Extreme weather conditions give me a chance to work on my Spanish.

Right now I am listening to the sweet sounds of laundry. The washing machine is up and running and I am keeping my fingers crossed. I planned to shop for one today but my daughter and I are catching up on things around here like just vegging out on the couch.

I'm also getting ready for what they say could be blizzard conditions. My only experience with blizzards is from Dairy Queen and Little House books. So I plan to stock up on coal, kerosene and ice cream.

And, yes, it is Spring Break. Someone please tell Al for me.

My in-laws and sweet niece are headed home today. I have to say that my in-laws are brave to fly the friendly skies with a 2 year-old. That, or they have suffered head injuries. I didn't fly anywhere with my daughter until she was old enough to read Sky Magazine, which was good because it helped Hubs relax.

Even though it has been a while since I've had a toddler in the house, it was a total joy. I had forgotten the things they do and say, the looks they give you when you've said "no," and the sweet way they take your hand just to walk into the next room.

It's just squishy sweetness.

And I'd forgotten how badly I wanted Barney to be extinct. My niece loves Barney and Baby Bop. I realized during the visit that I had never really watched Barney voluntarily. My daughter wasn't into the Purple Guy but she made up for it with Dora.

To this day I have a post traumatic stress reaction whenever I see a backpack.

I'm still waiting for the episode when CPS shows up because who on earth sends their kid out into the woods with a monkey and even expects her to pack her own bag?

Hello, Papa? Mama?

Every few episodes Abuela makes an appearance but it is only because she is waiting for Dora to bring her something. Grandma needs her pills.

The least she could do is bake some cookies.

Which reminds me that I should go and get ready for this blizzard. I need to check that we have plenty of staple foods like Diet Coke and snacks. I just might make some cookies. Unlike Abuela.

Mi Cookie es Su Cookie.

I refuse the Ma Ingalls look.

You know what's really great when you've let the laundry go for days? The washing machine stands up in defiance, shakes its agitated fist and quits.

But not until after you've washed an entire load of wash.

In the words of Bill O'Reilly, the spins stops right here.

I put a load of wash in the machine, went back to discover that they were all nice and clean but soaking wet. The spin cycle had died and gone to Maytag heaven.

So now Hubs and my father-in-law are tinkering in the garage, trying to fix it to hold us over a few days until we can take the time to buy a new washer.

Since I haven't bought a washing machine in 15 years, I'd like to know what y'all think. What do you like? Brands? Models?

Any tips? I'd love to hear!

Thanks, Internet Peeps.

While you were sleeping

So, it's 4:00 in the morning and the rest of my time zone is asleep. For whatever reason, I am fully awake. I tossed and turned, then turned and tossed until Maggie realized I was awake and she was suddenly starving.

She hadn't eaten in 4 hours, so she was totally in Survivor Mode. I figured at that point, I may as well get up or get mauled by a 12 year old cat who is declawed. And by mauled, I mean patted to death with her fuzzy paws. It can be quite frightening.

Maggie beat me to the kitchen. I gave her a dose of the highly addictive Elegant Medleys and I grabbed a Diet Coke for myself. Nothing helps you sleep like 16 oz. of caffeine. Then I unloaded the dishwasher.

Are you still here?

Really?

You can imagine what is on television right now. Really terrible news anchors, a Golden Girls marathon, and infomercials.

They are still trying to recruit people for The Hair Club for Men which is now called The Hair Club. Apparently, Gloria Steinem is still working on the feminist agenda and women have infiltrated another exclusive group.

On a completely unrelated note, we have been having a fun visit with my in-laws and niece. She is a total doll. She has played and played with my daughter. It is sweet to see them together.

It didn't take her long to start saying "dat" while pointing to the cat food bin in the laundry room. (Yes, sweetie that is where we keep Maggie's stash. Please don't narc on Aunt Mel.)

Maggie, on the other hand, has decided that when there is a toddler in the house it is best to remain hidden and to only come out for feedings. It's a lot like the zoo without all the smell.

Oh, and according to the infomercial, if I call now, I can speak to a hair therapist and learn how I can go swimming or stand in a wind tunnel and still have good hair.

I'm starting to think that The Hair Club President is not only a client, but also southern.

Friday's Fave Five: Spring, Glorious Spring!

Susanne has been graciously hosting Friday's Fave Five and I have planned on joining in for a while. Somehow Friday would come and I just wouldn't have my act together.

Imagine that.

Today is different. Not the having my act together part.

Here are five of my favorite things from this week.

1. Today is the first day of Spring which makes me just giddy. Even though Mama told me on the phone yesterday how beautiful the azaleas are in South Georgia and how, "bless my heart" I can't see them this year.

Sigh.

The good thing (see, I can see the glass half full) is that I may not be able to see the lovely things bloom but I also don't have to pressure wash my porch.

If you don't know what I'm talking about, indulge me for a moment. Pine pollen forms a blanket of yellow snow that you don't want to make a snowman with nor, ya know, eat. The only way to clean your porch is to wash it off which just makes a yellow sludge. It's lovely and wonderful for the allergies.

So, I'll avoid the pollen while in New Mexico and just enjoy the neighbor's daffodils.

2. Today is the day my in-laws and sweet niece arrive. My niece has a basket of books waiting for her, some new and some passed along, and a cuddly something for her to squeeze. That's all I'm saying because she may read this before she arrives. She's only two but she is smart as a whip.

3. Popsicles. My daughter loves them and this weather just begs for a popsicle after school. I found a new variety which I think may become a favorite- Breyer's Pure Fruit Berry Swirls.

4. Bible Study. I am part of a wonderful group of ladies meeting each week and focusing on the Word. We meet for only an hour but the study is pure "meat." No fluff. Just good stuff. We pray and lift each other up. It is great to be among women who are seeking to honor God.

5. Bunnies. I love them. Spring gives me an excuse to love them even more.

What was your week's Fave Five? Be sure to visit Susanne and share!

Morning Coffee

It was a Tuesday, my regularly scheduled morning to meet for coffee with a friend. I arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes early, filing in line behind the other customers.

I settled into my spot, looking up at the menu, the one I've memorized. I don't know why I bother to read it; I always order the same thing.

The two of them were just ahead of me, reading the blackboard menu.

Her white hair, recently styled, softly waved against her porcelain skin, a complexion so striking next to the plum-colored sweater. With glasses and squinted eyes, she considered the menu. She drew her hand to her face in a thoughtful gesture. I saw the glimmer of a diamond band. She slipped her other hand through his arm.

He leaned in close to her face and they whispered.

He wore a plaid shirt, which I am certain was freshly pressed. Thin and tall, he stood. His face was weathered from years of working in the harsh sun. He gently patted the fair hand resting on his arm.

I wondered how many times they had stood at a counter through the years. A toddler tugging her mother's skirt, a lanky teen towering over his father's shoulders.

I thought of the many things they have ordered. Sandwiches and soups for a lunch, counting coins during hard times. A scoop of ice cream on a scorching summer day. A special dinner on an anniversary.

I considered that they must know each other's likes and dislikes. She knows how he takes his tea. He knows how she likes her coffee.

The couple finally decided and a lady across the counter filled their drink order. They wrapped worn hands around Styrofoam cups, turned, and walked away.

As I watched them leave, I smiled to myself, looking forward to the many days with my own sweet husband. I hope for moments of just standing in line together, ignoring the world around us and looking to each other.

We'll stand at a counter and read a menu. I'll slip my hand through his arm and wait. He'll order my coffee and I'll fix his tea.

Irish Breakfast with sugar. Lots of sugar.

Because He Said So

"I was in traffic, the radio on, slowing down at the stoplight, when I saw something on the car in front of me. It was bumper sticker. I could just make out the words..."

Meet me over at The Internet Cafe today for a reminder about perfect peace.

He calls me his Paper Tiger.

The Unfortunate Cheese Paper Incident caused quite a stir. I received several funny comments and a few emails. I caught Hubs reading a sympathy card.

While I was out on Saturday, Nancy brought over a surprise gift. In the bag, among a few other treats, were some cute cocktail napkins. I can't photograph them well enough for you to see and read them on here. (Thus the reason Nancy also passed along her Photoshop book.)

The napkins have a cartoon of a quirky blonde bombshell which looks exactly like me (cough, cough) and a funny quote next to her.

The original quote on this napkin is,"Excuse me? Did you talk to me before I've had my coffee?"

Nancy, in her cleverness, took her very best Sharpie and wrote over the packaging for the napkin to read, "Excuse me? Did I make Hubs' lunch before I'd had my coffee?"

And, yes. I had.

Honestly, I am not fully awake until about 8:30 AM which is unfortunate for my family's lunches and for those poor saps I pass on the road on the way to school. Look out for the yawning blonde bombshell in the Honda Pilot.

Later in the week my in-laws will be visiting along with my sweet niece. My mother-in-law sent a list of my niece's favorite foods, including cheese, but only when the paper is removed.

I'm starting to think I should just buy block cheese and slice it myself.

This is what happens when you share your life's goofs on your blog.

I always knew I was cheesy.

I'm here all day. Thankyouverymuch.

Live blogging from my couch

Hubs and I are channel surfing. Well, he is surfing since he has the remote and is complete control of the entertainment situation. I have the LapTop, so we're even.

We're watching a show about the bot fly. Wish I had not eaten that Lean Cuisine Sweet and Sour Chicken.

OK. He's watching. I'm looking away.

LaLaLaLa....not looking. Not listening.

Convinced him to change the channel. What's up with the Sunday night schedule?

Now we're watching a show with cheesy entertainers. Lady dancing. Man dancing. Now there's a man sitting on a stool on a stage wearing a white paper hat.

I look at Hubs.

Hubs says,"I wonder who painted that stool? It's gonna bug me."

Changes channel again.

"We'll come back for the credits."

Join us on Saturdays when we watch Lawrence Welk.

She offers more than meat to her household.

I want to be the Proverbs 31 Woman.

I try to layeth my hands to the spindle, even though I don't own a spindle.

I try to seeketh wool, even though it makes me itch.

I riseth up while it is still night and giveth meat to my household.

This is where I fall terribly short.

Here is the email I received from Hubs yesterday:

I really appreciate you making my lunch and everything. I know it's much more than most wives do...and I don't want to seem like a picky eater, but I usually like to take the paper divider off of the cheese BEFORE I make the sandwich. Of course I can take it off after...it just makes it tougher with all the mayonnaise already on there, or I've already halfway chewed it. But you know, no big...I'll take what I can get.


I hope my own works are not known in the gates.

Or at least not in the office.


;>)

Hair Update

Even with all of your brave and creative advice, I can't do it.

I'm either trying my stylist once more or going to a different salon.

Just can't do the AWKWARD.

Not to mention hurt feelings.

Another one goes down in wimpy, salon history.

Bizzaro World At Your Local Cut And Curl

The 6 weeks period has long passed. It's time for me to make the call, carve out a few hours of my time, write it in red Sharpie on the calendar, and make sure I have the checkbook.

Time for highlights.

There's this problem. I am not exactly sure I want to go with my regular hairdresser. I've been to her several times, long enough for her to "get to know" my hair and my quirks. The hair probation period is over.

Her work has been ehhhh acceptable, sometimes even cute. Enough to justify that entry in the checkbook?

Notsomuch.

There is another stylist I know who does amazing things with hair. I've witnessed the mastery of her cosmetology training firsthand. Her cuts are sublime! Her highlights are spectacular!

The problem is her location. She's in the next station.

Yep. The Switch.

No woman has ever successfully made The Switch from her regular stylist to another stylist in the same salon.

Maybe we've had a cut or color done by someone else when our stylist was unavailable or on vacation. Maybe. Even that is cutting it close. We've claimed a hair emergency while our stylist was out. A wedding. A class reunion. A funeral. (ours)

Yet, not one woman has ever walked into a salon, said "hello," to her old stylist, and boldly sat in the chair next to them.

It is not possible.

Urban legends speak of women who have tried to make The Switch. Somewhere in the story a woman runs out of a salon crying hysterically with unprocessed hair and a trail of foils in the parking lot. It's a switch beyond George Costanza's evil devices.

So, here is my dilemma. Keep going to my stylist? Try another salon? Or become part of an unimaginable paradox and make The Switch?

George, if you're reading, I am open to any advice.

My Love/Hate Relationship With Reality TV

I realized while talking to a friend the other day, that I have issues.

Granted, I knew before that I had issues, but this conversation revealed an entirely new one to add to the long, disturbing list.

I really do not like Reality TV.

With one exception being The Amazing Race, you could name any reality TV show here and I would find something wrong with it. It gets on my nerves. It is so staged. The people are not really real.

OK. They are real in the sense they that are upright and breathing, but other than that, they are not real. Seriously, have any of the contestants on The Bachelor served as committee chairperson for the bake sale?

I don't think so.

Which is probably why none of them are married yet. (The way to a man's heart is through a good bundt cake, or something like that.)

American Idol? I can take it or leave it. I like music and love the idea of someone's dream coming true, whether they are forced to drive a Ford or drink Coca Cola for the rest of their lives or not.

Give me a good drama, a really good drama and I am stuck in front of the tube for a solid hour, or a solid two hours, if it is a special presentation. Add in a conspiracy theory, some government agents and the American flag, and you may as well just hook up that Neilson's ratings box.

I am an X Files geek. I loved Alias. I love 24. Reality TV is so fake but the Smoking Man and Jack Bauer's superhero powers are believable. Hello.

Only Days of Our Lives could top the drama. I haven't watched it in years because it is, you know, a bit on the trashy side, but Days had me hooked in college. I can't wrap my mind around people surviving on an island without Starbucks or good soap, but everyone knows the Brady family can survive anything. (That Victor is so smug!)

24, on the other hand, is starting to make me doubt my entertainment choices. I watched it this afternoon on the wonder of the DVR. I was almost as disappointed in my 40 minute investment (fast forward thru commercials) as I am in that Roth IRA I own that is in the tank.

Not disappointed enough to stop watching, mind you. But I have a few things to say.

First of all, Agent Walker is still wearing that bandage from the bullet that grazed her neck. Would someone pause during the car chase and check that wound for her? Thankyouverymuch.

The whole infiltration of The White House? Puh-lease.

My husband is going to love this- Yes, honey. I am agreeing with you. No one's cell phone ever needs charging. Ever.

And Jack? When you are chasing bad men and tazing traitors, it's OK to take off your tie. I'm just sayin.'

The only thing left to happen on 24 is for Jack Bauer to suddenly marry Marlena, revealing that he is the real Roman, unraveling yet another DiMera conspiracy.

Now that's reality TV.

Marshmallow Chic

I love drug store make-up. Always have. Well, at least since I was about 13 years old and actually allowed to wear it. First came the lip gloss, then a little blush, then a little eye make-up, and lastly foundation. And by a little eye make-up, let me remind you that I was a teen in the 80's, so technically a little was a lot.

But enough about Bonne Bell.

I was at Walgreen's yesterday checking out the Sunday circular. Lipsticks. Buy one, get one half off. You can't beat that. I bought some lovely shades of pinks and corals with names like "Born With It" and "Rose Hush."

Lipsticks always have clever names. The idea is for you to think that you will actually look like Angelina if you wear it. You're all excited when you buy it. Then you get home, put it on and realize that the new color either washes you out or makes your teeth look yellow, which forces you to run back to the store and get whitening strips and tan in a can.

It's a vicious, cosmetic conspiracy.

After I filled my little basket with falsely advertised goodies, I strolled through the Easter aisle. I've got to get a move on. Easter is over a month away. The aisle was filled with the usuals. Marshmallow chicks, hollow chocolate bunnies (the ghetto chocolate bunny), plastic grass, and those disgusting candy dispensers that mimic an animal laying a egg.

In the middle of the aisle was a display of a new kind of Easter treat- boxes of prunes. I don't know about you, but if the Easter Bunny had brought me prunes in my basket, I would have cried.

Please, people. Don't put prunes in your child's Easter basket. I don't care how healthy you are trying to be. Just add some nice granola to the jelly beans.

Besides, giving your child an entire box of prunes with the ghetto chocolate bunny is a risk you don't want to take. That's an accident just waiting to happen. There's no porta potty at the egg hunt.

On a different and much less disturbing note, I think the cosmetic companies should visit the Easter aisle to name some of their lipsticks. There are so many interesting and fun items in all the shades of Spring.

But, "Paradise Prune" isn't one of them.

Southern Family Recipes

I put on a pot of coffee this morning, rubbed my eyes and got out all of the ingredients. Cold buttermilk, Crisco shortening, White Lily self-rising flour, and Jimmy Dean bulk sausage.

It was late morning and I was still sleepy, but I'd promised my family that I would make biscuits and gravy for breakfast. By Folgers, I was going to do just that.

Sift flour, cut in shortening, pouring in cold buttermilk, gently mixing and rolling dough in my hands and carefully dropping the biscuits in the pan. I love the feeling of making biscuits, the cold sticky dough, nearly as much as I love eating them.

Slice bulk sausage (only Jimmy for me), fry and drain on a printed paper towel. Add a little flour to the leftover sausage grease, stir to make the roux and add milk. Slowly. Stir. Add two sausage patties, crumbled, to the milky gravy, simmering until nearly perfect. (If I do say so myself.)

Then I call my family, the most precious in the world to me, and we pull out our chairs, scoot up to the table to the smell of warm biscuits, hot gravy and sausage, cold butter, and sweet strawberry preserves.

Saying our blessings. Thanking God for all He's given us. Like cold buttermilk, Crisco shortening, White Lily flour, and Jimmy Dean sausage.

And all of the memories that go along with them.

What's in the bag?

TRS of Single Solitary Things tagged me for the purse meme a while back. I am so slow at these things, but alas I am posting.

The idea is to describe all the things that are in your purse. It is a good thing the meme does not ask the husbands to describe what is in their wife's purse. My husband would make up weird things that could be in there. He would never really know what is in there. He says it's scary.

I just changed purses to the pink and green Vera Bradley I bought last Spring. It has been in the 80's here in SmallTown and I needed some bright cheery colors. The winter blahs are, well, blah.

So here goes. What's in my purse-

1. My wallet. It is red. I bought a red wallet a few years ago because I was tired of searching for it in a big bag. Unless I carry a red purse or cut my hand and bleed profusely in my purse, I will always be able to find this wallet.

2. Several tubes of lipstick in the peachy, pink and reddish families. Plus, one neutral. Always Be Prepared is not just the Boy Scout motto.

3. Receipts. Lots of them. Mostly from the grocery store because the cashiers INSIST on handing me the receipt instead of putting it in the grocery bag. Of course, they are not to blame for the fact that I never clean out of my purse.

4. Monopoly game cards from the same grocery store. (We have one major chain grocery store here. I'm in a rut.)

5. Lint. I will never understand how lint gets in my purse. Where does it come from? It's not like I carry a beach towel in there.

6. Various pens which may or may not have ink in them.

7. Cover Girl compact in Creamy Natural.

8. A Kleenex. (unused.)

9. Cell phone that needs charging.

10. Trident whitening gum, peppermint flavor.

That's about it. Boring but not scary.

I was hoping I would find a money clip with hundred dollar bills but that would be in some other woman's purse. And I don't make a habit of looking in other women's purses. You could get arrested for that.

Want to play along with the purse meme? Leave a link in the comments.

I may have splinters in the windmills of my mind, but I know a seven when I see one.

Mama has a photo album filled with faded pictures of my childhood. It's an old, magnetic album purchased long before archive-quality glue and acid free paper. The pictures have been in the album so long that I wouldn't dare try to rescue them from the yellow pages for fear that they would just fall apart.

Most of those pictures capture me on the swing set or posed on the bicycle, dressed in Bug Off jeans and bright knee socks with sandals. One picture in particular is of me pretending to be one of my all-time favorite comediennes as one of her all-time best characters.

Carol Burnett as Mrs. Wiggins.

I loved Carol Burnett. I spent many afternoons after school copying her characters- Mrs. Wiggins, Stella and Eunice.

One of my favorite scenes from the show is the skit of Eunice, Mama and Ed playing Sorry, as Eunice says "a nice little parlor game." So when Hubs recently came home with a game of Sorry for our family (ours is the updated SpongeBob version!) I couldn't help but think of Eunice and her little yellow men.

Hubs didn't remember the Sorry skit for the show, so when we started to play and I'd say, "Sorrrryyyy!" and "Sliiiiiiide," he looked at me like someone had blown out my pilot light. Eventually I found the skit on YouTube and Hubs and daughter watched.

Before no time, my daughter searched for a bell in our house for us to ring during the game. Hubs started to say, "Sliiiiide" just like Ed, and I just had to laugh out loud.

I told my friend Nancy about it all over coffee this morning and promised to send her a clip of the old skit. She said that she'd really like for me to set up a video camera and record my family playing the game.

I told her that would not be as entertaining as Carol Burnett. Just odd.

And being the loving, loyal friend she is, she agreed with me.

To my sweet family, I love playing nice little parlor games with you, making memories at the coffee table. As for me influencing you into doing new weird antics and strange expressions, Sorrrryyy!

Go here to watch the first half of the Sorry Episode; look for Part 2 in the side banner.

Tired

I am a passionate person. I feel fully, give freely and commit completely. You will never wonder where I stand on an issue. If there is a choice to make, I can make it. Whether it is a paint color, new pair of shoes or a politician, I know what I like and I know what I don't like.

Unfortunately, the people around me know, too.

This may seem like a positive trait, especially to those who stand in the paint aisle for hours looking at swatches.

But it's not. Let me tell you. Having a definite opinion means that when there is an issue at hand, that opinion flames up. That passion for the cause drains every ounce of energy, mentally and physically.

It'll wear you slap out.

What I'm trying to stay is that I'm tired.

I'm tired of the news.

I'm tired of wondering where my family's savings is going. Wondering how (not if) my daughter will bear the debt of a spending spree so flippantly approved with the stroke of a pen.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of people trying to make me feel guilty for using plastic.

I'm tired of people saying I'm a bad mother for using chemicals to clean my house.

I'm tired.

I'm tired of Al Gore screaming that he's too hot.

I'm tired of watching my government completely ignore half of the country and pandering to the half that got them elected.

I'm. Tired.

So if you stop by here and I sound like my feathers are ruffled, well it's because they are.

And if you stop by and I'm not here for a day or so, it will be because I just took myself a nap, a respite from the madness.

Right after I put all my money under the mattress.

It's not what's for dinner.

Your comments about mail order meat made me laugh out loud. I never knew how fun beef could be.

The other day there was a knock at the door. I could see some sort of truck out front and a man standing on our doorstep. I usually don't open the door for strangers unless they are dressed in brown, but I could see the work truck in the street.

I opened the door and a gentleman asked me,"This is going to sound strange, but do you eat steak?"

Blank stare from me.

He pointed to a logo on his shirt and said,"I'm from insert quirky company title here. Would you like to buy some steaks?"

I completely interrupted, "I'm not interested."

"Are you sure? Steak? Fish? Chicken?" he pleaded, "it's half price."

"No thanks," I said and closed the door.

He turned and walked next door to the next unsuspecting housewife.

First the emails. Now they are trying to sell meat to me door-to-door. Really. This is getting a little creepy. Who knows what kind of E. Coli outbreak could be in the back of that truck.

Besides, my mother always taught me never to take meat from strangers.

Helping The Helpless

Nothing tugs at a Mama's heart like a sick child.

We nurse them during ear infections, stomach bugs, sore throats and knee scrapes. No matter how sick they are or how big they think they are, that helpless, needful expression on their face hurts a mother's heart.

It's the getting through it all that hurts the most. Trips to the doctor are scary. Shots are painful. Medicine tastes terrible. Fevers can sometimes be frightening.

They call for you from the couch, "Mo-mmyyy. Can I have a drink?"

We bring them a glass of water for the tenth time this hour, a cool cloth freshly rinsed, a comforting blanket or stuffed animal. Feel their forehead again and kiss their sweaty hair, counting the hours from when we last gave them their yucky medicine.

This week was one of those sick times at our house. It wasn't a really terrible sickness. No buckets by the bed or trips to the ER, but painful just the same.

One afternoon I was tucking my daughter's comfortable blanket around her, the one we call "Comfy" and delivering her favorite animal from her room, the one we call "Bunny," and it was then that I really hurt.

What if, when she looked at me with those helpless, needful eyes I could not help her? What if there were no money for a doctor or no doctor at all? What if I could do nothing, give nothing?

As her mother I shudder to think how that would feel. Although I have felt helpless at times in the face of sickness or pain, I have never been without help. I have had access to a doctor, to medicine, to warmth, to food, to water. All things I often take for granted.

I just want to give thanks for the help I do have when I feel helpless. I give thanks for Comfy and Bunny, for yucky tasting pink medicines, for long waits at the doctor's office, for painful needles, and for chicken noodle soup.

I offer a prayer for the many mothers in the world who are feeling helpless, who cannot offer anything to their child when she cries, who look into those needful eyes and have nothing to give but their love.

I pray for you. I pray for your child. I pray that help will come.

Very soon.



In these times when we are all tightening our budgets, consider reaching out to mothers around you, to children in need or to families abroad. We can help the helpless.

Ellen Sums Up The Bachelor

I'm not exactly a fan of The Bachelor. I've seen a few clips here and there but most of the time it just gets on my nerves, what with all the spaghetti strap dresses, stilettos and empty promises. Most of it just reminds me of high school and up to this point I have managed to stay out of therapy for that.

If you are a fan, do not be offended. I am sure that you do not comprehend my obsessions with Seinfeld. That's what is great about the blogosphere. We are a Melting Pot of useless television fascinations.

Yesterday I was watching Ellen DeGeneres, which is unusual because I don't normally watch Ellen. I mean, I think she is funny and quirky and did a great Dory and she is hugely popular.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.

For whatever reason, I don't normally watch Ellen but yesterday I was channel surfing. My daughter was home sick from school and napping in the other room. I was finding something quiet to do while she rested because you really can't be running the vacuum with a sick kid sleeping in the house.

Yeah. Like I would have been doing that anyway.

So I found Ellen and it was a good thing because Ellen summed up my feelings about The Bachelor and fit it into a funny monologue. Which is why she has a hit TV show and I am at home blogging about Jerry and Newman.

Go here to watch the monologue. That Ellen. She is talented.

You will get a message which reads "0 Results." The video should load in a few seconds.

WFMW: Kid's Basket

My sweet niece is coming for a visit next month. She is almost two years old. We are just tickled to death to see her.

It's been a long time since I've had a two year old, although it still feels like yesterday. One thing I remember is that they love to explore.

So we've started a little treat for my niece when she arrives. I am totally spoiling it for her mom and grandparents. Heads up, family. When you read this, shhh.... don't tell. It will be a while before my niece reads my blog because, well, she can't read. She's two.

I have a basket on hand and we are filling it with goodies just for her. (To her grandparents: Don't worry. I am aware that you will be traveling back home via airplane.)

So far, I have only a few items for the basket-

A new book
A coloring book
Something soft to cuddle

I plan to add other things like small bath toys, crayons, etc. When she arrives I'll tell her that the basket is just for her. She can dig through it and string it all over the house until her little heart is content! Did I mention that I am the cool aunt?

You could do something like this for kids of any age. It is easy and a lot of fun. (For you and the kid!)

A few ideas for older kids:

Information about your town, maybe include something about the zoo if you plan to go to the zoo
Books, activity books are great
Kid's toothbrush
Fun soaps
Bubbles
Sidewalk chalk
Jump rope
Purchase or recycle a pillowcase. Let them use paint pens to decorate.

Be sure to visit Kristen for more tips. She is our new fabulous hostess of Works For Me!

Why I Love Blogging

So blogging won't make you rich, famous or thinner. But there are a lot of things about blogging that are good, stupendous, wonderful and lots of O'Reilly words I love.

1. Blogging helps me connect with people whom I otherwise would never meet. By meet, I mean learn their blog name or their first name or their spy name and email them about things we can't blog about or other people would just judge us.

2. Blogging is the only time that I can find out that people are following me and it is completely fine.

3. To blog is to live or to live is to blog. Either way, you can use a cute/lame phrase and turn it into a post because you are smack dab in the middle of writer's block.

4. Blogging makes you believe that you could actually write something because you have at least one or maybe two people who comment and like a dozen others following you.

Yep. That could send you soaring to the top of the New York Times best seller's list.

5. If I didn't blog, my family would be inundated with plain emails without cute cow pictures and snapshots of tea and biscuits.

Snooze. Ville.

With a life like mine, graphics and fancy font really make the story seem interesting.

6. Blogging helps me to partially live out my covert Ops dream of living two lives complete with another identity and a site meter.

7. The Blogosphere is the only place you can make a list and claim it as writing. Anywhere else, it's just a list.

What about you? What do you love about blogging? And what do you not love?

Stimulating the economy one sirloin at a time.

This is what I read in my Inbox from a particular steak mail order company:

"Winter Clearance Sale: We're blowing off our freezer doors with savings"

I love a good steak like the best cowgirl, but something about mail order meat on sale just kills my appetite. Of course, I did just purchase two packs of pork chops because they were "buy one, get one free."

Even though Hubs doesn't really like pork chops because they are usually too dry. At least my pork chops are usually too dry.

In other Inbox news, I keep receiving lots of offers for free shipping. Somehow the spyware knows I live in Smalltown and 99% of everything I purchase arrives in a box on the doorstep. Free shipping. It is good.

Maybe all of the retailers are just flattering me for when I get that stimulus check.

I wonder how many jobs would be created if I ordered some winter clearance steaks. With the free shipping offers, maybe Newman would decide to work on Saturday.

Trolls

My blog friend and real friend Roxanne has written an incredible post.

Her insight amazes me. And her writing? Good stuff.

Be sure to read her post.

Norman's original painting illustrated a quirky family eating tacos.

You've seen all of the commercials encouraging families to return to the dinner table, come together around the pot roast and bond once again. After a few dinners of spaghetti leftovers, the family relationship blossoms into a beautiful Rockwell painting.

The producers of those sappy commercials never ate with us.

Our conversations are over tacos and macaroni. A typical discussion begins with homework and recess, then moves on to lessons on Hitler, Hussein and the fall of dictators. It ends with a story about how Hubs once ate an entire box of Bugles.

It's like a segment of FoxNews.

The Bugles conversation led to a discussion of gluttony which led to a question from my daughter.

"What's gluttony?"

"It's when you eat way too much of something," I offered, "like a whole box of Bugles."

"Or an entire bag of chocolate covered peanut clusters," said Hubs.

Wow. That one sure came out of nowhere.

This morning over breakfast, my daughter and I discussed her current social studies lesson. They have been learning about Ben Franklin (who is one of my favorite Americans of all time, by the way.)

She said that they learned about the many jobs of Ben Franklin. In addition to candle maker, inventor, writer and more, one job listed in the textbook was "Great American."

When tested, the class was asked to choose three of Franklin's many jobs. My daughter listed three jobs correctly on her test. She chose not to list "Great American."

She respectfully told her teacher that she believed being a great American was not really a job. It's "who you are."

Maybe our family dinners are more like Rockwell than I thought.

Tacos, Bugles and all.

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!