Archives for June 2006

In my ongoing campaign to singlehandedly sustain the dairy and pork industries, I have spent a considerable part of my afternoon grating cheese and frying bacon (not for us…for something at church tomorrow). And as I was cooking pound-o-bacon number two a few minutes ago, I determined that right now my kitchen feels decidedly like a truckstop…that I just need to pile my hair up on my head, have a name tag embossed with my name, and forevermore refer to D. and Alex as either “sugar” or “darlin’.”

Really, all that’s missing is a neon sign.

And, you know, truckers.

But other than that it’s just like a truck stop.

I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.

A little earlier I contemplated calculating the fat content of everything I’m preparing – it’s a little bit of trivia I’d like to remember, kind of like the whole 32 sticks of butter thing. But as soon as I figured that I’d fried 120 fat grams worth of bacon, and grated 148 fat grams worth of cheese, and I hadn’t even approached the egg and butter territory yet, I decided that I’d just stop counting right then and there, lest I be seized with chest pains simply from looking at numbers that high.

But you know, who wants to show up for a big celebratory meal to find soynuts, tofu, sprouts and dried fruit on the table?

And yes, I know there’s a little something called A Happy Medium, but we don’t really go for that so much in the South. I mean, I know in my own family we tend to vacillate between two extremes: wrapping pretzels in lettuce and calling it a meal, or combining butter with sausage and bacon, wrapping it in dough, sticking it in a deep fryer, and then spreading cream cheese on top.

(Please don’t be alarmed. I totally made up that last thing. We would never, ever do that. Because cream cheese by itself is for Yankees. We Southerners would use mayonnaise.)

It only occurred to me last week that I do talk about food a lot on my blog, and a large part of that is because Southerners talk about food a lot in real life. A couple of years ago Alex and I went to visit Lea Margaret and her family, and for an entire evening LM and I went through her cookbooks, and her mama’s recipe box, and we talked about who ate what when and how much they enjoyed it.

And it’s not enough, at least down here, to mention a preference for the generic form of a food and leave it at that. Saying, “I like chocolate” is, quite simply, unacceptable.

But if you said, “Hey. Do y’all remember that restaurant that used to be on the corner across from the old post office? It was in that building that used to have a guitar shop but then they just picked up and left town all of a sudden and so Mr. Davis went in there and put in a soda fountain? And then he got REAL busy because his wife would make homemade chicken and dumplins every Friday for dinner and he had so much business that he opened a full-fledged restaurant? Well, that’s where I had my first piece of homemade chocolate pie, and I’d cut off my right arm and four of my toes if I could have just one. more. bite.”

So food. It means something to us down here.

And that being said, I’d better get back to frying that bacon. There are about 50 people who are expecting me to feed them in the morning and elevate their cholesterol counts ever-so-slightly.

I’d hate to let them down.

Tonight we have had Emma Kate’s nephew at our house…he is just about a year and a half now, and oh. The cuteness. Too much to take in at once.

Anyway, Emma Kate and her sister made some extra special Father’s Day plans for their daddy, and while they’re celebrating in Atlanta, we have had a big time here in our neck of the woods.

EK’s nephew is just like Alex was at the same age: a CHUNK OF LOVE. And I just hope his mama and daddy don’t mind when they pick him up and find large sections of his legs and cheeks worn away from ALL THE SUGAR his Aunt BooMama has given him. He is adorable. And Alex loved him on sight.

After supper D. looked at me when the two boys were giggling and running through the living room and he said, “So, does this make you want another baby?”

To answer: YES. In fact, I think I actually felt my ovaries quiver at a couple of points in the evening, so strong was my baby fever.

Needless to say, it’s been a fun night. And two tired little boys are sound asleep upstairs after much running and playing. And squealing.

But I may have to sneak upstairs and squeeze those little legs ONE MORE TIME before EK’s sister gets here.

Hope everybody had a wonderful Father’s Day!

Yesterday afternoon I was in the kitchen, and Alex was upstairs watching Veggie Tales – or so I thought. Because suddenly I heard the strangest noise coming from over by the stairs. I could tell something was falling…but since nobody was crying or whelping, I figured that Alex and the dogs were safe and sound.

Then I heard A. squeal with delight, and I knew big fun was in store. Plus, I hadn’t heard anything shatter or explode, so I figured he was within reasonable safety limits. And by the way, I believe that’s yet another criterion for Mother of the Year that I’ve now fulfilled…I only rush to my child’s aid when something has shattered or exploded. Or crying or whelping is involved. Because clearly he couldn’t possibly be in danger unless those very specific qualifications have been met.

Anyway, being the investigative blogger (read: nosy mama) that I am, I picked up the camera and walked over to check it out.

Here is what I saw:

This gigantor inflatable soccer ball was one of his birthday presents, but I don’t think he really knew what to do with it until he discovered that he could propel it down the stairs…and in addition to making cool noises as it hit each individual stair, it also smashed into the wall at the foot of the stairs with authority.

In other words: World’s Perfect Toy.

So here he is before he launched his next gigantor soccer ball missile…

…and afterwards, in a picture I have entitled “Pure Unbridled Toddler Joy.”

I couldn’t help but laugh with him, and it was all fun and games with the soccer ball – including a round of mother / son volleyball on the stairway – until this morning, when I heard something, and looked up, and saw his old bouncy seat careening down the stairs. And it landed with a good bit more authority than the inflatable soccer ball.

Thus ending the Stair Olympic Games of 2006.

We didn’t really have any Closing Ceremonies. They’re kind of a waste of time and money anyway.

This next picture…well, I love it. Alex couldn’t wait until tomorrow for his daddy to open his Father’s Day presents, and I think this pretty effectively sums up his excitement.

I love my little family.

Happy Father’s Day.

Okay, after feeling TOTALLY uncomfortable with how personal my Bible study post for this week was, I decided to pull it off of “the blawg” and email it to everyone in the group instead. Kind of ironic, I know, for someone who basically documents her whole life on the INTERNET, for crying out loud, but writing it dredged up some old emotional junk, and I’m not ready to feel quite so “exposed.” Even D. said, “Um. Yeah. That was pretty personal.” And since he has (so far) never thought I’ve crossed the line blog-wise in terms of revealing too much about myself, I’m heeding his wise counsel. So there you have it.

In other news, Alex and I have been making secretive plans for Father’s Day…but I am learning that there’s no such thing as a secret with a three year old. After I explained to him that Father’s Day was coming up, he said, “We’ll have party, Mama! And get Daddy a Nemo cake! And hats!” I explained that no, we weren’t going to have hats, and no, we weren’t going to have a Nemo cake, but we would definitely get the stuff to make Daddy a cake after we picked up his presents this morning.

Well, A. has spoken of little besides “CAKE” and “PRESENTS” ever since I foolishly thought I could somehow plan Father’s Day WITH him, and finally, when his daddy asked for the fortieth time what cake and presents Alex was talking about, I let the cat out of the bag my OWN self: “WE’RE BAKING YOU A CAKE! WE’RE BAKING A CAKE! FOR! FATHER’S! DAY!”

Which just made Alex talk about cake even more.

Then I explained to D. that we were going to have his Father’s Day meal tonight (for some reason coming home from church and trying to get a meal on the table just stresses me out to no end), and I said, “I’m sure if you ask Alex what we’re having, he’ll be glad to fill you in on the details.”

So D. said, “Hey, Alex – what are we having for supper tonight?”

“CAKE! We’re having CAKE, Daddy! CAKE!”

It’s all going to be a HUGE surprise.

Next week our Soul Food ministry at church is doing a breakfast for the staff, and that’s always good news for D. because it means I start trying out new recipes about a week in advance. Earlier this week I ran across a new recipe in Southern Living, and I made it last night. I have to share it because it’s the simplest thing in the world but so, so good…D. and I couldn’t get over how tasty it was.

I modified the original recipe a little bit (it called for horseradish…D. does not do horseradish), and you could do this very thing on bagels, English muffins, etc. I just happened to have wheat bread on hand, so that’s what I used.

Did I mention how delicious it is?

Here’s what you do:

Boil 6 eggs.

Fry 6 pieces of bacon.

Slice 2 or 3 fresh tomatoes.

In a food processor or mixer, combine 1 8 oz. block of cream cheese, softened and broken into about 8 pieces; 1 cup of mayonnaise (or horseradish), 1 packet of Ranch dressing mix, and 1 small grated onion (about 1/4 cup). Set aside.

Toast 8 or 10 pieces of bread (or bagel, or whatever). Cover toasted bread with a tablespoon of cream cheese spread. Then layer 3 or 4 slices of fresh tomato, a sliced boiled egg, and crumble bacon over the top. Sprinkle dried dill over one layer (or every layer if you like a lot of dill). That’s it!

We made “real” sandwiches…the original recipe in SL is for pretty open-faced sandwiches that have been cut into circles, and that’s probably what I’ll do for the staff breakfast.

And I’m telling y’all – it is SO DADGUM TASTY.

Guess what we’ll be having for lunch? :-)

In other news, Alex has actually gone upstairs BY HIMSELF to watch a Veggie Tales movie.

Yes, I said BY HIMSELF.

This is a HUGE development because for the longest D. and I have wondered if Alex wasn’t going to be like the guy in Sixteen Candles whose parents are trying to drag him into a school dance but he’s fighting them with all his might and screaming “NO! NO! I want to stay with YOU GUYS!”

I mean, I get that Alex is extroverted. Oh BELIEVE YOU ME I get that. But I really do try to encourage him to go upstairs alone every once in awhile and play with his toys or read his books or jump on beds or test the laws of nuclear dynamics or whatever. But he usually says, “Mama, YOU come upstairs. YOU play with trains. YOU test the laws of nuclear dynamics.”

That’s why this going upstairs to watch a movie alone thing is such a big deal. In fact, last night, when I told my neighbor E. about it, she practically screamed, “NO WAY! That’s HUGE!”

I’m telling you. The child is a people person.

So I’m going to take advantage of this rare moment of solitude and vacuum before Alex realizes that he is in fact all alone up there and then calls for me to come sit with him. It won’t be long now. Trust me on that.

OH! One more thing! I mentioned in the comments a couple of days ago that I told our worship minister that I would cook breakfast for the praise team and band if he and his wife would sing “Grateful People” from the Watermark CD that you should buy or download if you haven’t already. And then I remarked that it’s fun to bribe worship ministers. All for the cause of good Christian fellowship, of course.

ANYWAY, Jim wrote me back and said that he was way ahead of me – that his wife is singing that song this Sunday, so yes, to plan on fixing breakfast in a few weeks. :-) But y’all. Isn’t that weird? Maybe I should set up a fortune telling booth in my front yard.

Or not.

But still. Weird.

Off to clean…Alex is still upstairs…so whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. Don’t alter the course of the universe one iota, lest he revert back to “constant companion” mode before I get the downstairs clean.

Happy Friday. :-)

Thirteen Things I’ve Learned From A Toddler
No need for a drumroll.

Well, maybe just a little one.

1. You can search the world over, but you will never find a food more perfect than Cheetos.

2. Finding Nemo is a crowning cinematic achievement, regardless of what you think about the whole Marlin / Dory thing.

3. Potty training? Overrated. Clearly we should all just strap on some form of sackcloth and go about our business (and Our Business), because trips to the bathroom are really nothing more than an interruption to valuable playtime.

4. There’s no such thing as too many stuffed animals in the bed. You might foolishly think that 2 or 3 is plenty – but 15 is actually much more desirable.

5. Waking up grumpy is not genetic. Because if it were, I’d have sullen child stomping down the stairs every morning. But his ingrained personality trumps my genetic code every time – and he’s all, “HEY, MAMA! HEY, DADDY! HOW YOU THIS MORNIN’? DID YA SLEEP GOOD? WANT WAFFLE WITH SYRUP?” And I’m all, “GRRRRRRRRRRRR.” But then ultimately it’s hard to growl when a three year old throws his arms around your legs and squeezes.

6. It’s nearly impossible to discipline a child and utter the phrase “obedience brings blessing; disobedience brings consequences” without feeling God saying, “And yeah, Mama – that means you, too.”

7. Which reminds me: YOU PEOPLE SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME THAT BEFORE I HAD A CHILD! I thought I was going to be doing the teaching…I had no idea that I would be learning the lessons. Daily.

8. Hearing “What’s that?” repeatedly does take a toll on one’s patience. And mental health. And demands a period of solitude in order to recover.

9. There is an instant, unbreakable connection between grandparents and grandchildren. And it really has nothing to do with candy. On some level Alex completely senses his grandparents’ complete and utter devotion to him. And vice versa.

10. When you were little and sick and your mama said, “I wish it were me and not you,” she really did mean it. I never, ever thought that I would wish that I could throw up in someone else’s place, but for the little man? Totally.

11. Daddies are clearly way cooler than mamas because daddies make things crank and cut and drill and flame.

12. And mamas are pretty good, too, especially for taking naps and fixing boo-boo’s and cuddling before bedtime.

13. Whether you have four children, no children, sixteen children, or one child – there is no greater earthly blessing than family. That I know for sure.