Doing my part to disrupt the space-time continuum.

Posts tagged ‘mother’

Awaiting Snow

Living in the South means that when the forecast calls for snow, everyone in my house gets REALLY excited! I am no exception!

I spent the day nesting and preparing. In my head, the dialog went like this:

ME: We might be stuck inside all day tomorrow because of snow!

ME: How exciting! Better tidy up so it’s a pleasant place to be stuck!

ME: You are soooo right! But what about food?

ME: Gosh! Let’s run to our local grocer and buy all the bread.

ME: Ok. Let’s get some of those little packets of hot chocolate, too. You know… the kind with those little mini-marshmallows.

ME: Isn’t it just STUPID the way ‘marshmallow’ is spelled?! It should be ‘marshmEllow’. How annoying!

ME: Yeah! I know what you mean. It IS stooopid. Now I’m mad. Let’s also get oatmeal. Oatmeal is a great breakfast for snowy days.

Then I cleaned all day.

Right now, we’re hunkered down in our tidy, snuggly home …. fireplace ablaze, marshmallows melting in hot chocolate … and we’re waiting – waiting – waiting for snow. It’s just so exciting … in spite of the minor spelling annoyance.

Happy Snow Day, Y’all!

 

 

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The Fascination of A Dead Frog

We walked side by side after the rain stopped. The park was almost entirely empty. I guess no one wants to  go for a walk right after it rains. He ran on ahead toward the creek.

The thing about 10 year old boys is that anything that’s gross, sticky, bloody or puky is THE most fascinating thing beyond all human reason. “Mom! Mom!” he yelled,  “LOOOOOOK! It’s a FRRRROGGGGGG!”

By the time I’d caught up, he was knelt down on one knee. “It’s deeeeaaaad,” he said in a low, slow and reverent tone as he poked the remains of the decedent with a stick.

It wasn’t just dead. That fucker was flat. Flat-Dead. Squished … as if  he’d gotten trampled by an entire HERD of bull frogs.

My son was spellbound by the crime scene. “Ew” he whispered, “Look at the guts.” I leaned in closer looking more at my son than the remains.

“Oh,” I said, trying to lighten the moment, “I’m sure the little guy is fine!” I nudged my son gently with my elbow. “Looks like its just sleeping,” I tried to coax a smile.

Silence fell. Blink – pause – blink.

“Mom…” he began as his voice grew frustrated, “Really?! I mean … No. Just … ugh … No! It is NOT sleeping … It’s deeaaad!” Poke. Poke.

“Aw, c’mon now! Don’t be so negative Mr. Gloomy Pants!” I encouraged. “Give the poor little guy the benefit of the doubt! Maybe he’s just tired or maaaaybeeee….” I said trying to rouse his sense of humor, “Mayyybeee he just got back from a huge frog party and he needs some time to recuperate? You know … take a nice little shower? Maybe knock back a juicy quarter-pounder … with cheese?”

Blank looks on 10-year-olds are hard to ignore when they last 6 hours. It’s even harder when you can clearly see the wheels turning as they inwardly battle the inevitable, horrible truth: That they share YOUR DNA. Finally, he broke the silence,  “Do you SEE that gray stuff? I’m like a thousand per cent sure it’s his brains.” Poke.   

I was determined to make that kid laugh, even in the face of the gruesome scene that lay before us.  “Well … that doesn’t mean he’s not okay in a manner of speaking,” I began. “I mean, you could wear him as a hat or maybe you guys could hang out and play Wii? Look!” I said as I used a twig to lift what I think was a leg, “He’s flat enough that I bet you could use him as a Debit Card! You know …  you could do a little shopping…?”

I bit my lip and waited for a grin, a chuckle … a something… but no. He sat back on the concrete in utter defeat with his head in his hands. All hope was lost. His mother would never be anything other than weird and that frog would ever be anything other than dead.

I put my hand on my despondent little guy’s shoulder and proceeded tenderly, “Son … Seriously… Never mind what I just said … ” Slowly  he raised his head and met my eyes. “Honey … Dead frogs don’t make good Debit Cards … just trust me on this one.”

Rose-Colored Glasses, Crocs and a Big, Green Booger

My 3 kids amaze me.

Each is unique, smart and beautiful. Of course, I’m the materfamilias, so it’s not like you’re gonna hear me say, “My kids suck! They’re gross! Ew!” Lucky for me, they don’t suck and they aren’t gross so when I blather on and on about the wonders of my kids, all you can really do is just sit there and look pretty.

2 of our 3 kids have jumped the Mother Ship and are now navigating the wonders of the world on their own. I no longer get to screw up their lives on a day-to-day basis … only intermittently and even then, my efforts aren’t taken as seriously as they once were. Damn kids.

Me in my Rose Colored Glasses

When it comes to how I view my offspring, I am quite guilty of donning the proverbial rose-colored glasses. But for me, it’s not that I don’t SEE the flaws. Oh, I see them. Like a big green booger, I see them clearly. It’s just that the glasses help me focus on the potential found even in a booger if it belongs to my kid. It could be formed into something useful, I tell myself, Perhaps glue or add glitter and bedazzle  some Crocs with it. (Crocs are so ugly, they’d probably look BETTER with a glittery booger stuck on them.)

Anyway, the point is this; I think most of us moms do that sort of thing. Not, bedazzle Crocs with boogers, but we view our kids with a hopeful eye and a vision for the future that often INCLUDES the flaws, the weaknesses and the imperfections.

It’s probably true that we’d prefer to view our kids as perfect and overlook the flaws entirely. But in my opinion, if we’re smart, we won’t do that. Instead, we’ll embrace the imperfections every bit as much as the perfections and in doing so, find ourselves  balancing in that wondrous place in the middle where unconditional love lives.

The fact is, it’s often our flaws that make us interesting, unique and … well … US. That’s all the more reason to slip on the Rose Colored Glasses for a clear view of the very things that make our kids the spectacularly unique creatures they are!

Naughty, Cheesy… and What the Hell?

There is ONE thing on the planet that – if it were to disappear tomorrow, I’d be like …

What the hell …?!!?

If this one thing were gone, it would severely challenge the point of living. From whence would come the rhyme? The reason? The purpose for being? Oh yes! You know what I’m talking about!

It’s CHEESE, my friend. CHEESE.

For cheese to disappear from my world would mean I’d have to pack my smelly little suitcase, hop on the nearest Mother Ship and find a new planet. Hopefully, one made entirely out of cheese, where the inhabitants place cheese wheels atop their heads as an adornment and hang those little Laughing Cow Mini Babybel cheese pellets from their earlobes. That’d be neat. I’d like that. I’d be like, Whoa! You you look hot with that cheese wheel on your head, and they’d be like, Whoa! Have one of my wedgies to become a sexy cheese head like us! and I’d be like, Whoa! Sure! Thanks! and they’d be like, Whoa. Come join us for some Stromboli!

Which brings me to the point of this post: Stromboli.

(That’s probably THE DUMBEST segue you have ever read, but trust me, it will be a dumb little bridge worth crossing.)

This recipe for Stromboli is little more than lust and passion rolled up in bread dough and baked at 375 degrees. And Oh, CHEESE  …  How you-complete-me.

I first discovered this recipe when I was trolling around on AllRecipes.com getting off on the food porn. The original poster, Jude Mulvey, titled the dish 3 Meat Stromboli.

While the name is somewhat provocative and could possibly solicit an improper thought, for the sake  a more PG13 type of food naughtiness, I re-named the dish 3 CHEESE Stromboli. Maybe not as sexy to some, but a total turn-on to me.


3 Cheese Stromboli: Great for fattening up you skinny bitches reading this post.

Having made this dish like … one hundred million times … I am confident in declaring Jude utterly and entirely brilliant in all ways Stromboli. The dish is simple, easily manipulated (I could REALLY get naughty here but I’ll refrain) and out of the ball park DE-LISH. I love it so much, I may just roll around in it naked again next time I make it.

Here’s all the goodies you’ll need:

1 loaf frozen bread dough, thawed
1/4 pound thinly sliced salami, deli ham and pepperoni
1/4 pound thinly sliced provolone cheese
2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
1/2 cup grated Romano or Parmesan cheese (For the love of cheese, do not use the power crap! Grate the real thing!)
1 tablespoon garlic powder
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 teaspoon dried parsley flakes
1 teaspoon pepper
1 egg yolk, beaten

Here’s how you make it:

1. Let dough rise until doubled, according to package directions. Punch down. Roll each loaf into a 15-in. x 12-in. rectangle. Arrange a fourth of the salami, ham, pepperoni and provolone cheese over each rectangle. Sprinkle each with a fourth of the mozzarella cheese, Romano cheese, garlic powder, oregano, parsley and pepper.
2. Roll up each rectangle jelly-roll style, beginning with a long side. Seal seams and ends. Place seam side down on two greased baking sheets. Brush with egg yolk.
3. Bake at 375 degrees F for 25-30 minutes or until golden brown. Let stand for 5 minutes before slicing. Serve warm.

Just so you know, I’m fully aware that this is in no way on your skinny bitch diet. Screw that! Stromboli told me to tell you that it doesn’t give a happy rat’s ass how fat your ass gets. All it wants is your love and affection and a little food passion once in a while!

On Being A Mom

Motherhood

Giving all of me until
almost none of me was left
Inconceivable it seems
to know not
was it gift
or theft
?


Me and my youngest when he was 3. He's 10 now!

I wrote this poem over a decade ago when my two oldest children were around 8 and 7 and before my youngest was born.

I LOVE being a mom with its many extremes of emotion. Nothing else in my life has the power to consume me like the love I have for my babies. This love has pushed me to the very edge of who I am, tapping into the raw parts of my soul, demanding I play many roles that have stretched, stressed and challenged my strengths and weaknesses.

Momma Bear defends – Doctor Mommy heals – Parent Mother disciplines –  Therapist Mom supports. Homework Mom just says, “Go ask Dad.”  Every year of development has demanded I step up and play a new role. And what worked for one child didn’t always work for the other!  Where was that freakin’ parenting manual when I needed it???

Anyway, over the last 2 decades I’ve often surprised myself by doing pretty damned okay. But there are also a few  dismal failures I can barely face all these years later.  My kids will undoubtedly face those  same failures on a therapists couch somewhere in their 30’s.

Fact is, giving everything for my kids has been both gift AND theft. I freely gave of myself and sometimes it was probably more than I should have …  AND parts of me were stolen when I wasn’t paying attention. There are so many gains and so many losses in life and mothering has been no exception for me.

And I wouldn’t trade it for the entire world.