Friday, June 19, 2015


There's a FrootLoop in my wine. It made me laugh and, if I had not been worried that it would alter the taste of my wine, I would have stopped to take a picture of it with the hashtag #momproblems.

The last few days, I have been in a funk. My kids have not been bad (they haven't been good), but I just was not able to wrap my head around them. My patience: SHOT. My demeanor: Not Great. I would have received no leg lamps if the past 100 hours were the competition for MOTY awards.

Husband saw it. He came home, post call, and told me to go collect myself. He was so very tired. The kids were quiet. I told him to take a nap. He did.

I said, "It's not the kids. It's me. I can't get it together. I would have made myself cry if I were on the other end of my behavior."

Today though, I woke up. Grateful again for these children. Grateful for this life. Grateful for my husband. Very grateful for him.

I had blamed lack of exercising in the morning for my bad attitude. I didn't get to exercise this morning, because I let Leenie sleep in, and did laundry instead. Washing, drying, folding, and even ironing, I was reminded of my domestic responsibilities are mine, and mine alone. My children are reflections of me.

I did the dishes. There were a lot of dishes.

I  marinated a lamb for tomorrow night's supper. It made me miss my DC people. I was reminded that we have a girls' night tonight. It made me grateful to have found a few close friends here that I love as my own.

Fuzzy cried and was fed. Mattie did not listen and was disciplined in an even temperament. Leenie played in her room and took almost two hours to brush both her hair and her teeth.

Thank you, Husband. Thank you for working so hard for us. It does not go unnoticed nor unappreciated. I looked in my closet, slowly filling back with clothes and out our doors at our pool on the hot, hot day.

It's a good life and I am sorry that I didn't remember that.

Monday, June 15, 2015

White bathing suits

Listen-- it does not matter how much you spend on a white bathing suit.
It does not matter how much money it costs, that you paid retail, or that it is from a high end clothier.

It does not matter how many compliments you get on your white bathing suit, that it is triple lined,  how comfortable it is, or how good it makes you feel about your post-baby-body.

When that white bathing suit gets wet- it is suddenly transparent, those compliments stop and you are no longer comfortable.

Especially in front of your brother and mother.


Money well spent? Ithinknot.

Thursday, June 11, 2015

The start of a really bad joke

Tinkerbell, a cowgirl, and a sand crab walk into a warehouse club. Their mother was a touch frazzled, having had a husband spend the night at the hospital. The sand crab woke up at 4:46 for breakfast. The cowgirl followed suit at 6:02. And again at 6:18. And again at 6:22. Tinkerbell  found the outside of her eyelids somewhere in the 7:07 realm.

I balked on going to the gym.

Tinkerbell has a black eye. No, she did not do anything wrong. Rather, we made the discovery that "Hey, Mom! Watch this!" is along the same lines of "Here- hold my beer." Nothing good will come of either statement. Considering that last week she had a busted lip/fat lip, I feel compelled to say that her summer is off to a banger start.

The cowgirl has learned the valuable lesson that being cute can, and will, save your life. Just when I was ready to string her up for whatever reason, she rounded the corner from the back of the house with a pink cowgirl hat on her head. I taught her how to say YEE HAW! She jumped into a starfish position and screamed, "YEEHAW!"

Before the warehouse club, we stopped at the bank to get a lollipop cash a check. We looked like we were trick or treating, as the cowgirl, Tinkerbell, and the sand crab were all in the backseat, screaming for candy.

"PLEASE! MAY I PLEASE HAVE A BLUE CREAM SODA?" I think my children think that the only flavor of lollipops is cream soda.



The sand crab just screamed.

I am always fascinated by what people buy at the warehouse clubs. So often, I look in their buggies and want to tap on them on the shoulder and say, "Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but I am just curious. Which of these items are impulse buys?"

When I was getting out of the car today, there was a man unloading his cart next to me and he had at least 86 cartons of cigarettes... and a karaoke machine. My money is on the one carton of Virginia Slims 100s. That was the impulse.

I saw one of the waiters at the Mexican restaurant. He had 17 gallons of milk, lots of Styrofoam containers, and six big cans of corn.... and a deluxe car cleaning kit.

There was a woman who asked the pharmacist where the condoms were. I did not want to ask what her line of business was.

The woman in line behind me had 12 rotisserie chickens. Twelve. What did she need twelve chickens for? Then I saw that she had six children with her. Oh. Maybe that sixth kid was the impulse. I can relate.

A man had at least two dozen thirty packs of beer. Was he hosting a party? Does he have a really big habit? Was he business partners with the woman talking to the pharmacist? Where was his karaoke machine? I am more likely to sing karaoke after six beers and not six cigarettes. Unless one of those was a Virginia Slim 100. Then all bets are off.

Another woman had several crates of fruit and vegetables, cans of Ro-Tel and four teenage children walking with her, all of which were on their cell phones. She stopped in front of a $189 bouncy house. I paused. Was she going to buy it? I asked Tinkerbell. Tinkerbell said, "Mama, if she doesn't- we should. That would be awesome."

Um. No.

An old lady stood in front of a 25 pound tube of hamburger meat. In her buggy was milk, 36 eggs, and an old purse. She picked the 25 pound tube of hamburger meat and walked away. I really wanted to stop her and say, "Excuse me- do you need 25 pounds of hamburger meat? Is the price that good? I have a friend who has 5 kids under the age of 12 and she does not buy 25 pounds of hamburger meat."

Her response? "Fuzzy looks scared."

Then there was the woman with three children, two of which in costumes, and no room in her buggy for food- yet, six milk products waiting to be purchased (yogurt, milk, cheese, smoothies, chocolate milk, and cheez-its). Her impulse buy? She foolishly stopped to ask the DirectTV salesman a question............ twenty minutes later, he is still in the middle of his sales pitch with three screaming children in a perfect crescendo. What was she thinking?! There is something to be said for the sales pitch to have a certain level of brevity. That would have sold me, I mean... her.

I will say that I stopped in front of the unsliced turkey- the same turkey that grocery stores sell at the deli. It was $2.48/pound. Granted, I would have to spend $25.53 to get the whole thing- and I would need a meat slicer, but $2.48/pound is a pretty good price for turkey these days. I start to get sucked into this deli turkey. I could slice it in one pound sections and freeze it. This could work and save some money... I text a friend:

After the bank, the warehouse store, and spending $164.76 on exactly half of what was on my list- I throw in the towel. Knowing that I needed diapers for Fuzzy, I looked at the kids, the groceries, and my abilities.

I have a smart phone. I am smarter then this.

Ring... Ring....

"Thank you for calling Buy Buy Baby. How may I direct your call?"
"I need to talk to someone that can ring up something for me."
"That would be Joe. Just a moment."


Joe went to the back of the store, grabbed the diapers I needed and rang me up as I was driving to the store. I pulled up to the front, opened my car door and out walked Joe- my knight in blue polo shirt- with my bag of diapers and a receipt.

VICTORY! I shan't be defeated this day!

Saturday, June 6, 2015

Gettin' There

I am going to take some more pictures and write a more detailed blog about this in the coming days, BUT-- I am so impressed the difference that can be had when something as ridiculous as doors are replaced.

Remember those 35 linear feet of glass we have in our kitchen/den? 

It was a lot of glass. 

It was a lot of non-tempered-dangerous-if-Bennie-is-your-middle-child glass.

The door hardly didn't work. I had to inch it open to my left leg through the hole and then push back with my weight as I gave it the old college try. It was tough. I was tougher.

This picture was taken when we bought the house. Do you notice the once-white carpet? And the linoleum? Those are gone. Replaced with a floor milled specifically for us in North Carolina.

But we aren't talking about the floor- we are talking about the 35 linear feet of glass. There is more glass in that space then my daughter's bedroom space in Washington DC.

And, just in case you were curious, while you might think glass is cheap... it isn't.

So, we got quotes... we saved... we hemmed... we hawed... we tabled it... we dealt with the doors. We ignored that it took two people to open it. Shouldn't all doors bring families closer together?

This is what the 35 linear feet looked like about two weeks ago...

Sometimes, you know things are unattractive- but you don't realize just how unattractive (read: ugly) they are until you update them. This was not the case.

We knew it was both lovely, because of all the light it let in, and wretched, because of what they were. They were 50+ year old aluminum sliding glass doors that passed their prime at least 15 years ago.

After Pella came through and did what they do, we now have something that looks a little like this:

I'll get better pictures this weekend and give a more detailed description of how Pella works, because-- honestly-- if you are going to be shucking out the money for something like glass, you want to know how it works. Suffice it to say- I'm pleased. Shocked at how pleased I am that these new doors make such a drastic change in the looks of our house-- for the better.

Friday, June 5, 2015

You will never know

Not too long ago, Husband and I were watching Fuzzy watch the world and he said, "Ya know, little buddy? You'll never know just how much your parents will be absolutely fascinated with your eyes and your ability to see."

He's right. Fuzzy will never know and the girls will never understand why we love to watch him watch life. 

Today, his eyes grew in fear as Bennie peeked her head over the side of his bassinet. We laughed at this facial gesture- but it also made my heart warm to see him see.

You'll never know, buddy. You'll never know- and that is perfectly okay with me.

Thursday, June 4, 2015

So the Fire Department Came...

Fresh Market has a deal on hamburger meat. Every Tuesday, a patron can go into this fancy grocery store and buy skinless/boneless chicken and ground chuck at a price lower than Wal-Mart. Granted, if you go after about 11am, you are in line with a bunch of blue blood blue hairs, but if the meat is cheap and the quality is good- that is where I am. Sans the blue hair.

No word on the blue blood.

Tuesday, there I was- getting three pounds of hamburger meat. Our dinners of recent revolve around what I can make with either chicken or hamburger meat.

Husband said he was chickened out- hence the three pounds of hamburger meat.

We had hamburgers last night and I needed to do something with the rest of the meat.

I made a meatloaf. It's in the freezer- waiting to be eaten another day. Meatloaf, while it looks like brains, is not my strongest suit. My grandmother made a meatloaf and grated a potato instead of using bread crumbs (or was it eggs?). Her meatloaf was amazing. I never grew up eating meatloaf.

Probably because it's called meat...loaf.

I had a little less then a pound of meat left to monkey with. Why not have an adventure with meatballs?

How hard can meatballs be? Crackers, meat, spices, roll them up and fry those puppies.

I have learned that meatballs take more than crackers, meat, spices, and some oil.

They take the fire department knocking at my door with not one, but two trucks.

Let me back up... I rolled those puppies into perfect little meatloaf nugget balls. I tossed them in flour and put them in the fridge for about thirty minutes. Out of the fridge and back into the flour- I had my oil "white hot," as my grandfather would have said.

'White hot' is evidently too hot when it comes to making meatballs.

The "steam" started and Leenie grabbed a towel to wave around the den. She knew the drill. When Mama starts cooking, find the fan. We opened all of our new doors (more on those later) and even Husband said something about the smoke. I could not hear him over the popping and sizzling, nor could I really see him through the cloud.


Husband fanned one smoke alarm. Leenie fanned the air. Bennie and Fuzzy were sound asleep.  I fried meatballs. All the doors opened in the house, sans the babies bedroom doors. Those were closed.

The sirens started off in the distance. The phones started ringing. The meatballs sizzled.

The neighbors started looking from behind their curtains out into the dark night as the thirty two wheels of two fire trucks turned onto Buggy Lane with half of the rubber in the air.

As I sat outside and waited for them to dismount, Husband thought he would snack on the thing that caused the chaos. Those little charred nuggets of meatloaf-e-ness-- those little things that turned into something huge. Yeah, those things? They were raw on the inside. When the grease is white hot, they burn the outside and leave the inside perfectly red.

Not something you want in a meatball.

Wednesday, June 3, 2015

The things we say

Occasionally, I look up and realize the words that come out of my mouth. Sometimes, I am invoking my mother- or even my grandmother. Sometimes, I have to think to myself... did I really just say that?

For instance.... (don't you love these blogs?)

- Bennie, do not lick the door. No, don't lick that one either.

- Bennie, don't lick your brother. That's not nice.

- Inside screams! PLEASE!

- Bennie, please don't lick that business card.

- No, just because it's 'just us girls' does not mean you can go skinny dipping.

- That's a great question- call your grandfather.

- Bennie, stop licking my shoulder. I am not a salt lick.

- No, Bennie- you cannot feed your brother. That's great, yes, I see that you're taking off your shirt and pointing to your ta-tas. No, yours don't work.

- Bennie, no licking the floor.

- Where did Fuzzy come from? Call your grandfather.

- If you're going to dance on the counter, please don't dance on the stove.

- Leenie, it is not polite to do that at other people's houses... unless it is an emergency. Even then, it's not an emergency every time. -- A mother's advice on bathroom etiquette

- Listen, if you think you're going to throw up- don't do it in the pool. You just swallow it back. -- I actually didn't say this, but totally knew what that mom was saying.

- Please don't lick your food- bite it. You too, Leenie.

- Leenie, you are't a puppy. Please don't lap your milk. Yes, you do sound like a puppy. Being on all fours is cute, but sit at the tab-- stop licking your brother!

and one final one....

- Me: I love this song. Who sings it?
 Twenty Something at the gym: Rhianna, Kanye, and some old guy
 Me: What's the name?
 Twenty Something at the gym: FourFive Seconds
 Me.... on iTunes, looking it up.... a pause and I raise my eyebrows: You mean Paul McCartney?
 Twenty Something at the gym: Yeah, I think so. Does he play the guitar?
 Me: Yeah... he's a Beatle.
 Twenty Something at the gym: [insert blank stare here]