Archives for September 2006

Okay so let’s just say – hypothetically, of course – that late yesterday afternoon I couldn’t stand it any longer, and because I am but a weak vessel, my car magically steered itself to the nearest Dairy Queen where I enjoyed a delicious peanut butter cup Blizzard.

Because it totally happened, except for the whole “car magically steered itself” part.

You see, I actually drove my car WITH GREAT INTENTION to the DQ, oh yes I did. And I only got a small Blizzard, which was really a significant accomplishment because I had thought about the delicious peanut butter cup concoction for so long yesterday that I could’ve easily bought the convenient IV-bag size Blizzard if they sold one – and then hooked myself up to it right there in the Dairy Queen parking lot.

So I was pretty proud that I only got a small.

Anyway, I was in a long line at the drive-thru, and when I finally got to the intercom thing-y, I placed my order, which may or may not have also included a hamburger.

(Oh, I was on my way to a meeting and it was suppertime and I was hungry. I AM NOT A ROBOT, PEOPLE!)

Anyway, after I gave the DQ guy my order, here was his response:

“I’m so sorry, ma’am. I was having a hard time finding where to ring up your [ALLEGED!] hamburger on the register, so if you wouldn’t mind, could you please repeat your order?”

I was thrown off just a bit because for a moment I believed that I had been transported from the highway 280 corridor to some sort of alternate universe, a universe of Fast Food Workers Who Care and, not only that, who want to Make A Difference. I mean, I don’t know about you, but the normal level of fast food service that I get is somewhere along the lines of “CanItakeyourorder? Huh? What? Wantfries? Huh? Yeah. Nine-oh-four. Firstwindow.”

So I gave him my order again, and then he said – THEN he said: “Thank you, ma’am, for repeating your order. I appreciate it. I am so sorry for the inconvenience.”

Now I know I live in the South, where we pride ourselves on hospitality and kindness. But this guy – this Dairy Queen guy? He should get, like, an award or something. Seriously. I wanted to make him a sticker for his nametag that said, “I’m The Nicest Cash Register Guy Evir.” I wanted to run over to Lowe’s and buy him a plant. I wanted to tip him.

Once I got to the window and gave him my money, he named my items as he handed them to me: “Your [ALLEGED!] hamburger, ma’am? Your peanut butter cup Blizzard, ma’am?”

And I just stared back at him all glassy-eyed, totally refreshed by an encounter with someone who actually seemed to like people and enjoy his job. If I had his parents’ phone number, I would call them and tell them how well-behaved their son is. They should be proud.

Honestly, his sweet disposition had such an impact on me that I’m thinking about going back to Dairy Queen before church tonight so that I can support a business with such polite employees.

And maybe get another Blizzard.

It would be a completely selfless act of encouragement on my part.

The Southern girl in me should’ve known to post a video of somebody falling. But still – those anchorpeople were FUNNY.

Perhaps this will serve as my pennance.

:-)

There’s a “real” post forthcoming. Todd just keeps sending me funny stuff and I get all sidetracked.

So stuff is obviously going on in everyone else’s lives, since I opened Bloglines this morning and discovered, oh, eleventy billion posts for my reading pleasure.

Meanwhile, here I sit in Alabama, staring at the monitor and thinking, “Hmmm. You know? A peanut butter cup Blizzard from Dairy Queen might be tasty.” Or, once my thought process gets really fired up, “Hmmm. Dancing With The Stars starts tonight. That’ll give D and me something to do!”

I’ll tell you what: you’ll get whiplash from the level of excitement in my neck of the woods.

Case in point: the highlight of the last twenty four hours of my life was learning that we have a Starz (or is it Starz!) free movie weekend starting Thursday. As soon as we realized it, D. and I went through the channel guide and programmed the TiVo to record something like fifteen movies.

We’re MANIACS!

I’m also happy to report that the votes are in (okay. I really didn’t count. I just read.), and we’ll be serving fajitas this Sunday. I’m not cooking them – I’m just placing the order with a Mexican restaurant – but the bottom line is that fajitas are kid-friendly. And cheaper. Which is actually two bottom lines. Which isn’t possible. So just pretend.

And if I seem a little disjointed the last couple of days, it’s because I am. I feel like I’m in my own little la-la land. Too much Deep Thinking capped off with lengthy discussions regarding The Future Of Our Family.

D and I have talked about moving to another house in the spring – something that’s much closer to the school where A. will be in 4K next year – and I can’t seem to think about moving without going a little cuckoo. Because I am a visual person, I have to picture myself living somewhere…what I’d do with my furniture, what it would be like to walk to the garage, what my drive to the grocery store and church and Walmart would be like.

Have I mentioned that I can be a little OCD?

There’s one particular neighborhood that I enjoy – new-ish Craftsman-style houses in a town that has a Main Street, a couple of restaurants, a coffee shop, an ice cream parlor, a florist, etc. I find it utterly charming.

So D and I were talking about it the other night, weighing all the pros and cons, and I said, “You know, I can just SEE myself there…taking Alex to the park, maybe even strolling a baby around the neighborhood…”

D interrupted me, saying, “Yeah. But it’s kind of expensive compared to other stuff in the area. Especially if we have another baby, our lifestyle would have to change a little…”

Undeterred, I continued, “…maybe strolling a baby around the neighborhood, taking Alex and the maybe-baby to the ice cream parlor…”

D raised his eyebrows, because clearly I wasn’t listening to him.

But I adapted: “…taking Alex and the maybe-baby to the ice cream parlor, where we would stand outside and try to smell the ice cream, because we’d be too broke to actually buy any.”

D nodded his head so hard I thought it was going to snap off.

So I don’t think we’ll be moving there. Needless to say. If an ice-cream cone is a deal-breaker, we’re clearly out of our budgetary league.

And I think we’ll be just fine right where we are.

I am deeply embarrassed that I posted about the whole “wri-” thing. Looking back it just sort of reeks of teenage angst, and since I’m over a decade and a half removed from my teenage days, re-reading that post makes me feel all icky and self-indulgent. And “icky” is a terribly mature word, in case you didn’t notice.

In other news, I am “encouraging” Alex to stay on the potty until he takes care of his business by offering him what we’re calling “the poo-poo sucker.” And I realized, just a minute ago when I offered it to him, that perhaps we’ve chosen the wrong verbiage for said sucker, as it seems to imply a flavor of candy that no one in his right mind would ever want to purchase let alone enjoy. But it’s actually a strawberry flavored sucker (much better, yes?) that he can have while he sits on the potty, and though the thought of eating candy while, well, you know sort of makes me want to throw up, the method seems to work like a charm for a three year old.

Let’s see. What else can I write about that will entertain and delight?

Oh. Of course. Big excitement in the Publix deli department today! I stopped to get our usual oven roasted turkey breast, and I noticed that the oven roasted lemon pepper chicken breast was on sale, about 50 cents cheaper a pound. Because I am my father’s daughter, I immediately requested the on-sale item despite the fact that I’ve never tried it, and can I just say? DELICIOUS. It’s a nice break from turkey, and the fact that I consider myself someone who’s in need of a “break” from turkey pretty much makes me feel like the lamest person on the whole planet (“pssst! hey! y’all check out BooMama’s blog today! she’s gone craaaaaazy! she bought chicken sandwich meat instead of turkey sandwich meat! liv-ing on the EDGE!”).

And now for a completely unrelated question, one that I’m asking simply because I’m feeling particularly indecisive. If you were going to stay after church for lunch with your entire family – and if the kids were going to have their own little kid-friendly menu – would you, as a real-live grown-up, rather have beef and chicken fajitas OR barbecue with all the trimmings?

Addressing all the important issues here, as usual.

I haven’t been at the top of my bloggy game for the last couple of days…September has a way of piling up on me, and this last week has been a real reminder of that. Alex started back to Mother’s Day Out (“PRAISE THE LORD! PRAISE THE LORD! OUR GOD IS WORTHY OF GLORY!”), I had a crazy two or three days with my secret undercover work for rogue government agencies, I’ve been helping to plan a farewell reception for our friends who are moving, and there’s been a lot – and I mean a LOT – of quality television demanding my attention (I FINALLY got to see Faith and Tim on “Oprah,” and it did not disappoint).

Add choir pratice and a play date and a birthday party to that mix, and there just hasn’t been much time to sit down and compose some of the stunningly average content that you’ve come to know and tolerate here at La Mama de Boo.

Oh! And I forgot! I’ve also done lots of napping! I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this before, but I am very, very good at napping, especially in temperatures where the house actually gets chilly and a little down coverlet works all sorts of sleep-inducing magic when you lie down on the couch.

In other news, Alex spent most of yesterday afternoon making me question every single parenting decision I’ve ever made, then woke up this morning as a clear contender for Sweetest Child Alive. He has showered me with kisses, told me at least 20 times how much he loves me, charmed the patrons in our favorite bakery (side note: the Vanderbilt football team’s buses were at the hotel next to our favorite bakery, and I felt smarter just for driving by them – I did!), entertained the ladies in our favorite florist, wrapped his arms around my neck while calling me “sweet thing,” and fed me popcorn chicken as we made our way through Walmart.

I would not be at all surprised if he whipped up a lovely meal for his daddy and me later tonight and then made Bananas Foster tableside for dessert. Although a three year old attempting flambe’ probably isn’t a great idea.

And since I just looked at my child and uttered the phrase, “Alex, quit eating my hair,” I’m thinking that Pefect Saturday ’06 is about to come to a screeching halt.

Also, this morning in the bakery I struck up a conversation with a fellow patron, and she mentioned that she was an editor for a Southern-themed magazine that’s published here, and I came thisclose to saying, “Oh, I do some wri-…wri-…wri-…” but I just couldn’t get that “-TING” out of my mouth, and I have been kicking myself all day long as a result.

What is it with me and “the label”? I just can’t say it. CANNOT say it.

When I got home I told D. about my sudden bout with timidness, and he couldn’t believe that I didn’t say anything to her about the “wri-” that I do. Just last night D. and I were talking about how maybe I should try to branch out a little in that area (don’t you like how I call it “that area” as if it’s some unmentionable body part?) because I do live in a city where there’s a market for “wri-” from a Southern perspective. And then, this morning, I run into a woman who has connections in that very market, and I clam up like a politician on the witness stand.

So (deep breath), I think what I’m going to do is to pick up a copy of the magazine that this woman works for, find her name, and email her. Maybe even give her the URL for my blawg. And tell her that there’s some “‘wri’-esque product” on said blawg that she can peruse at her leisure.

Or, you know, not.

I wouldn’t want to be pushy.

BooMama: Bursting With “Wri-” Confidence!

Maybe that should be my new tagline.