Showing posts from May, 2012

I'm behind

The weather has been too glorious to spend it inside.
LMC has been too busy to let me idle in front of my computer.
Husband has not had a day off in 28 days. Straight.

It's been a little hectic around here.

That being said, we did celebrate a birthday this weekend and LMC got a scooter and a "piggie airplane" that drops a barrel of (imaginary) monkeys when a release button is pressed. She is impressed with both.

More to come tomorrow-- lots, lots more to come tomorrow.

Just not today.


I love cookbooks and read them as some read novels or peruse magazines. My cousin constantly laughs at me and wants to see what my updates are as, she too, peruses what I have noted and considered.

But, cookbooks are like Bibles- they hold family histories. They hold memories. They hold stories.

I purchased this cookbook before our DC adventure, with the single intent of using it:

And use it... I have. I jot down recipes that I have found to be successful

I even write down what the menu was for a given holiday...  (Easter 2012 was chicken salad croissants, egg salad sandwiches, and BBQ potato chips as we watched the Masters)

Flipping through the pages, I make notes about the recipe. If something turned out not to be as expected- well, The Future Me will be prepared.

I take lots of notes. Lots and lots...

 Chilled Red Bell Pepper Soup? Who'da thought that would be good? So, I told TFM (the future me) that, "hey- you! Don't be surprised... this isn't bad!"

I take n…

To Dance

LMC is a big fan of dancing.

All kinds.

What she lacks in hip-hop (she got that from me), she makes up in rhythm (she got that from Husband). In the evenings, she has two tutus- one red and one green, which she dons with the matching jammies, rotating between Monday, Wednesday, Friday for the red and Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday for the green. Sundays, I insist she wear an actual nightgown, sans tutu.

We dance in the kitchen. We dance in the den. We dance with music and we dance without music.

She makes an excellent dance partner. We have fun with the music too loud and the smooth motown sounds filling our apartment and wafting out the windows when Husband is on call.

So, I have been thinking about putting her in a summer dance class. Up here, there are two kinds...

Creative Movement and Pre-Ballet.
She's going to one. They're almost the same price. They're at almost the same time on Saturday. I just do not know what the difference is- isn't it just going to be a bunch …


Yesterday, I was reading a message board for DC moms and one of the posts said something to the effect of:

BTDT moms- what do you do when your toddler [insert something I care not to share here]. FT moms, take note for when your angel does this.
Hunh? BTDT? FT? I get LOL, but... this 31 year old gal had to google BTDT. And before you go doing the same thing, allow me to save you the key strokes for the acronym of Been There Done That.

Immediately, I thought about Lewis Grizzard and his awesome column in the Atlanta J-C about personal ads in the classified section (long before and Since we aren't paying by the word on the WWW, is it too difficult to spell out the been there and the done that?

I ask this question from a mighty high horse because, I too have succumbed to the ease of the acronym. Or the EA as I shall refer to it now.

Allow me to give you a lesson in the acronyms often found in LOC (not Library of Congress, rather Life Of Cagle)

Most often used …

How far we have come

This is my fourth Mother's Day. I know LMC is not quite 3, but four years ago there was a baby shower to celebrate the coming of our sweet pink bundle of joy.

That morning, I hosted a diabetic friendly brunch for my parents, Martha's parents, my parents, grandfather, and Brother's family. We busted out the fine china (that I still miss) and used a very large piece of plywood from Husband's boat building stock on two saw horses. The [elegant?] under-table was covered [hidden] with a dark coral- almost orange- pressed hemstitched linen tablecloth that was something ridiculous, like 144 inches long. My dining room could not handle the amount of people we were serving.

The fine china, the silver, the crystal, the fancy serving pieces, an extra table outside for bloody marys and sweet tea... I pulled out all the stops for my first Mother's Day brunch, and I still didn't even have a child on the ground yet. We feasted outside in the beautiful 72 degree day, without a…

What's Cool

Traditionally, I am a traditionalist. Brother and I never wore GAP sweatshirts- even at the peak of cool. 3/4 sleeves became popular circa 1994, this girl avoided them until 2002.

Beanie Babies? Are you kidding me? I once heard a girl say she was (and this is a direct quote), "I'm investing in my future." .... no comment needed.

The TV series, FRIENDS? I missed the first season.

I want to make sure that things are truly "cool" before I hop on board. I never crimped my hair. I never wore blue eyeshadow. Leggings weren't my thing unless I was in ballet class.

The Pioneer Woman fell into this category. I first heard about The PW when a friend delivered dinner and I heard the comment, "Do you 'do' the pioneer woman?"

Excuse me? I had no idea that "doing" anything was possible when it came to this sort of thing.

So, I went into the Pioneer Woman kicking and screaming.

But now... I'm in love.

Ree Drummond is funny, kind, charming, a…

My Fingers Hurt

"Hi. Um, Hi. My name is Wife."

"Fire, Police, or Ambulance?"

"Um. I don't know."


When I was about four years old, I had a plastic fishing pole. It was yellow with a green reel and thick string for fishing line. There was a yellow hook at the end of the string. It was all very innocent and very safe.

One summer day, I really wanted to play with it and searched our new house high and low to no avail. Where was the last place I had it? The station wagon. I walk outside and see it sitting safely in the back on the red seat where I had been playing with it earlier in the day on one of our outings.

The door was locked. Sigh. I get the keys, unlock the door and return them to the kitchen before locking the car back. The fishing pole safely in my hand, I slam the door.

On my fingers.

I scream for all I am worth. My fingers are, literally, stuck in the door- locked. I scream louder. I try to pull them out.

Nothing is budging.

Our neighbor's son, Jeff, …