her kid to have a good Christmas.

I am the wife who wants to save money, who tries hard to spend frugally.

I am the person who feels a rush when I find a good bargain- at 4:00 AM or 2:00 in the afternoon.

Me.

No, I wasn't part of the mob. I was at home in my bed. But, I am not very different from the people who broke down a metal door to reach a big screen TV, killing someone on their way.

What makes a person transition from bargain hunter to savage shopper? I don't know.

Is it wrong to wake up early all in the spirit of shopping fun to hope for that last Elmo? No.

We all need to save money, watch our budgets, check our checkbooks. It is the responsible thing to do. Yet, are we really shopping the crazy sales for the savings or for the rush?

I may not be able to stop an angry mob but I can be sure that I am not a part of it. In reality or in theory. I can delete the emails advertising savings on things I don't even want. Or need. I can carefully evaluate my motives for shopping a sale, and check it twice.

This Christmas Eve, after all the stores have closed and all the deals are off, we'll tuck our children into bed. We'll sit down with our spouses in the quiet and look at the decorated tree.
We'll take a moment to savor the reason we celebrate Christmas.

Odds are that next year none of us will remember what we gave or received the year before, let alone the great deals we got on the presents under the tree.

This Christmas, and the Christmas after that, we will remember the gifts that matter.

Our family. Our friends. The ones we love.

These are the gifts we value most.