I am one of those people who has to have sleep. Unlike my sister, I cannot stay up all night, resume my normal activities the next day, and then casually, while in the grocery store, mention to someone that yes, those cantaloupes do look delicious, and by the way I read a FASCINATING article on cantaloupe farming the previous night when I didn’t sleep at all but had MORE. FUN. reading magazines and rearranging my living room.

Because when I don’t sleep? It ain’t pretty, people.

Last night Alex screamed out in his sleep pretty consistently until about 4 in the morning, and inevitably the screaming occcurred right as I dozed off so that as soon as the noise registered with my brain, I sat straight up in bed, hit the ground running, and flew up the stairs, because clearly – CLEARLY – evil clowns were gnawing at my child’s knees.

But then I’d get to his room, rush to his side – and he would be sound asleep.

It was a LOT of fun.

Around 3 in the morning – between my precious husband’s snoring and my precious child’s screaming – I determined that if a pack of wolves entered my house and said, “We have a completely quiet place for you to rest, but it’s in the middle of a snaky swamp, and we can’t guarantee that the other wolves won’t chomp off one of your arms in the night,” I wouldn’t have had to think twice about my reply:

“Take me to this place you call paradise. Ay, and quickly.”

And I don’t know about y’all, but I can’t count the number of times I’ve been visited in the middle of the night by talking wolves. But just run with the whole willing suspension of disbelief thing. I’m a little tired.

I do think the devil loves those moments of mama exhaustion coupled with trying to, say, get dressed and get the car loaded for a church event. Because I snapped at Alex this morning when he was apparently trying to braid my legs together when I was looking furiously for my lime green pants, and all day long I’ve thought about the mixed message I gave him (it wasn’t quite “LEAVE MAMA ALONE! SHE’S TRYING TO SERVE JESUS!” but it was close). Yikes. Needless to say, I called with apologies before I was even five minutes away from the house. Humbled, I was. :-)

The breakfast was great fun, by the way. We’re just so grateful for our church staff – and really, plying them with high levels of saturated fats seems so insignificant compared with everything they do for us on a daily basis. We love them. And in case you were wondering, nothing says “We love you” quite like two pounds of Swiss cheese combined with two dozen eggs, whole milk, Pet milk, ham, mushrooms, and crescent rolls.

Anyway, our afternoon has consisted of me looking for places to “rest my eyes” while Alex watches as many DVD’s as he wants. Earlier we were upstairs watching a Superman cartoon (and by “we” I mean that Alex was watching while I stretched out on the floor), and I dozed off for a second, only to be awakened by Alex standing on my behind, bouncing up and down, chanting, “BOING! BOING! BOING! BOING!” And I thought, “OKAY, MISSY – when your behind becomes a trampoline of sorts for your child, it might be time to start doing some lunges. Or, you know, to quit eating.”

Eventually we settled in for a nice afternoon nap, and I’m feeling almost human again. And I’ll post more about this later tonight, but Jules did something that totally made my day. Sometimes a little encouragement goes a long way, you know?

More later – including pictures of Sunday night’s smooshy cuteness. Stay tuned.

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. :-)