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.

I just started a new Bible study that Heather has put together, and all the girls who are participating have been emailing introductions to the group so that we know a little about each other before we start posting this weekend.

By the by, I’m the crazy Southern participant. Sort of a stereotype, actually, but usually good for some comic relief.

Anyway, several of the women are writers. Not the way I’d say, “I’m a writer” and then collapse into a fit of giggles – they are for real, working-on-a-novel / get-paid-for-it-and-everything writers. My writing has never earned me one red dime – though my Southern lit. professor in college really liked a paper I did comparing The Color Purple to Ellen Foster, and she said she might like to enter it in a contest, but she never, you know, did.

It’s a rich writing legacy here at BooMama, is all I’m sayin’.

I’m always a little awed by people who can write fiction, because I SO cannot. I’ve talked about my limited skillz before. But thinking about these women who can and do write imaginative works reminded me for the second time in the last week about my college creative writing class.

Y’all.

Let’s just say that if it hadn’t been a requirement for an English degree, I would’ve never. ever. in a million years. taken. it.

Here’s what I remember – and Laura and Daph can fill in what I can’t recall because they took the same class from the same professor (but mercifully not at the same time I did – or I would’ve been forced into seclusion or at the very least would’ve donned a wig – the Raquel Welch collection, perhaps? – to cope with the sheer embarrassment of it all).

We sat in a semi-circle, and our appropriately bespectacled professor sat on one end of it. The first part of the semester we wrote poems, which I have TOTALLY blocked from my memory. Because have I mentioned how literal I am? And you want me to compare a tree to honesty? Why? Why would I do that? What does one have to do with the other? Why would we care?

You can see why I might have some problems crafting a poem.

The second part of the semester we wrote a short story, and it had to be 15 pages long. I cranked it out over the course of a weekend – I just wanted it DONE – and at the time, I was pretty proud of myself for completing it. Fiction is not, as they say, my thang.

I wish I could explain the mental block I have when it comes to that genre of writing. All I know to tell you is that I have no imagination. I have never sat around and dreamed of being someone else. I have never thought, “Gosh, I wonder what it would be like to live in New York,” and then created an imaginary world to accompany my musings. Because, hello? I don’t live in New York. I’ve never wondered what it would be like if I switched lives with one of my friends. Because you know what? I can’t. And don’t even get me started about acting, because the attraction of pretending to be someone else in a made-up situation is COMPLETELY lost on me.

I’m not so much of a skit person, if you were wondering.

So back to creative writing. I wrote a story about a girl (who was really just me with dark hair) who was really close friends with a guy (who was really just Bubba in a different fraternity because at the time he had transferred to another college and I missed him terribly), and the guy was killed in a car wreck (sorry, Bubba – something dramatic had to happen…I couldn’t just have us riding around singing like we did in real life…that would’ve only gotten me to page four), and then dark-haired me was very sad, and then she went back to the Bubba-esque character’s fraternity house, and sat in a rocking chair, and made her peace with everything.

Gripping, isn’t it? And not AT ALL cheesy.

That’s not even the worst of it. The worst part is that we had to make copies FOR EVERYONE IN CLASS and then READ IT ALOUD, and when I finished reading it, here is the absolute nicest thing my professor could say about it:

“Well, um. Okay. We’ve all had close friendships like that, haven’t we?”

Really, at that point, any back-of-my-mind questions I had about writing professionally were pretty much done forever.

But professional or no, what I love about blogging is that I don’t have to pretend. I can be me, for better or worse. I don’t have to create a person with a different name and dream up all the details of her life, because HAVE MERCY I can hardly remember how old I am, much less figure out how Laurel Marie St. Clair, the daughter of European royalty but currently “toughin’ it” in the big city to prove to her daddy that she is a Serious Businesswoman, is going to meet her handsome prince in chapter 10.

And that last sentence? It exhausted me.

So hats off to all you fiction writers. I don’t know how you do it.

But I hope I get to read it one day.

Since I’m finally following through on some of the recommendations that y’all have made in the way of TV shows, CD’s, etc., I can now wholeheartedly recommend four words for you to commit to memory before you embark on your next Target, Walmart, Family Christian, Amazon, WHEREVER shopping spree:

Watermark: A Grateful People

GLORY! :-)

Addie recommended it to me months ago, and honestly, it’s the best CD I’ve heard in a long time.

GIT IT. GIT IT RIGHT NOW.

Thank you so much for your prayers for Lauren and Norris – their little boy’s funeral is today at 2:30. And for all of you who have commented and emailed requesting their address, I have that info for you. I’ll post it in the comments of this post so that it doesn’t turn up in search engines. Please continue to pray for them.