They say this is how Columbus stumbled on America.

Hubs and Daughter have discovered a new hobby. Geocaching. If you don't know what that is, I'll give you a brief description.


Geocaching uses Al Gore's Internet and GPS technology to help normal people like you and me find little treasures (or caches) tucked under boxwoods in city parks and inside overgrown weeds on the side of the road.

Most of the containers look like green metal thingies that could be featured on the Military Channel. Some of the items inside are pretty cool, but most of them look like the leftover items from VBS treasure boxes and really bad birthday party treat bags.


The fun is in the hunt. And in the fact that you do find that one really cool coin or toy among all the stretchy lizards and broken, miniature paddle balls.


Yesterday they decided to take me along. I have issues with being in strange places and with sticking my hand in strange containers with stranger objects, but I thought it would be fun to go along and I didn't want to be a buzz kill.

Everybody hates a mama who is a buzz kill.


Daughter told me what to wear, "The same thing you would wear to horseback- long pants and boots."


Which meant, "There may be snakes."


Thanks for the tip.


So, I went. I brought my Diet Coke for hydration and comfort. Hubs packed us all some bottled water. Daughter packed the Official Family Geocaching notebook.


Hubs brought along Nancy's portable GPS system, the kind in which you punch in the coordinates and then look at the arrow. Only you can't really look at the arrow and the road, so he had to depend on me looking at the arrow while he looked at the road.

Hubs- "Okay, where do we go next?"

Me- "S Avenue. We're on D."

Minutes later.

Me-"Oh, wait. It's SOUTH Avenue E. Not S."

Hubs- "Where to now? Right or left?"

Me- "I don't know."

Hubs- "I gotta do something here."

Me- "Okay.... left."


You have to understand that I can read a map. But I was dealing with the portable GPS, the arrow, and the Google map Hubs had printed for us which did not have all the streets on it. Streets are helpful while you are, you know, driving.

We managed to find several caches. Our first was on the side of a road where I discovered a stray cat. Hubs and Daughter continued to search for the cache while I abandoned them and went to the car for some pet food I keep stashed in the back. The cat ran off, but I left food out for him anyway.

You can see why they never invited me before.


Our second discovery was on the edge of a curb, in front of a house. According to the Geocache rules and description, we had permission to search and there was no need to go through any gates. For Paranoid Me, it was dangerously close to trespassing, so I stayed in the car.


(I can hear Nancy laughing right now.)


Our next two caches were in a park. Ok, this I can do.

As we walked, I was again distracted by an animal. This time, a prairie dog, which is not necessarily a treasure, but, according to local cowboys, is a big rat.

By the time we found the prairie dog cache, I was tired, hot and thirsty. My Diet Coke was long gone and I had slurped down two of the bottles of water, reserving the last for Daughter. I convinced Hubs to take a detour to Sonic for some necessary provisions.

We pulled in and Hubs ordered a round of limeades. Cranberry for him, strawberry for Daughter, and cherry for me. When the car hop arrived, Hubs handed Daughter her drink, then put our limeades on the console as he turned to pay.

I turned around to do something and my elbow knocked over my entire cherry limeade, spilling it all in the back floorboard.

You can imagine the trauma. I mean, I was really, really thirsty. Not to mention the HUGE CHERRY STAIN on the back floor mat.

Hubs had pulled too close to the menu board, so I was the only one who could hop out of the car. I ran around, grabbed a blanket and began to sop, hanging my feet and legs out of the car. The sweet car hop brought me another drink as I quickly cleaned up the mess with the blanket, a box of Wet Ones, and a sample of Viva paper towels.

It was very stressful.

We recovered from what will no doubt become known as the Unfortunate Cherry Limeade Incident and moved on to our last cache hunt- a multi.


A multi means you follow coordinates to find the next location, and so on. Eventually, you find the geocache at the end.

Translation- You walk in your boots for a very long time and realize these boots weren't made for walking.

There may or may not have been an incident of Hubs jumping a fence and there may or may not have been an incident of me whining about my poor, blistered, snake-protected feet. The last treasure turned out to be the best one, even if I did have to walk a sweet forever.

And by sweet, I mean the kind of sweet you find at the bottom of a Sonic cherry limeade or, in my case, the bottom of my back floorboard.

I'm so glad I didn't get the Route 44.

When texting goes horribly, horribly wrong.

On his way home from New Jersey, Hubs decided to text me his travel updates. The funny thing is, he always snickers at those husbands at baggage claim who call their wives. You know the ones. They call before they board. They call as soon as they land. They call when they get their luggage. It's really obnoxious.

However, texting the same information is not. Obnoxious. Nope. Not at all.

And denial ain't just a river in Egypt.

So anyway.

Hubs knows I worry. I realize he is perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but he also has a tendency to get lost or, at the very least, not have any cash. This is all despite the fact that I am certain that his mother taught him never to leave the house without cash. Yes, he is a grown man, but I love him dearly and worry because I love him.

Plus, I am a paranoid person and worry is in my blood, much like the butter I slather on biscuits.

On his way back home, Hubs sent me a series of text updates, in abbreviated forms. Apparently, I am not as hip as I have allowed myself to believe.

"All Aboard"- No interpretation needed.

"OTG @ DFW"- On the ground at Dallas Fort Worth.

Pretty easy, eh?

"OTP, TOTP"

Huh?

Think, think. "OTP"- On the plane...

Within minutes of his text, his mom called to see if I had heard from him. I shared the texts with her, minus the TOTP part, and that I thought he'd be home late. We talked and caught up and then I got off the phone.

My brain returned to TOTP. It was driving me nuts. Since TOTP, he had not texted me again and I was certain that he would have landed by then and surely was driving home.

I texted back.

"Where R U?"

No answer.

By now it was late and I was tired.

"TOTP"... texting on the plane?

OH. NO. Terrorist On The Plane.

My Common Sense Self kept tapping my Paranoid Self on the shoulder saying,"NO WAY. He is fine. You're nuts. You're tired. Besides, you're nuts."

But, then my Paranoid Self turned around and pepper sprayed my Common Sense Self and took over.

What do I do? Is he going to text me and ask me to call our FBI friend?

Tap, tap. SPRAY. My Common Sense Self cowered away.

FINALLY, Hubs walked in the door. He was perfectly fine. I asked him what TOTP is supposed to mean.

"Turning off the phone," he said, "I made it up."

"You can't make up acronyms without sharing them with me! Do you know what I thought it said? I thought you meant terrorist on the plane!"

"Sorry. If there had been, my text would have been 'STD."

"STD?"

"Saving The Day."

"Okay, but you may want to come up with a new one because that is not what most people think about when they hear that abbreviation."

"Oh, yeah. I guess not."

Maybe we should go back to two Dixie cups and a piece of string.

It's our love language.

Last year, Hubs gave me a new cell phone for my birthday. I may have mentioned it here a time or two, but since I'm overly informative ( I just made that up) I'll mention it again. This new phone has a real keypad instead of a telephone-style keypad so I can text without doing Calculus.

If I knew how to do Calculus.

Hubs also programmed a few ringtones for me. My ringtone for texts is the Seinfeld theme song, which is perfect since Hubs is usually the one sending me a text. My regular (is that what you call it?) ringtone is "I Think You're Crazy," which, sadly, is also perfect.

The reason I love this new phone is because now I can actually stay in touch with Hubs. When he is at work he can't have a real conversation, what with the fact that he is earning money so we can have food on the table and so Maggie can live in her posh existence. Sending a text is quick and convenient.

Hubs has been on a trip across the country. We had a death in the family and he went to be with relatives and attend the services. Daughter and I stayed home but, thanks to the wonderful world of texting, we stayed in touch.

This blog is beginning to sound like a bad AT&T commercial.

On Monday, while I was escaping SmallTown, Hubs was in New Jersey. He forgot that I was going to face The Loop in Lubbock and sent me a text.

Seinfeld began to play loudly from my purse. We were in the middle of Barnes and Noble, which is one step away from the library. I quickly hit OK and read his message.

"Who was the farthest relative at your grandmother's funeral?"

I suppose you thought he was going to tell me loved me and missed me and couldn't wait to be home. You obviously are new to this blog.

I stood there next to copies of The Borrowers and every book Beverly Cleary ever wrote while Hubs continued to text me with questions. I continued to answer, thinking to myself that I'd become one of those people who text in public. You know, middle schoolers.

All the while, people in Barnes and Noble were purchasing Seinfeld DVDs in droves with no idea why.

We arrived at the check-out counter and I handed the phone to Daughter. In hindsight, I should have turned off the phone, but instead asked her to quickly answer it if Seinfeld again began to play. I managed to pay and get out of the store before he sent me the following text.

"Caskets go for $2500. Urns are $300."

"What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not saying... I'm just sayin."

He went on to say that he could save money and hire Cyndi Lauper or Lisa Lisa to sing at my funeral who, oddly are his favorite singers from the 80's.

This is our strange way of telling each other, "I love you and times like these remind me of how precious you are."

The texts finally stopped until I was on the road home. When I stopped for gas, I read and answered the rest of them. We bantered back and forth until I wrote, "I have to drive now."

I climbed in the car and turned to Daughter as she opened the ring pop she bought inside the convenience store.

As I tucked my cell phone back in my purse, I said, "I think Daddy misses us."

Driving the last leg home, I thought about the years we have behind us, filled with Seinfeld quotes and ringtones and strange love notes that other people would find odd.

Moves across the country, romantic anniversaries, the birth of a child, silly nights on the sofa, and goofy texts at the bookstore and the gas station.

I thought about the many years I hope we have ahead of us, filled with laughter and tears and all the things that make this marriage ours.

And the fact that I'm totally hiring Rick Springfield to sing at Hubs' funeral.

Marsha, Marsha, Marsha!

Daughter and I drove to Lubbock today to escape SmallTown. The peach milkshake at Chick-Fil-A has been calling our names for weeks and it was high time we answered.

Two words about Lubbock.

The Loop.

The loop is a bypass built by nearsighted engineers who decided it would be fun to scare out-of-town drivers. Rumor has it that the locals stay off the loop because it is easier to get around town. I still have not been able to navigate around town, but today was the day I got motivated to learn.

Once you are on the loop, you have no idea which direction you are going. I have a keen sense of direction and, for me, it's like putting a feed sack over my head, spinning me around, and then asking me to pin something on a donkey. Yes, it is exactly like that. You go in circles and the whole thing makes you dizzy.

Getting on and off the loop is a whole 'nother issue. It seems that these same engineers decided it would be fun to design off ramps that you exit before you arrive at the actual road. When I want to get to Quaker, I exit at Indiana. When I want to get to Indiana, I exit in New Mexico. Oh, I kid. Sort of.

Then there's the Marsha Sharp Freeway. I had no idea who Ms. Sharp was until I Googled it. I began to imagine that she was a crazed, old woman who liked to scare small children or the mothers of small children, because that is exactly what the freeway honoring her memory does.

As it turns out, she was some kind of coach at Texas Tech and I am sure she was a lovely woman. However, this should be a lesson to us all not to let any nearsighted engineers build a road after us.

Once I am on the Marsha Sharp, I am fine. Getting there is the issue. Depending on which way I'm traveling on The Loop, I have to remember which way to exit to head in the right direction on the Marsha.

At first, I exited one way, then wound up the opposite direction. I turned around, headed back, passed a million construction barrels, and pressed on.

You see, desperate times force us to face our most dreadful fears. I faced down the Marsha with one destination in mind- New Target.

If I'm going to drive for hours through cow country and dust storms, I'm not going to any old Target. Only the new one will do. Oh, you could try to tell me that the old Target has all the same things that the new one has, but I beg to differ, friend. The new one is fresher, nicer, and it has Starbucks.

So, I conquered The Loop and The Marsha. No fear prevented this mama from finding cute flip flops attached with elastic string, Archer Farms snacks, and Circo t-shirts.

I'm wearing my seat belt and I've got my GPS on.

Bring it, nearsighted engineers.

No Fear.

Remembering Mothers

Mother's Day is almost here.

It's time for the kids to get out the crayons and make memories, for husbands to rush to the store to help them buy a gift, and for grown sons and daughters to set aside time to call Mom.

It's also a sad time for many out there who have lost a mother.

Some have lost a mother long ago. Some have recently said good-bye.

For all the sons and daughters who miss their mothers this holiday, may you hold the memories with your mother as tightly as you held those freshly picked flowers from the yard.

"Mothers hold their children's hands for a short while, but their hearts forever. "
Author Unknown

Random: Yet another list in which I write about naps.

1. What was the last thing about which you procrastinated?

Folding clothes and putting them away. The laundry basket is leering at me as I type.

2. How long does it take you to fall asleep, and do you sleep through the night?

It depends. I can usually fall asleep within 30 minutes unless I have something on my mind. I can sleep through the night if Hubs doesn't come home from work late and disturb the happenings in the house.

At some point, Maggie often sneaks up there on my feet. Somehow, she manages to not wake me up and I find her there in the morning. This is how cats steal your breath.

3. Which decade would you choose to exemplify your favorite fashion styles?

I guess the 90's. I have been so behind in fashion for so long, I don't even see the difference in the decades.

4. What is your personal best dish to feed a crowd?

Best? I don't know. I like making stuffed manicotti, enchiladas or chili for a big group. Some of my favorite dishes for my family are Chicken Georgia, pot roast, and fried chicken tenders.

5. Are you an impulse shopper? What was the last thing you bought on impulse?

Notsomuch. The only thing I may buy on impulse is a cute pair of flip flops. I hate to try on clothes and hate returning things even more, so I tend to not impulse purchase clothing. Maybe a simple t-shirt, but that's it.

6. What is one wish you have for your own funeral?

I won't know what's going on, so it won't matter. I just hope things go smoothly for my family and that Hubs remembers to write thank-you notes. Ahem.

7. If it's true that joy is in found in the simple things in life, what does your joy look like today?

It would look like a nap if I had time for one. Today is a busy day for me. On normal days, it looks like a glass of sweet tea as I sit in the glider on the porch.

8. What is your favorite type of bread?

Really good biscuits straight from the oven. I also love the bread you get before your salad comes at all the steak restaurants. You know, the little loaf on the cutting board with the huge knife.

9. What trait do you fear developing the most? (Laziness, greediness, grumpiness, etc.)

Selfishness

10. What trait would you like most to develop?

A little bit of a sense of adventure. Not TOO much. I don't want to go overboard.

11. Which room in your house best reflects your personality? Why?

My bedroom. It has my favorite furniture, beach-like bedding, a print of Charleston's Rainbow Row, and all the things that remind me of a Southern B&B.

12. How do you maintain balance in your life regarding, work, family, church, other organizations and activities, and blogging?

I don't. But I do try.

See Lid for dozens of dozens!

And I'll bet she's wearing matching shoes.

In yesterday's Random Dozen, Linda asked us about funeral preferences. In Linda's post, she said she wanted a closed casket. This reminded me of the many funerals I have attended in my lifetime.

You're probably wondering, "How many people does she know?"

Not that many.

The truth is that Mama took me with her to funerals of people I didn't know, people I kinda knew, people I was related to, people I was kinda related to, and people I kinda knew and was related to.

Daddy was often at work. You can't always get a sitter on Tuesdays at 3:00 in the afternoon. So Mama just took me with her.

My people believe in funerals. When someone dies, you go to the service and at the very least, the visitation the night before to pay respect and show sympathy to the family.

Going to funerals was normal for me. I was never afraid of dead people.

I can't believe I just typed that last sentence.

We close the casket during the funeral service, but during visitation people can come by the open casket for a viewing.

This is when dear aunts and cousins can comment on how natural you look.

"Don't she look natural?"

Looking natural is the best compliment to a dead Southern woman.

We spend our entire lives making sure we look anything but natural. We don't go to the grocery store without lipstick and we never serve company without putting on our face. But once we have left to be with the Lord, we want everyone to think we look natural.

Truthfully, how we look at our death is not a testimony to our good complexions or perfect hair. It is really a testimony to the funeral home who hired the best beautician in town to do our make-up.

However, we like to believe that looking natural at our death is the final chance to show off good grooming.

It's also a good time to force our husbands to buy us a new outfit.

That's when those sweet aunts can make the other common remark heard at funerals.

"He did a good job buying that suit. She always did look good in blue."

The Scantron and A Tutorial On Self-Defense With Pork Products

My week is starting out pretty well. We had school yesterday after a week of standardized testing. Yes, I'm a homeschool mom who puts her kid through standardized testing, even though it is not required. It is the only way for me to know how she is doing compared to others her age and grade.

I also make her clean her room on a daily basis and do the white glove test when she is done.

Not.

The truth is, Daughter enjoys standardized testing. I have a confession. I did, too. It was a break from the routine and I thought it was fun. Yes, I said FUN. You should know by now that I am a nerd.

I always did well in Reading, Social Studies, and Spelling and notsomuch in Math. (Big Surprise.) My only disappointment was that we were no sections titled "The Application Of Blue Eye Shadow" or "How To Copy All The Janet Jackson Videos" because I would have totally thrown the curve in those two.

However, I never did well in transitional paragraphs.

Last night I went to a coffee with some ladies, then out to Wal-mart. I have previously vowed to avoid Wally after dark, but sometimes schedules and empty pantries trump that vow.

I also have seen the website with photos of people at Wal-mart. I think some of it is not that kind, and maybe a little staged. I also know that I'd better be dressed appropriately when I shop or else my mug may be on the Net.

But, there I was at Wally World. I got out of the car, clutched my purse, and proceeded to use my paranoid personality to keep an eye out for any weirdos in the parking lot. (Weirdos that would be out of place.)

At one point I walked past a truck playing loud music and thought it was a teenager (the driver inside, not the truck.) It turned out to be a middle-aged gentleman waiting for his wife to buy bread. At least that's what I told myself.

The little old lady at the door greeted me and I made an effort to quickly finish my list. Thank you cards, t-shirt transfers, Smithfield ham, and two cans of Allen's green beans.

I said to the cashier,"Well, I guess you know what I'm cooking for dinner tomorrow night."

"Looks good," she said.

I quickly left and headed for the parking lot, passing the man with the loud music. I stayed alert, armed with a spiral ham in one bag and two cans of good pole beans in the other.

The evening ended without incident. No one took my purse, my spiral ham, or my picture. I was just glad I made it out of Wal-mart without ending up on the Internet.

Oh, wait. I just did.

He ain't heavy. He's my ladder.

The entire month of April has been busy. I was going to start out saying just this week, but I like to keep it real.

I've been in the midst of a project with a great group of ladies. The details are unimportant because this post is really about Hubs and me. I will say that part of the project has involved painting and part of the painting has involved ladders.

Last weekend three of us were painting when we realized that we only had two ladders. We could really use a third to knock out some of the work. So, I called Hubs.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"Could you bring me the ladder?"

"Sure."

"And my two glue guns?"

"Yep."

So I met him outside the building, retrieved the ladder and glue guns, then headed back to our project.

Let me tell you about something about Hubs.

When he buys something, it is for function. No form. Function. The tool or gadget does not need bells and whistles but, if it does have a bell or a whistle, you'd better believe they are made from titanium alloy or stainless steel. His structural standards make Craftsman's warranty look pitiful.

This ladder of ours is no ordinary painter's ladder. It extends and contorts into every kind of ladder you could possibly need. It is heavy, durable, and could withstand gale force winds, which seems to be a really good measure of sound construction. (Not that I'd be on a ladder during gale force winds, but I'm just sayin.')

Under normal circumstances, that's a good thing. Under my circumstances, not so much. I had to carry this ladder for, I don't know, a mile or two (maybe I'm stretching it) on one shoulder while carrying a tote bag of glue guns on the other. It wasn't really heavy, just cumbersome.

Hindsight would urge my independent self to have Hubs carry the ladder, but hindsight is a lot like return labels on mail- completely useless.

I managed to carry the ladder and use it, then carry it back to my car when we were all finished. Fast forward to last night when I noticed the small bruises on my arm and shoulder.

Bruises from a ladder that didn't even fall on me.

I said to Hubs, "Look at my arm. Look at the bruises from that awful ladder of yours."

He said in his usual, caring tone, "Yep. You learned a valuable lesson that day."

"Yeah, don't call your husband and ask him to bring you his ladder."

"Yep."

"Yep."

Nearly sixteen years of marriage and he still knows how to show me he cares.

Random Dozen: Lost and Found

I've never been more thankful for Lid's random than today. I have not a smidgen of creativity in my bones this morning. Evident by the fact I just used the word "smidgen."

1. Have you ever been so lost that you were really afraid?

No. I lost my mom in the grocery store once, but I knew she was looking for me. She found me and I was much better. I'm sure she gave me a good talking to because I never wandered off again, except for hiding in the racks at JCPenney. Ahem.

2. Have you ever been to an island?

Yes. St. Simon's, Jekyl, and the Outer Banks (technically an island.) I've also been to Crab Island in Destin which is not technically an island. It's a sand bar where people hang out and swim and dodge the jellyfish.


3. Are you more of a thinker or feeler?

Thinker. I have feelings, promise. But I tend to analyze and pick things apart. After overhearing Lost on TV last night while I was helping someone paint (long story) I have decided that I must rent the entire collection and catch up. Yes, I'm just a few seasons behind and realize it is almost over. It just reminded me of all the subtle and profound analogies of X Files, which I LOVED.

So there.

I'm a thinker.

4. Do you tend to see issues or situations in life as black and white or shades of gray?

Black and white on moral issues. Shades of gray otherwise. Goes back to my analytical mind.

5. If you were stuck on an island, what book would you hope to have with you (Let's pretend the Bible is already there, so you can't say that.)
I'm gonna go with the obvious and say a book on survival. Call me boring. You can go ahead and read Pilgrim's Progress or Emma over and over while I learn how to start a fire and skin a rabbit.
6. What are you most afraid of?

Failure. This is a loaded question.

7. Would you rather lose all of your old memories or never be able to make new ones?

Never be able to make new ones. I think it would be sad for my family if I could not remember things from the past, especially for Daughter.
8. Pretend I'm looking at a scrapbook page about you. There are three spaces for you to drop in individual pictures. What are those pictures of, and why did you select them?

One picture of me with a book bag headed for school- Mama always took one of these on my first day of school. It says a lot about me. I love to learn and loved school (not jr. high or high school, blech.)

A photo of me and my family. They mean the world to me.

A picture of Maggie- See archives. To say I'm a cat person is an understatement. (I think that understatement phrase is overused, but I am too tired to come up with something new.)

9. If you were re-doing your wedding, what would you do differently? (If you're single, tell me one thing you would do if you were planning a wedding OR huge party.)

Honestly, I wouldn't change a lot. I'd take more pictures outside of the place we had our reception because years later it was torn down.

10. Tell me one thing you know/believe about forgiveness.
It is easier to forgive someone than to forgive yourself.
11. You're waiting in a doctor's office. What is your favorite way to pass that time?
Make notes for the blog or the one-day book!
12. If there were a clone of you in a parallel universe what is one way you hope she/he would be the same as you and one way you hope she/he would be better?
I hope she will send people real cards. It's something I've tired to continue because I think it's a lost art. (See, I worked in the theme, Lid.)

I hope she is not as uptight as me and weighs her ideal weight. If not, I hope she looks at herself in the mirror and loves what she sees anyway.



Whew. Lid, that was deep.

Tots and Dreams

Do you know what I wish I could do?

I wish that I could finally figure out how to correctly pull up to the Sonic drive-in.

If I pull up too far, I can't reach the red button. If I don't pull up far enough, the cute little car hop can't reach my window to hand me my corn dog.

She always gives me that look, too.

No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to figure out how to park correctly.

These are things I think about in life.

What about you?

What do you wish you could do?

If you know how to order at Sonic, please leave me detailed instructions in the Comments.

These are a few of my favorite links.

Favorite links this week from two of my favorite bloggers.

Arabs, Russians, and a Hookah Bar- Carpool Queen's Blog

Proudly announcing the arrival of...- It be's that way sometimes.

Horse Highlights

Daughter always looks forward to Wednesdays. Wednesdays equals horseback riding. When weather forces us to cancel, she is always disappointed. Wednesday afternoon is her favorite part of the week.

Yesterday we arrived at the barn earlier than Nancy and her daughter, C. Daughter caught her horse, prepared to ride, then headed to the arena.

The three of us arrived at the arena. Our instructor made sure Daughter was safely on, then left to help Nancy and C get ready.

She turned to me and said,"Okay, mom. You're in charge."

"That's scary, but alright," I said with a wink.

Our instructor walked the short distance back to the barn and I sat on the little stool as Daughter rode. As soon as she gets on the horse, she is in her own world. She listens for instruction, but everything else is shut out.

As she walked her horse around the arena, I watched. And listened. I have no idea what she was saying, but she was sharing something incredible with her horse. I could hear the emotion, the giggles, and the inflections in her voice. With every step, she shared something else. The horse's ears turned and listened as my daughter rode.

It reminded me of my visits to the hairdresser. I share my life's moments as she wraps my hair in foil. After she's done wonders, she shampoos and I keep talking. My hairdresser wraps my head in a towel and I plop down in the chair, where I chatter away as she reveals those necessary highlights.

Most hairdressers are patient with us as we tell them everything, but the truth is, they are tired. They really would like to work in peace in quiet. I'm probably the tenth customer of the day who shares her life.

Horses are different. They prick their ears and walk or trot or lope along. They listen intently as they work, capturing a moment with the rider who loves them.

Of course, I love my hairdresser. Who else could work miracles with this hair of mine? But nothing compares to the love a girl has for her horse.

No highlights could ever trump that.

In Sympathy

Please visit Linda today.

Her sweet friend, Diane, has gone on to be with the Lord after a battle with cancer.

Linda has written a beautiful tribute to her friend.

On The Menu

The last few days have been busy.

I delivered a meal to a new mom, baked a cake for a nurses' staff, helped serve at a food booth, made a casserole for a potluck, decorated tables, and hosted a dinner for homeschool moms.

Noticing a theme?

Food. I believe it is the best theme ever.

I only have one more thing to add. Mr. Pyrex, I love you.

Later I'll share pictures of the cutest dessert I made for a new big brother.

How is your week going?

Friday's Fav Five- Dixie and Yankees

Thanks for hosting the Fav Five this week, Susanne! Here are mine for the week.

1. This video clip from Designing Women- I recently mentioned Julia Sugarbaker. The clip about crazy people in the South is one of my favorite scenes. It makes me laugh because it is so true.

After my post last week, I learned that Dixie Carter who played Julia for so many years had passed away. Here's to Dixie and her spot-on portrayal of so many strong southern women!

2. Yankee Candles- When spring arrives, I love to buy new candles for the house. Some of my favorites for this time of year are Clean Cotton and Sun and Sand. (Hubs calls them flavors, not scents, which always cracks me up.)

FCC stuff- Yankee did not ask me to say that, nor have they sent me any free candles. Now that we've covered the legal nonsense, let's move on.

3. The casserole- I believe the casserole was created by some tired soul who had to make a meal for a large group of people and couldn't decide on a menu. Then she thought to herself,"I know just the thing! I'll just dump it all together, stir in some creamofsomethingsoup and top it with Ritz crackers!"

Thank you, m'am. You are a life saver.

4. Bible Study- If you are not in one, find one. You will be amazed at the friends you can make and the incredible things you learn when consistently in a small group. Each and every time I am involved in one, I learn something new that greatly affects my life.

5. Spring skirts- I love wearing a skirt in spring. They are so comfortable and just make me happy. I just need to work on my fake tan so I don't blind small dogs while walking down the street.


If you are wondering about my own family in relation to number one, the answer is both. :>)

Be sure to check Susanne's blog for more favs!

Good Horse Sense

I grew up hearing all kinds of odd sayings. Of course, I had no idea they were odd. To me, they were perfectly normal.

It took marrying Hubs to learn that not everyone says things like,"Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth," or "You can get glad in the same pants you got mad in," or how about "He's a good egg."

The butter phrase is one of his favorites, by the way. I used to think it was because he found it clever. Now I know it is just because he loves butter.

Over the years, I've explained a lot of words and phrases to Hubs, or at least I've tried. He pretends to make fun of me a little, but I like to say he is channeling his third grade boyish charm in an effort to show he likes me. I just hope he doesn't give me a toad for my birthday.

There's one phrase Mama used that is fairly common- measuring a person's intelligence to that of a horse, "using good horse sense."

Whenever a person would do something not-so-bright (the Southerner's nice way of saying you're being an idiot,) Mama said,"Well, he doesn't have good horse sense!"

My sheltered self had no idea the magnitude of that statement. I'd never been around horses and I certainly had never given one an IQ test.

The weather here in SmallTown is schizophrenic. One minute it's nice and sunny, the next it's Sybil.

Every Wednesday, Nancy and I watch the forecast to see if we will have horseback riding lessons. Our instructor does the same. Some days it is obviously a day to cancel early in the morning. Other days we've had to cancel on our way there.

Yesterday all three of us were watching the weather. Nancy was watching the skies, I was watching the forecast, and our instructor was watching the radar images. If this horseback stuff doesn't work out, we could all work for The Weather Channel.

A stormy morning turned into a sunny afternoon. Horseback lessons were on.

When we arrived there was a nice breeze. The girls didn't even need a jacket. They tacked up and headed to the arena. Within minutes, the wind blew in clouds and cool weather. The three of us sat there and watched the girls on their horses underneath an unpredictable sky.

It was unanimous. We'd let them ride as long as the weather was decent, or as long as they could stand it.

The horses' behavior indicated the change in the air. Ears turned, lips twitched. The girls kept riding as it began to drizzle.

Their instructor asked the girls several times if they wanted to quit. They declined.

Because of their good training, the horses continued to work as commanded, but with a little protest. They changed direction on their own to keep the rain at their backs.

And they trotted by our instructor with the most hilarious expressions.

As the drizzle became a light rain, the girls kept riding. Each time they passed their instructor, the horses gave a new look.

"Hello, do you know it's raining?"

"Ahem, are we done yet?"

"Who is this kid you put on me who continues to ride in the rain?"

The three of us just laughed. Although, we should have been the last ones laughing because none of us had a jacket or a real hat.

Finally, the instructor called it and we all headed to the barn. I was proud of our girls for toughing it out.

The girls enjoyed their ride in the light rain. It was a new experience for them in riding and in horse behaviors. They put away their tack and brushed their horses as we looked on.

I stood in the barn, in my damp shirt and muddy boots, realizing the true intelligence of horses and the real meaning of another popular phrase.

As Mama would say, "Some people don't have enough sense to get out of the rain."

Observations from the Couch

What you may have overheard at our house last night:

Sound of me typing on the laptop. Seinfeld re-run playing in the background.

Hubs- "You know, Mike and Ikes are genius because you have the Mike and Ike in the same box."

Sound of my brain cells trying to comprehend, followed by the sound of me typing on the laptop.

Hubs- "Did you know that if you need your teeth permanently altered that it has to be done by the dentist? The hygienist can't do it?"

Me- "What does that have to do with anything?"

Hubs- "Nothing. You just may need to know that if you have your teeth permanently altered."

Sound of me typing all the nonsense on the laptop mixed with the shaking noise of a box of Mike and Ikes.

And the faint cries of a dental hygienist off in the distance.

Tomorrow we discuss the complex nature of the doctor/nurse relationship and why neither of us likes Raisinettes.

Trans Fats and The Nervous Digestive Habits of the Equine

I don't know about y'all, but I don't want any more ham for a while. We ate leftovers until my sodium count reached near Dead Sea levels. On Monday afternoon, I had a migraine and realized it must be due to the nitrates.

At that painful moment I said, "That's it! I'm switching to the original white meat!"

Let me point out that I am not giving up ham completely. I am just going for smaller portions of the preservative-filled meat. Ham is a necessary part of my Southern diet. What else could I cook my vegetables with?

Don't tell me EVOO. I can use olive oil now and then, but good pole beans require a ham hock.

But, I know you didn't come here to read about my pork product preferences.

Our week has been fairly routine. We've homeschooled, gone to Bible study, and had horseback riding lessons.

This week Nancy was not feeling well, so I took her daughter and mine to riding lessons. Both girls have taken lessons for nearly a year, so all I had to do was surpervise.

However, there must have been something in the air, because both horses decided to do their business in the barn. These lessons are real lessons in caring for horses, so when your horse goes, you have to clean it up.

I'm suddenly understanding why I never took horseback riding lessons.

Daughter and C took turns with the pitch fork and literally pitched it. Neither complained really, which shows me they are much more mature than I am.

All the while Nancy was at home, leisurely lounging on the sofa with a stomach bug or something.

After the girls' lessons, we headed for Sonic. It has become our weekly routine. Daughter loves the root beer float and C goes for a Reese's Blast.

Nancy and I pretend to go for the girls, but the truth is I love the cherry limeade chillers and she loves the tots. She has been much more health concious lately, opting for a Diet Somethingover.

I'll bet she uses EVOO.

Which shows me she is much more mature than I am.

Hope you are feeling better Nanc. :>)

Random Dozen: Elmer's Glue and Designing Women

Here are Linda's questions for the week.

1. Define a great relationship.
Nothing like starting out with the easy questions, Linda.
I think a great relationship, whether friendly or romantic, requires loving honesty, trust, loyalty, common values, and some common interests. I am blessed enough to have two wonderful friends who fit this description and an awesome husband.

2. Why is it called a "drive-through" if you have to stop? (Real question: What was the last food/drink you purchased at a drive-through?)
It really should be called a "drive around," now that you mention it, Lid. I bought Daughter a Frosty, fries and chicken nuggets from Wendy's.

3. As I type this, the Butler Bulldogs are getting ready to play in the NCAA championship game. Every Hoosier is hysterical about this except me. So in honor of the Bulldogs ... what is your favorite breed of dog? (I tried.)
I was so glad to see you weren't going with a sports question. We know how much I love sports. Ahem.
My favorite breed would have to be the beagle. I just love them. In all honesty, I love the mutt in the pound who needs a home. I really love his little nose pressed against the chain link gate.

4. If you had to move to a state besides the one you currently live in, where would you move?
This one is obvious.
Florida
South Carolina runs a close second. I love the low country.
Notice both offer wonderful beaches and fabulous seafood.

5. If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?
I honestly can't think of anything. I have great parents.
As for what I would change about myself, I would not have squirted the glue in my hair in Kindergarten. I would also love to go back to first grade and punch that kid who picked on me on the playground.
Did I mention that my parents were faithful in taking me to Sunday School?

6. Who's the funniest person you know?
My husband. His humor is part of what attracted me to him. That and his blue eyes. We can sit on the sofa and laugh with each other about anything. We can make stuff up as we go along and just laugh. When people visit they look at us strangely.

I've told him that one day we will end up in a home and the staff will think we have dementia, not knowing it will be perfectly normal.

7. Did you get enough sleep last night?
No. The last time I got enough sleep I was about 5 years old.

8. What's the first thing you thought about this morning?
I'm sleepy.

9. Grilled or Fried? --HONESTLY
FRIED.
Unless it is amberjack, and then GRILLED.
My food preferences are always in CAPS LOCK.
(I'm glad Lid gets my subtle, punctuational humor. Not even sure punctuational is a word.)

10. Are you afraid of the dark?
No, but I'm afraid of flashlights.
Kidding.


11.When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?
When I was in the 4th grade I wanted to be a dental hygienist. Then I realized what they had to do most of the day and that the dentist really made the cash. I decided to be a dentist.
At some point in high school, I wanted to be an interior designer. I blame Julia Sugarbaker.

12. If you had one word to describe yourself , what would you choose?
Square Peg
That's two words, so I'll go with one.
Square

See Linda for more rockin' random dozens. Thanks for the great questions this week, Lid!

Lycra, Spring Fever, and Ibuprofen

Spring has officially arrived and I am itching to go to the beach. The only thing holding me back is my pasty white complexion and, well, there's the added problem that the closest beach is hundreds of miles away.

I'm also a little biased about beaches. If I'm going to spend good money on fake tanning and plane tickets, I want to go to the Gulf Coast. Florida's gulf coast, specifically. We plan to go to the beach this summer, so I have to be patient.

Each time I Google or check the weather, there is list posted in the sidebar of the country's top beaches.

Now the Internet is just trying to hurt me.

The thing is, a trip to the beach means I will be buying a swimsuit. Swimsuits are not what I care to think about right now. My diet routine has consisted of bad lemonade cake and Diet Coke, and my work-out routine involves me walking back and forth from the hamper to the laundry room.

It's very effective.

You can see that I am torn between my dreams of emerald waters and my fear of clingy fabric and fluorescent lighting. My psychological health is very fragile.

If you'll excuse me, I need to run (not actually run) to Wal-mart for a supply of tan-in-a-tube, cellulite cream, and a Fromer's Guide To Florida.

Maybe I'll just get a new pair of flip flops and some Extra Strength Tylenol.

sigh

Holiday traditions and really bad poetry

When I was little I made a card for Mama which read, "It may be Easter, but I don't love you any leaster."

Clearly my writing skills were beginning to emerge.

Our Easter morning began with Daughter opening her Easter basket. She showed us all the goodies in her basket. Then she grabbed her stuffed lamb (as in plush, not rack of), and then scurried away to her room sporting a huge grin. Hubs and I love to see her scurry away- a sprint down the hall or to her room with the look of mischief or delight on her face. It reminds us of the joys of childhood.

After church, I finished cooking our Easter dinner. On Saturday, I cooked a ham, boiled eggs for deviled eggs, and prepared a hashbrown casserole. All I had to do was warm the ham, finish making the eggs, and bake the casserole. I also steamed some broccoli, but I don't really count it as cooking.

I had planned to make sweet potato biscuits. As soon as I read all the steps, I decided to make my plain biscuits. I was too tired and did not want to take the chance at a new recipe. (The plain ones were quite tasty, by the way.)

For dessert, we had a pink lemonade cake. I don't usually bake, so making cakes is tricky for me. Give me a main dish or a roast to make any day. Make me measure baking powder exactly and I start to twitch. The cake turned out pretty good, not great. We ate it. (Hey, it's cake.)

Hubs cleaned the kitchen. Bless his heart. I took a nap- a long, pull the covers over my head, nap. It was nearly as good as the biscuits.

In the evening we colored eggs. Hubs, Daughter and I sat at the kitchen table dipping eggs in coffee cups filled with food coloring, and swirling eggs in little bags. It was fun and Hubs will be eating eggs for lunch for the rest of the week.

My grandmother loved to color eggs. I remember coloring eggs with her and then finding them later during an egg hunt in the yard. We didn't hide plastic eggs. We hid real ones and then ate them later. In the South Georgia heat. No one died.

We would come inside the house, and sit down at the kitchen table with our baskets. Mama helped me peel my eggs. I always put a little salt on them. Granny or Mama always made pound cake for Easter and after we had our eggs, we'd each have a slice. Then Granny would eat one potato chip to cut the sweet.

That's right. Boiled eggs, pound cake, and potato chips. An odd combination. But every time I peel an Easter egg and see where the coloring seeped through and colored it pink or yellow or green, I think of Granny. I sprinkle a little salt and take a bite, remembering Easter at Granny's table.

Next year, we're having pound cake for Easter.

And one potato chip for each of us.

Falling Asleep

I logged on here to write and realized I hadn't written anything since Monday. And that wasn't even a real post.

It has been a busy week for me.

Sunday night our oven died. The element burned out. Fortunately for us, we are renters right now and all I had to do was call the landlord and wait for the repair, instead of taking care of it ourselves.

Tuesday, an appliance repairman came to check out the oven and then order a part. Unfortunately for us, we are renters right now and I have to wait on the repair, instead of taking care of it ourselves.

The stovetop works just fine, so we've had stovetop friendly dinners. (We sooo should have had Stovetop stuffing just for the irony of it. Why didn't I think of that? Maybe it's because I don't like Stovetop stuffing.)

Each day has had something going. Bible study, horseback riding lessons, meetings, homeschool, trips to UPS. I still need to plan my Easter menu (the oven will be repaired by then,) and hopefully find time to search for an Easter dress.

And it's only Thursday.

Our day is winding down. We just finished dinner, a stovetop friendly meal of tacos. My feet hurt a little. My back aches from traipsing through Wal-mart and standing in the kitchen. Here I am online.

Thursday.

Tonight is the night they came for Him.

It's the night He asked the disciples to pray. They fell asleep. I've often criticized them for that. All Jesus asked was for them to pray. How could they fall asleep? Couldn't they pay attention? It wasn't much for Him to ask.

Yet, here I am online and it's Thursday.

I'm tired. I ache. I have things to do. I don't have a dress. I don't have a working oven.

My Lord has asked me to pray.

Logging off...

Monday Montage

1. Our weekend began with A Mighty Wind blowing dust and debris across SmallTown. I've never lived in a place with so much wind. I thought it only existed in Chicago and Oklahoma.

Before Hubs and I got married, he worked in Oklahoma for a while. We had not seen each other in months and my heart began to break a little. I planned a trip to see him, my first plane ride, alone. I did everything a girl does to get ready to see the love of her life. I packed new outfits, some Immodium for the nerves, and went to the beauty shop.

When I told my hairdresser where I was going, she warned me about the wind. She offered to sell me the best hairspray she had. I declined, then later regretted it.

When we got married, I went back and bought a can. I don't recall the name, but it was the strongest hairspray known to man, the kind they wear in the Miss America Pageant.

My hairdresser warned me, "You won't be able to brush it out. You'll have to wash it out."

She was right. As we left the reception, people pelted birdseed at us, and I could not even rake it out with my fingers. The birdseed settled deep in the hot-rolled curls of my hair. I was a perfect attraction for the local crows but my hair never looked more fabulous. (Oh, and a good shampoo of Pantene removed the hairspray and the seeds.)

Back to the wind.

I could use some of that spray.

2. On Saturday we went to an Easter Party and Egg Hunt. Daughter is older now, so she doesn't usually participate in the hunts anymore. We enjoyed watching the little kids run towards the eggs and bring them back to show their moms.

A sweet volunteer dressed as the Easter Bunny. She looked precious, except for the fact that the headpiece was so heavy that she had to hold it with her hand. At one point, it nearly slid off during a photo with a child. She quickly held the mouth and Hubs said,"Oh, no! The Easter Bunny is gonna pewk!" (Fortunately, the children ignored his comments or else the entire room of toddlers would be in therapy this morning.)

3. After the party we went for tacos at our favorite Mexican restaurant, one of the perks of living in SmallTown. When we got home, I was wiped out and took a nap. All of the excitement of traumatized kids and queso just did me in.

4. Sunday was church, a one-hour wait at Walgreens' pharmacy (get ready 1-800 Number,) more naps, a meeting, and my weekly trip to the grocery store.

My weekend was not as thrilling as nuclear-powered hairspray, but it'll do.

How about you?

More on directions and thoughts about spring

After the comments from yesterday's post, I am convinced that I should design a new GPS system channeling every Southern mama out there. I'd probably go out of business pretty quickly. We'd all be lost or really late, but at least we'd be laughing.

When I do design it, I think I may add one more function- the Southern daddy version. The directions would be in the same format (random stream of consciousness) but the landmarks would include filling stations and good fishing spots. It would also tell you whether or not you'd make good time.

Now, on to spring.

We had snow- SNOW- here last night. It looks like a light dust of powdered sugar and is melting today. Earlier this week we were wearing short sleeves.

What's up with the weather? I'm starting to think there's a guy in a beret up there in the dome totally messing around with the controls.

I hope he doesn't give out directions.

If My Garmin Had A Southern Accent

I wrote a post reviewing our weekend and nearly fell asleep while proofreading it. Since it's already Tuesday and most people are making plans for their next weekend, I'll just scrap my summary of our last weekend, which could pretty much be summed up in one word.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

So, that's not really a word.

Let's move on.

Last week, a friend and I visited a new mom we know. I had printed out a map, thinking I knew exactly where I was going. We found what we thought was the street, counted down the blocks as I drove, only to find ourselves at a dead end and completely out of house numbers.

My GPS wasn't plugged in, and since I am not a multi-tasking driver (except for lipstick applications), my friend got directions the old-fashioned way. She called someone and asked.

Fortunately for us, the person we called knew exactly where the mom lived and gave us excellent directions. It also appears that there are two streets in SmallTown by the same name. Fun for the pizza guy.

I was telling Hubs the story the other day and we started explaining to Daughter about how Southern people give directions.

It got me thinking. What if the voice on your car's GPS was that of a Southern lady?

Her instructions may go something like this-

Honey, I'm terrible with directions. I'll have to give you directions from my house, since that's the way I would normally go. You know how to get to my house, right? Y'all came to the Sunday School Christmas party last year, although that was at night, and if you're like me, I'm terrible with directions in the dark. Plus, I don't drive at night since I had my cataract surgery.

So, you'll have to bear with me while I try to give you directions from my place. Okay, you pull out of my drive like you're going to Winn Dixie, but then you turn before you get to the stoplight. I think you turn left at the light. You'll have to sit there a sweet forever because that light is so long, and don't go when school is getting out or the speed limit is 25, and that crossing guard will shake her finger at you. You know, she has been a crossing guard for nearly thirty years? She really should retire because the arthritis has been giving her fits.

Turn there at the light and go past the Cut 'N Curl until you see the pretty yellow house with the black shutters. That's Louise's house. This time of year she has the prettiest bedding plants, but I don't think she's planted any yet, you know, because of the weather we've been having.

When you pull into her driveway, be sure not to park near the old tree. She lets her dog go over there and one time I got out of the car and stepped in something awful and ruined my good shoes I got from Steinmarts. They were on sale, too.

When you see her, tell her I said,"hello" and ask her how her mama's doing.

What's that?

You need directions to Gladys' house?

Oh, I have no idea how to get to her house, but I heard she's already planted her bedding plants and you know they're going to be ruined with this weather we've been having.

And she doesn't have a dog.

Thanks, Congress.

I started to sit down and actually write a post.

Then I decided to just deem it written.

Why didn't I think of this before?

This is so much easier!

You're welcome.

Training For The Gold

She had spent years preparing for this moment. Hours and hours of practice, days of disappointment, followed by nights of fatigue and sore muscles...

Join me for the rest of her story at the Cafe!

Armchair Detectives

This morning while watching Huckleberry Hound:

"You know we never see Clementine," I said to Daughter.

"Huh?" she answered.

"He keeps singing about her and looking for her."

"I think in one show they show a picture of her."

"It's so sad. He never finds her."

"You think he'd find her. Her shoe size is number 9."

Strikes and Mrs.

Last week I got an email from Hubs that said," Want to meet me after work at the bowling alley and bowl and we can have bowling alley food for chow?"

To which I replied," Why are you going bowling?"

"It's my bowling night. And could you bring my bowling shirt? Oh, and could you go buy me a bowling shirt? Not really. Just thought it would be something fun for us to do."

"Okay. But only if you let me use the bowling ball that says 'Homer."

So, it was a deal.

Our family hasn't been bowling in years. We have taken Daughter bowling several times and we always enjoy it.

I didn't bowl as a kid. Mama and Daddy didn't bowl. I think it was a Southern thing. Plus, the bowling alleys in the town where I grew up were not necessarily where ladies and gentlemen went on a Saturday night. I suppose the bowling alleys were one step up from the pool halls, but it was a tiny, sticky, gum-covered step.

These days you can find a family friendly bowling alley. There are still those that are, shall we say, shady? They are usually easy to spot. The snack bar is really just a bar, neon signs are brighter than the lighting in the restrooms, and a woman in a tight t-shirt checks out your shoes and oddly, she's run out of Lysol.

We met Hubs after work and headed over to the bowling alley. I was pleased to see families there, instead of people with names like "Stan" or "Helga." No one was using any bad language or sporting any obscene tattoos, except for that preschooler on lane five.

Bowling alley food can be quite tasty. And cheap. That's a combo you can't pass up (like the cheeseburger and curly fries.) After our dinner of greasy grill goodness, we selected our bowling shoes and balls.

I have never understood how to select a bowling ball. I always just stand there at the little ball holder, picking them up, putting them down, until I choose the best one, which is usually based on color instead of weight.

My goal is to choose a color I love while selecting a ball that will not break my wrist. I find it works well.

All through the night, Daughter and I double teamed Hubs. Our goal was to beat him, either of us, both of us. It didn't matter. We let Daughter use the bumpers, so at one point she won a game.

Let me clarify. Hubs' and my only handicaps were that we didn't have the bumpers.

Ahem.

Hubs won the other games. At one point we were neck and neck and I thought I may win. I made a few strikes, quite a few spares, and we won't mention the number of gutter balls.

Hubs added the scores and decided that our team's total score for the whole night may be a perfect score of 300.

We played four games.

Over the weekend I told Hubs we should make it a monthly family outing. It was a lot of fun.

At last I've found a sport that I can compete with Hubs on a level playing field. To his credit, he does have a bad knee.

To my credit, I ate too many curly fries.

I wonder if Erma ever had to bathe a cat.

Maggie has been in need of a bath for some time now. That things she does with her tongue just isn't cutting it.

I am the only one who bathes Maggie. I don't know how it happened, but when the Cat Bather assignment was given out, Hubs was off to the teacher's lounge making copies on the mimeograph machine.

I've given Maggie baths since she was a kitten, so you would think by now that she knows she isn't going to drown or die or be tortured. She could easily stand there nicely in the tub and wait patiently as I remove the stink from her fur.

But, then again, we're talking about Maggie.

So she stands there in the tub (and by stand I mean tries to escape continually) and moans and cries so as to alert the neighbors that she is drowning or dying or being tortured. Fortunately for us, all of our neighbors either listen to loud music,aren't home, or just figure the noise is part of our weirdness.

I've been putting it off for a while. It's cold. It's Maggie. Last night I stopped procrastinating. Maggie needed a bath and she has been sporting an Alfalfa at the base of her tail that would make Darla scream.

How does a cat get an Alfalfa?

Anyway.

I filled the tub with warm water, got out the sweet-scented, hairball-reducing shampoo, stacked some towels, and scooped up Maggie from her usual spot- the sofa. As soon as I turned the corner towards our bedroom, she began to wail. She may be old and stinky, but she's not stupid.

I plopped her in the tub and commenced to bathing. And praying. And wondering why in the world Hubs went back to the shelter to get her. In record time, she was clean and I was soaking wet.

Maggie's yellow eyes stared me down with disdain as I wrapped her in an old towel. I put her on the bathroom counter and gave her a quick blow dry. At one point she looked at herself in the mirror. She was not amused.

Once she was nearly dry, I let her down and she plodded away in disgust. She moped and snubbed me for at least an hour.

I can't wait to see what I find later on the rug.

Oh, and Hubs, you may want to get a new toothbrush. It was resting on the bathroom counter during Maggie's beauty treatment.

I cannot be responsible for Maggie's actions during that split second I had to turn my back.

Lid's Random Dozen- Plinko

Head over to Lid's and get the lowdown on the Plinko title. Here are her awesome questions for the week.

1. How old is the oldest pair of shoes in your closet?
I had to go to my closest and look. There is a pair of black loafers that I think may be five or six years old. I never wear them anymore, but they are my back up pair of black loafers until I get a new pair.
Looks like I need a new pair.

2. Did you buy Girl Scout cookies this year? If so, what variety?
Yes. GS are the only ones I will purchase anything from door-to-door. I'm a sucker. I bought a box of Lemonades and Peanut Butter Patties. Here's a thought for the Girl Scout Association: How about selling them at a time when we aren't thinking about swimsuit season? Just a thought.

3. Do you know how to ballroom dance? If not, would you like to?
No, and yes. That would be fun. I'm not sure I want to enough to take lessons at this point in life.

4. Were you a responsible child/teenager?
I'm so grateful for the forward slash in this question.
Child- YES!
Teenager- Notsomuch

5. How many of this year's Oscar-nominated movies did you see?
One. Up. I still cry every time I watch it. Hubs and Daughter always look over at me at certain parts to see if I'm wiping my eyes.

6. If you're going to have a medical procedure done, such as having blood drawn, is it easier for you to watch someone else having the procedure done or have it done yourself?
It doesn't bother me either way. Cartoons make me sob, but needles...ehhhh... piece of cake.

7. What is your favorite day of the week and why?
Saturday.
No school.
No commitments.
Nap.

8. Do you miss anyone right now?
I suppose if I said, "no" that I would be heartless. If I say, "yes," then I'm forced to explain. The teenager in me will say, "maybe."
Seriously, I miss family that has passed away and friends who live out of town.

9. Do hospitals make you queasy?
No. See #6. Libraries? Another story.


10. At which store would you like to max-out your credit card. Not that you ever would, you responsible person, you.
This is tough. It would have to be a store with gorgeous dishes and linens.

11. Are you true to the brand names of products/items?
Yes.
Heinz ketchup
Hellman's (or Best) mayo
Diet Coke
White Lily flour
Jim Dandy grits
Cover Girl face powder
Just to name a few!

12. Which is more difficult: looking into someone’s eyes when you are telling someone how you feel, or looking into someone’s eyes when he/she is telling you how he/she feels?
Just the question makes me squirm a little. Can't I just write them a letter or a blog post or something?

Visit Lid for the Random Dozen. She is the hostess with the mostest. She also uses better modifiers than "mostest."

What A Mama Does

I went to the mailbox today and found a treasure. No, it wasn't the valentine. I've given up on that. It's probably lost. I keep picturing someone in the deep rainforest of Papua New Guinea trying to read it, holding the twenty up to the sun, and trying to figure out the meaning of all the stickers on the envelope.

It's all quite fascinating, especially since I'm fairly sure people in the rain forest don't actually get mail.

Anyway.

Mama sent us an envelope of treasures.

She recently found a very old photo of my great grandparents. It's one of those black and white photos where the subjects sit next to each other, but not very close. Neither of them smile and you know they probably only took the photo because a photographer was in town. I look at it and wonder what work they had to put aside to take the time for the snapshot.

She also included newspaper articles. This is what mothers do when their daughters move away. They clip and highlight newspaper articles from the hometown paper and mail them. The biggest news is always a wedding, or maybe the birth of a baby. Sometimes someone wins an award. Then there are the festivals and town tragedies.

One of the sweetest items she included was a clipping from a Belk circular. It featured a gorgeous comforter set in pinks and greens from the Biltmore collection. Next to the photo, Mama wrote,"Looks like something you would like."

It's not that I'm going to order the comforter. I'm not even looking for one. Mama just knew that I'd love it (and I do) and that I'd appreciate her sharing it with me (which I do.) What's more endearing is that she recognizes what I love.

That's what a Mama does.

Even the ones in Papua New Guinea.

I live in a non-pony country.

Click on the link below for more proof that I can relate anything in life to a Seinfeld episode. Other people play the Kevin Bacon game. I prefer Jerry.

Here's to all the immigrants who had to leave their ponies behind.

Click here for the video.

Happy Weekend!

Lessons From The Barn

Y'all know that Daughter has been taking horseback riding lessons. She adores it and she has learned a lot. It is amazing what a child's brain can store.

Anything related to animals or DS games is instantly filed and locked away. Other things like, oh, cleaning their rooms or picking up the towel off the floor are instantly dumped.

Sigh.

When she first began horseback lessons, I was clueless. (Okay, I'm still clueless.) I thought a pony was a baby horse. I didn't know what a cinch was or that there were special names for colors and patterns.

I was never around horses growing up. I was never interested in horses, either. Many of you shudder at the thought, I know. My own daughter thinks I'm nuts.

The truth is that I was a wimp and that I really didn't like the smell of manure (who does?) I also never liked to be dirty for very long. I liked to play in the dirt, but once I was done, I loved to come inside, take a long bath, play with my Barbie, and put on some nice, clean footie pajamas.

That's still me, minus the Barbie.

It also takes me a very long time to get up the nerve to try something new. I am very cautious and get frustrated when I don't get something right away. This is why I never learned to drive a stick shift. (And why Hubs will ski alone for the rest of his life. Bless his heart.)

However, I love animals and I appreciate them. I also appreciate the people who work with them.

That's why I've dedicated this post to Daughter's horseback riding instructor and to all the beautiful creatures she shares with us each week.


All I Ever Needed To Know, I Learned In The Barn:
A Clueless Southern Girl's Attempt At Horse Humor



1. Horses are a lot like people. They have personalities, feelings and moods.

2. Horses are much different than people. They weigh more than you do and can kick you in the head if you don't follow safety instructions.

3. Always wear a helmet when around horses.

4. The barn is a lot like your home. Everything should be put in its place so you can find it when you need it later.

5. It is easier to motivate a kid to put away tack than it is to put away toys. Maybe we should tell our kids that they are raised in a barn.

6. When the ride is over (good or bad) it's always best to walk it out.

7. Always listen to your instructor.

8. Always listen to your horse.

9. Stuff happens. When it does, you shovel it, learn from it, and get back on.

10. Sometimes you step in it. (To avoid this, see #'s 7 and 8.)

Random Dozen: A Little Odd, But I Think I Love You

1. Do you prefer even or odd numbers? Any particular reason?

Odd numbers. Particularly, 3, 5, and 7. I have no idea why. Maybe it is a sign of some strange mental illness or abnormal aversions to post offices and libraries.

2. On a scale of 1-10, with 1 being "not at all" and 10 being Carly Simon-worthy, how vain are you?

I have my usual hang-ups like most women, but in all I'd say I'm a 4. This is evident by the amount of roots I have right now.

3. Among these Irish stereotypes, with which do you identify most closely? Talkative, Proud, Inquisitive, Love to party, Hot-tempered

Inquisitive and maybe a little hot-tempered.

4. How lucky do you consider yourself?

I've been blessed beyond measure in so many ways. Some days I forget that.

5. What is the subject of your favorite post that you've written?

Maggie. She's lovable and quirky and could possibly prefer odd numbers.

6. Describe March weather where you live in three words.

Wait Five Minutes

7. How apt are you at detecting blarney when you hear it? (Smooth talk, flattery)

VERY. I can spot a line or a schmooze from a mile away.

8. How "green" are you, environmentally speaking?

Not very. It's the rebel in me.

9. What is your favorite song this week?

I haven't listened to a lot of music this week, except for the radio in the car. I'll have to go with the opening music to The Amazing Race. I'm excited about the new season and the cowboys are cracking me up.

10. You are walking along and see a coin on the ground. What denomination does it have to be before you will stop to pick it up?

None. Daughter spots free coins quicker than I spot Blarney. If I do see one, I pick it up and hand it to her.

11. Complete the sentence: "Every time I look outside my window ...."

...I wish we had trees."

12. What was the #1 song on the day you were born?

"I Think I Love You" by the Partridge Family.

(Lid, I was so glad it was a song I actually like!)



See The Lid and her blog for more. She doesn't spout any Blarney.

Movies, Sales, and Naps

When we first married, I looked forward to Saturdays with anticipation, planning and plotting the fun things Hubs and I would do.

During the week, I'd glance over at him on the sofa and say,"What do you want to do this weekend?"

"I don't know. What do you wanna do?"

"I don't know. Whatever."

"What is there to do?"

"I don't know."

By the time Saturday arrived, we usually ended up just going to a matinee while sneaking in snacks from Wal-mart.

We always went to a matinee. Newlyweds do not have a lot of money. You could say the matinee is the newlywed version of the early bird.

On our really exciting ventures, we went out to dinner after the movie. (Hey, we saved all that money on movie tickets and cheap snacks. Why not splurge?)

Now we are parents, but the weekends are pretty much the same.

"So, what do you want to do this weekend?"

"I don't know. What is there to do?"

"I don't know. There are no kid movies playing."

So Saturday often involves Hubs doing yard work during the summer months, me going grocery shopping, and Daughter playing, cleaning her room, or just being a kid.

On a really exciting Saturday, I get to go shopping or have my hair done. Sometimes I'll meet a friend for coffee or take a nap.

Or BOTH.

But not at the same time.

Those couches at the coffee shop are quite comfy. The baristas do let you lounge freely on them, but they usually draw the line once you fall asleep.

The homeless look just isn't good for business.

Saturday Nancy and I met for coffee. We chatted. We caught up. And, yes, we may have lounged a bit. It was all perfectly acceptable because neither of us fell asleep. (It may have something to do with the double espresso.)

After our coffee time, I went to JCPenney to return a catalog item. (I've become my grandmother. She loved the catalog.) Then I found some great doorbuster sales.

I've always been fascinated by the doorbuster. There is always a time limit, like "only from 9:00-10:00" or "only on a Tuesday when there is a full moon."

This time I managed to be there at the right time when the moon was the correct phase and I found the cutest lounge pants, t-shirt and comfy socks, all for the low, low price of twenty five bucks! I happen to be wearing them right now. I'd take a photo, but it's morning and well, I'm in my pajamas.

After the super find at JCPenney, I headed for Hobby Lobby to buy some picture frames because they were on sale for 50% off. They're always on sale for 50% off. I found three for gifts and then stood in line for a sweet forever. I was tempted to just put them back and walk out in protest or in principle, but it took me an hour to find the three I was looking for. Plus, they were 50% off.

My Hobby Lobby trip then lead me to the grocery store where I managed to spend over $100 and had nothing to show for it, except for some really small apples and a supply of butter for Hubs.

So, that was my Saturday. No matinee. Although, I may have had some cheap snacks.

How about you? Did you do anything exciting?

Better yet, did you get to take a nap?

Friday's Fave Five- Olympics

So, here are my favorites for the week. I seem to have some kind of Olympic theme this week.

Notice none of them involves the postman. The reason I pick on Newman and not some punk kids taking things from our mailbox in some kind of teenage caper is because our mailbox is locked.

Gotta let it go, m'am.

Back to my favorites.

1. The two performances by Canadian figure skater, Joannie Rochette. There is always something about the ladies' figure skating that is emotional. This story both breaks my heart and inspires me. I was so glad to see her win a medal.

2. Gold Medalist Kim Yu-Na from South Korea. After hearing about the immense pressure this young lady is under as a celebrity and skater in her country, I was so proud to see her win. Her performance was incredible.

I am also glad that the judges don't let the personal stories affect their scores. These ladies won based on merit and performance.

3. Watching and hearing my own national anthem play.

4. Watching and hearing other national anthems play.

I am a patriot of my own country, but I can be moved by the patriotism of others. What an amazing opportunity to stand there on the podium, exhausted, and watch your country's flag raised.

5. Seeing the Canadians win. Hubs thinks I'm nuts or just sappy. I always love it when people from the host country win a medal. What a proud moment to be able to win and be surrounded by your countrymen on home soil.

See my Canadian friend Susanne for some more great posts. Thanks, Susanne!

Keeping It Pithy

1. Still no valentine. The glass is half empty part of me says, "Someone is enjoying Daughter's money from her grandparents."

The glass is half full part of me says, "The valentine is just stuck in a dusty, old canvas mail container and will arrive."

Then the glass is half empty part of me interrupts in her grumpy voice and says, "Next time they'll take the valentine, the twenty, and the glass."

2. I am out of dinner ideas. Right now I'm boiling chicken on the stove hoping that by the time it is done, I'll have a recipe to put it in. Unless I have a recipe revelation, we'll be having Chicken Divan.

3. I need a haircut. Desperately. We won't discuss the roots and the gray. I can't decide what kind of cut I want, so I keep waiting. If I wait much longer, I'll have to start wearing hats.

4. Must go. Just saw Newman's little truck. Maybe he's delivering the valentine. Or a new set of glasses...

An Open Letter To Newman

Most letters begin with "Dear," but Newman, you and I both know that would be stretching it.

So.

Newman,

We've had our ups and downs. Mostly downs. We've had our disappointments. Mostly mine.

The time has come when I feel we must make amends. This enmity between us has affected the lives of my loved ones and it breaks my heart.

Over the years I've scoffed at your profession. The late mail and damaged packages. The tracking system which is just a ruse. Your attitude. Your little truck... okay I never made fun of that.

Alas, I set aside all of my unused two-cent stamps and my grievances and reach out to you with one request.

Please deliver my daughter's valentine.

Her grandmother sent it over two weeks ago. She wrote legibly and didn't use a red envelope. Still, the valentine (and the twenty tucked inside) are somewhere out there in Postal World. Lost. Lonely. Torn. (Man, I hope not.)

In the spirit of St. Valentine and all the other Hallmark holidays, let's call a truce. A little girl and her piggy bank are waiting.

I'll be at the mailbox at our usual time. You know the place.

Painfully Sincere,
Melanie

P.S. You'd better not be spending that twenty on root beer and TV Guides.

Roughing It

Hubs pitched the tent. Then he inflated the single air mattress, covered it with an arctic sleeping bag, added a pink snowman pillow, a stuffed bunny, a Build-A-Bear black lab, and a flashlight.

And that was just his sleeping area.

He and Daughter are camping in the backyard. They invited me to join them, but I don't do camping. Remember?

Seriously, I wouldn't mind it in our own yard. The bathroom is steps away and I can easily reach my Diet Coke. However, I declined the invitation. There's something sweet about a Daddy/Daughter camping outing.

I'm tucked inside with Maggie and the laptop.

All. By. Myself.

As soon as I finish this post, I may just grab the tissue box and watch The Notebook.

Oh wait, we're out of Puffs with lotion.

Now, that's roughing it.

In a last ditch effort, I'm considering clothes pins.

All of my life I've known that something was unusual (okay, weird) about my sense of smell.

I can smell things others can't. Kind of like that kid in Sixth Sense, but without the macabre.

Mama is the same way. Although, she says her sense of smell has diminished over time. We both have a lot of problems with allergies. So I've always attributed our freak-of-nature skill with malfunctioning sinuses or something.

Or we're just strange.

Sometimes this unusual talent (?) is nice. I'm able to enjoy flowers much more, my laundry smells fresh longer, and I can actually tell when Krispy Kreme has hot doughnuts without looking at the neon sign.

Maybe that's stretching it a bit.

Other times my olfactory oddity can be most unpleasant. For example, Small Town is surrounded by cows. (Like in the thousands. You do the math.)

Or when there is a rotten potato in the pantry, or an unusually strong onion odor in the trash, or the most debilitating experience of entering a public restroom.

May I also note my never used a porta-potty record. Now, can you see why?

So, as you can see. My bloodhound super skills are both blessing and curse.

Which is the point of this post. You knew I'd get to it eventually.

I have a problem. I can't seem to find the perfect anti-bacterial hand soap. This may seem insignificant to normal people, but it is quite the dilemma for me.

Bath and Body makes the neatest foam soaps, but they dry out my hands in the winter. Right now I have the Fresh Linen scent in our bathroom. I was going to suffer through the dryness for the sake of, you know, freshness, but I tell you, it smells like cough medicine to me.

Yes, as in Robitussin.

I bought a moisturizing hand soap with shea butter, but I've realized that there is something about the scent of shea butter that bothers me.

You can see. I have issues.

So, my inter-peeps, do you have any suggestions?

I do love lavender, vanilla, and fruity scents. Any products you love? Hate? Any great moisturizing hand soaps?

I know there are more pressing problems in the world right now, but we'll save feeding the starving people for tomorrow.

My nose and hands would be most grateful.

P.S. As a strange, side note, I had to give up Maybelline Stiletto mascara because the smell strangely reminds me of beer.

LidNa's (not a typo) Random Dozen: Olympic Style

1. If you could compete in one Olympic event (not necessarily winter sports) what would it be?
We're assuming that in an alternate universe, I am athletic. Right?
'Kay.
In Bizzaro World, I would love to be a figure skater. It's the closet thing to dancing and the uniforms are the coolest. I am so sophisticated.

2. Do remember a specific Olympic moment from the past?
Nancy Kerrigan. Bless her heart. And I mean that. For real.

3. Have you ever known anyone who competed in the Olympics?
No. However, I have a friend who has an extremely talented son who could possibly end up in the Olympics. He is a talented swimmer and his mother drives him to swimming practice every morning at dark-thirty and every afternoon at whatever-thirty. Rain or shine. Hot or cold. SHOUT OUT TO LL! Yes, you!

4. If everyday activities were Olympic-worthy, which activity would you have a gold medal in?
Wow. I have to think on this one. I'd love to say cleaning or cooking or organizing. Seriously, if I could hope for them playing the national anthem because of my efforts, the activity would have to be the longest time spent in yoga pants. Record breaking, I tell ya.

5. Do you know anything about your ethnic heritage?
Part Indian or Native American or whatever, part British and part Irish Wolfhound. I mean, I may have some Irish. Who knows?

6. Do you enjoy sleeping late?
Yes! Finally something that would win me the gold medal!

7. Have you ever performed CPR on anyone? Do you know how? (Yes, that's two, I know. Whatevs.)
No, unless you count that poor dummy at the Red Cross class (the plastic one on the floor.)
Yes, I do. I hope I never have to use it.
But not like I hope I never have to use my killer karate moves.
(Is there a gold medal in making up skills?)

8. Name one country you'd like to visit and explain why.
Greece. Just always have.

9. Have you ever fixed up a couple romantically?
No. Most of my friends are probably thankful.

10. What is the last book you read?
The Great Christmas Bowl by Susan May Warren
It's a novella and yes, it's about Christmas. But that doesn't mean you wouldn't love it right now in the middle of February.

11. Do you enjoy sleeping late? NO, YOU write the question! How's that for random??
Okay, here's my question-
What food would you make accessible to all Olympic athletes at Olympic Park?
Good Southern cooking with fried chicken, biscuits, vegetables cooked in bacon fat, all slathered in butter. If you can eat that and still do a triple toe loop, you're a real athlete.

12. What is your favorite meal at your favorite restaurant?
Thai Basil Fried rice at Thai Kitchen in Ft. Walton Beach, Florida.
Tied with
Crab cakes or Gulf Shrimp from Dewey Destin in Destin, Florida

Thanks, Linda!

Soon Maggie Will Ask For Her Own Cell Phone

In addition to the usual Valentine hoopla at our house, yesterday was Maggie's birthday.

She turned thirteen. In human years, she's a full blown teenager. In cat years, she's just old.

We really don't know when Maggie's birthday actually falls. It is just an estimate based on when we rescued her from that awful place called the shelter, how old they thought she was, and the fact that Valentine's Day seemed the perfect birthday for a kitten.

Maggie was a gift to me from Hubs. We had visited the shelter several times looking for a kitten. In fact, I had even met Maggie, commented on how cute she was, then could not decide. Days passed and Hubs decided to visit the shelter again to surprise me with a kitten.

When he arrived at the shelter, there was Maggie (named Gypsy at the time) and he thought it was fate. He later said he got her because I said she was cute.

"I think all cats are cute,"I said,"if we brought home every cat I thought was cute, we'd be breaking some kind of animal control laws or something."

The truth is that Maggie had already been adopted. In between our first meeting and Hubs' return visit, a family had adopted her and then brought her back. (They claimed it had something to do with their landlord or something, but after thirteen years of shear JOY with Maggie, we know better.)

Hubs paid the fee, put her in a little cardboard box and made the long drive home. She mewed the whole way, sticking her little black nose through the holes. He rolled in the driveway and asked me to come outside to his car. There was Maggie's nose, pressing against the cardboard.

Yep, I melted.

For Maggie and for Hubs.

We named her Maggie after the Magpie bird. She's been the gift that keeps on taking ever since.

Each Valentine's Day we celebrate her birthday. By celebrate I mean we say "Happy Birthday, Maggie!" as she sleeps on the sofa and gives us the stink eye.

Really, how would you celebrate a cat's birthday? They are natural loners, so there are no friends to invite. They are picky, so they're tough to buy for. And they're ungrateful, so there would never be any thank you notes.

You just leave them alone, let them sleep as much as they want, let them out when they want, feed them when they want, and keep the litter box clean.

Come to think of it, it is a lot like having a teenager.

Only without the little cardboard box.

You could call me Phil.

This morning was the first morning I've felt like greeting society. And I don't mean greeting society as in wearing a formal gown and practicing my curtsy. No. I mean opening the blinds and taking off my scary, anti-social, sweatpants attire.

I have a cold.

Daughter gave me her cold, which is really my own fault, because I've always taught her to share.

As usual, she was sick for a short time, then quickly got better. My almost 40 year-old body takes much longer to recover. I am not a really whiny sick person. I'm just a sickly sick person. I require more sleep (in addition to my already high requirement), boxes of Puffs with Lotion, and gallons of Diet Coke.

A quick aside. Wouldn't it be cool if they sold Diet Coke by the gallon? Okay, maybe it would lose its fizz fairly quickly, but still. Cool.

As you can see by my wanderings, the cold medicine is beginning to kick in. That, and my third cup of coffee.

I do have a lot of catching up to do. Valentine's Day is nearly here, my house could use a good scrub, and groceries... Groceries? You mean a sub from Quizno's isn't a balanced meal?

Unnecessary Ruffness

So, I was one of about 5 people yesterday who didn't watch the Super Bowl. Instead, we watched the Puppy Bowl.

I wasn't thrilled with the NFL's choice for the half time show. (I won't go into that here. Just Google it.) I'm not a huge football fan anyway. And, after the Janet fiasco, you never really know what is going to pop up. (Excuse the pun.)

Hubs was out of town for the day. So Daughter and I sat in front of the TV, ate chili dogs, Cheetos and Doritos, and watched puppies and kitties play. I'm telling you, it beats pro football any day.

On another note, we are supposed to have more snow this week. Oh, SPRING, wherefore art thou?

How was your weekend??

More things I don't understand: Food Edition

Once again, I'm baffled.

This time it's about food.

1. Why is it that the teenager making my sandwich at Sonic has to wear disposable gloves, but the professional chef at the fancy restaurant can handle every single shrimp from my scampi in order to plate it beautifully?

2. Why does the lady at Winn Dixie have to wear a hairnet while she makes my kid's birthday cake but Duff's staff can stand over a thousand dollar cake for days without their hair pulled back (or any gloves, I might add?)

3. Why is it never okay to eat an entire plate of bacon and eggs unless I am on a special protein diet?

4. Who actually prefers Diet Pepsi? Someone is buying it, but no one wants to admit it.

5. Who decided to put carrots in cake?

6. When you go to Sonic in the mall, do they have little cars for you to sit in?

7. Does the egg salad look over at the chicken salad in the deli counter and wonder,"That's what I could have been."

8. When Martha Stewart does something over-the-top, does she say,"Oh, that was so me."

9. When Rachael Ray is at home, does she cook her 30 Minute Meals and try to beat her own time?

10. The Food Critics on Iron Chef America are so soft. I'll give you a food critic. A two year-old child.

What about you? What food stuff don't you understand?

Partially Thawed

Now I know why Mr. Rogers became friends with his neighbors. He was preparing for when he got snowed in.

On Saturday morning, after two straight days of going absolutely nowhere and crazy, I asked Hubs to drive me to the mall.

I'm ninety.

Seriously, we had no idea what the roads were like. The street in front of our house was still covered with snow. I knew the major roads were clear from what I had read in the paper, but that wouldn't help me if I couldn't get to them.

I had three choices:

1) Attempt to drive myself and have to call Hubs to rescue me from the ditch.
2) Let Hubs drive me to the mall.
3) Stay home one more day and go nuts with cabin fever making Hubs wish he had driven me to the mall, or that I was stuck in a ditch. Oh, I kid. Sort of.

Hubs offered to drive me and we all bundled up. I trusted his driving more than mine. He has skills.

I wore my Target snow boots like a REAL BONAFIDE winter expert. I was a wee bit self-conscious wearing snow boots shopping. They seemed a little casual compared to say, some cute ballet flats. However, I decided that sporting snow boots to Dillard's drew less attention than sliding across the icy parking lot and landing on my rear.

Plus, as a nice surprise, most of the other ladies at the mall were sporting snow boots or Uggs or whatever. Simpatico.

Saturday night we went to a baby shower BBQ as opposed to a baby BBQ shower, which could be ugly. (Never say the order of the adjective and/or adverb does not affect the meaning of the phrase.)

The lady who hosted the Shower BBQ should earn extra jewels in heaven. Not only did she invite husbands and kids to the shower, she had them all in her house after the snow storm. Bless her heart. That's hospitality.

I was telling Mama about the BBQ when she asked me,"What kind of BBQ did they have?"

Now if you aren't from the South, you don't know the complexity of that question. In the South, we hold BBQ nearly as close as our religion and guns. (In fact, we may even cling to it.) There are types of BBQ (beef, pork, chicken) and subtypes (Memphis, Kansas City, Texas, Carolina.) It goes on an on. You could call it a BBQ Taxonomy.

The other thing you may not know is that, for us, BBQ is a noun. Not a verb.

I told Mama that at this BBQ, we had hamburgers and hot dogs because the term meant just to grill something.

And grilling, they did. In the cold. We had some of the best tasting burgers I've eaten in a while. I even asked for the recipe.

Yesterday the snow really began melting and turning to slush. It's still cold, but at least we can get out of the house.

I learned a few things from the snow storm.

I like my flip flops more than my snow boots.

When I am ninety, Hubs will do a fine job driving me to my hair appointments during a blizzard.