Front Porch Musings

Do you ever look around your house as if you had never seen it before and wonder what it says about you? Just walk around and look at your soap and the bath toys in their plastic suction froggie net and the pink towels all rolled up in the cabinet? At your cluttered kitchen cabinets and the magazines you keep by your bed? At all the stuff you hang on your fridge and your bulletin boards? At the way the kids keep their rooms?

Sometimes I look around and wonder if people can see who I am in the way I keep my house. They say that a stranger can read a lot into the things that you keep in your purse and closet. I'm sure its the same with your home.

Frankly, I think I was born in the wrong era. I'm too old fashioned for this day and age. (Apart from the whole women's inequality thing, racial discrimination and intolerance in general which never seems to leave us totally no matter what day or age we live in.) But I belong to a different time. A front porch time. Do you know what I mean by that? I mean the flowered tablecloths, snub-nosed cars, skirts on voluptuous armchairs, purses with the handles that you carried when you wore gloves and open-toed heels and a hat with a veil time. You know? When people didn't sit in front of their t.v.'s at night, but on their front porches and waved to people who were out on the sidewalk or in their front lawn or on their on porch.

Sigh.

I'm weird that way. I can see myself in my 1940's era kitchen.
Can't you see it? I can smell my roast in the oven, potatoes browning in the blue and white speckled Dutch oven. I would write my grocery lists with the stubby yellow pencil hanging from a string on the wall. Ovaltine. Butter. I would listen to the yellow bakelite radio while I rolled out my pie crusts. My neighbors would call me on my big clunky black phone that sat on the hall table on a doily. I would use cold cream from the dime store that came in a white jar with a pink top. Drink water from jelly glasses. Wash them in my metal dishpan. Make baloney sandwiches and tall glasses of milk for the kids lunches. A Baby Ruth for dessert on Friday. The milk man would leave milk twice a week at the door and the kids would have the job of bringing it in to the icebox. My wash would go on the clothesline and I would wear big flowery housedresses for every day. Put on lipstick as my husband came in the door each night.

I want the times where you went to the big Mason's lot to pick your Christmas tree. Where they would charge you $2 for the biggest tree on the lot and rope it to your car for you. Where everything was homemade and people didn't lock their doors at night. I recently told a friend of mine that our back door was never locked. She needed to borrow something and I told her just to "go on over and get it, go in through the back, we never lock it". She was appalled. Totally appalled. This coming from the woman who locks the door behind her as she comes in the house, checks and rechecks her doors at night. I know. It's careless. Not that we have anything of significance to steal, but it hearkens back to a day when it wasn't necessary. Crime was hobos riding the rails with their possessions tied in a hanky on the end of a stick.

Have you ever seen that movie "Funny Farm" with Chevy Chase? I love that movie. Not because it's artfully written and just plain hi-larious. But because I want to live in the Christmas town that they set up for the prospective buyers who are looking at their house. You know which one I'm talking about...the sheriff in his little outfit, the mailman in his stocking cap, the skaters on the pond.

Ah well.

Luscious Links for Thursday

Now, forgive me if I repeat myself, but sometimes I stumble across blogs in my loooooong list of bookmarks that I haven't visited in a while and I think "Oh, I must share this one with my pals, it's too good. TOO good." and then I've actually already shared it with you. But shucks, if it's good its good and can be visited more than once. So.

Go see Miss Pixie's boutique it is as fabulous as her blog. Sakes alive.

yvestown. You've surely been to yvestown, right? I mean, puh-lease. I wish she were my neighbor.

Oh, and Teresa at My minutiae has a new banner. Lovely, T. Good job.

life Fun read.

Go to the most fun place for buying kids' education supplies. Fun. Montessori Services. I'll take one of each. Thanks.

Oh and LOOK at these ca-yute cookies I am getting for Ellie's wedding shower at Weddingdish. Aren't they the most fun favors ever? That's an entirely different post.

Now. Not to save the best for last, but I've saved the best for last. Here is my newest obsession with a blogger. I LOVE Confessions of a pioneer woman! LOVE her. Sigh.

Oh, and get your name up in lights here.

Happy Thursday!

Seven. Weird. Things.

So.

Days ago I was tagged by a coupla people to do the seven weird things thing. But I thought to myself "Why do I want to inflict more embarrassing personal minutiae on these poor people who read my mindless tripe?" So I declined. I know, I know. You're not supposed to decline a tag. It's quite the blog world faux paus. So I got a stern lecture from a sweet blogger buddy and I'm doing it OKAY?

So. Now, if I tell you these things, you have to still come over to my house and play.

1. Bananas, walnuts and avocados make my tongue and the inside of my mouth itch. Something to do with the potassium in it and I'm allergic, yada yada. It doesn't keep me away from them. I just sit there eating away and making weird tongue and cheek faces, biting the inside of mouth as I eat. I'm sure it's revolting. But I love bananas and walnuts and avocados. So there.

2. Every time I take Jason a drink when he is outside working away in the heat, like on Sunday when he was opening the pool, or Saturday when he was mowing the lawn, or Friday when he was hammering away on the new deck, I must take a drink of it first. Just a small sip. I don't know what the deal is. I guess its the delicious way the ice clinks against the side of the glass, or the shiny-ness of the water or tea or beer but I have to take a drink. I don't do it with the kids. Just Jason. And he says "Took a drink, didntcha?". Go figure.

3. Sometimes I don't give a flying hell about how I look. I'll go for weeks, straightening my hair and doing my nails and picking out ca-yute outfits and then it's like I've had it. Forget all this stupid time-consuming primping and fluffing. Or something. And I'll show up at the school program in drawstring pants with my wild curly hair and no make up, freckles a blazing. It's like a rebellion of some sort. Damn the man who says all women must be petite and lovely and smelling nice. I smell like soap and look like a homeless person. Whaddyragonnado?

4. I hate small talk. Hate it. Like, I will avoid people in the grocery store so I don't have to make small talk. Here's Amber, hiding behind the vegetables so the lady we used to go to church with five years ago won't walk up and say "How're things? What've you been doing for the past five years?" What? Does she seriously want me stand next to the tomatoes and give her a litany of what's been happening? Here's my favorite? "How's the family?" What if I didn't say "Fine, thanks."??? What if I said something like "Well, Jacy talks too much and is highly manipulative and could possibly turn delinquent if we're not careful. Molly is way too social and might be boy crazy in a few years, gotta keep an eye on that one. Jason hates his job and hates my dog and hates mowing the grass and I hate standing here talking about crap with people in the grocery store when I clearly came here for groceries." What would they do? (Look, see, now you're all thinking terrible thoughts about me. See! I TOLD you!)

Onwards and upwards, I always say!

5. I read books I love over and over and over. Like dozens and dozens of times. There's something about the familiarity of a story that I love. Plus I can skip over the sad parts or the parts I don't like and still know what's going on in a story. I can do that with movies too. I've watched "You've Got Mail" about seven hundred times (I get lost in the language, words like "thither" "mischance" "felicity"-sorry! had to do that, if you know the movie like I do, you'll know what that means and then you and I will be best friends because I LOVE that movie.) and I could seriously recite every word, but I always fast forward through that part where she's in the grocery store and the people in line are mean to her because it's mean and just wrong and she's so nice and it pisses me off at those people. See I'm getting mad just thinking about it.

Okay, this is hard. Seven things, huh?

6. I have a huge complex about kitchens and bathrooms. They must be scrupulously clean for me to cook for my precious hubby and girls or exercise my hygiene habits in them. If there is hair on the floor or mildew or scummy looking things, you can bet I'm not brushing my teeth in there and my little angels are not setting foot in there. And no meal of mine will be eaten in a kitchen that has ants or crumbs or dishes in the sink. I don't know-it's an OCD kind of thing. Has to be clean. Has to. I need to be able to walk barefoot in my house at all times and not feel like me feet are getting dirty. I mean its my HOUSE, people!

7. I love Mexican food and choose to eat it every time we go out to eat. If Jason and the girls want something other than Mexican food, I never protest and always enjoy it, but they better not say "I don't care." when I say "Where do you want to go eat tonight?" or we'll have Mexican. Love it. MMMmmmmm....I want some right now.

Helllloooo!

Okay, the Victoria website is up. Go see!

Shabby Travelers

This weekend we had a scavenger hunt!

We hid clues all over the backyard with riddles leading to the next. One was "Look for something bouncy and round, this is where clue number two will be found."! They all rhymed and, since Mommy is no poet, some were quite funny.

At the end of the hunt were these two suitcases and a final clue. It had three hints to figure out where these suitcases would take our girls. Apparently, Mommy isn't that great with clues either, because they couldn't guess. Fortunately there was a disclaimer on the clue that said in small print "Open the suitcases to find out!"...and inside was a fortune cookie. They cracked the cookie open and pulled out a tiny clue that said "These suitcases will take you to Six Flags and Hurricane Harbor on a fun family vacay!". They nearly pierced our eardrums with screaming.

So yes, we are heading for vacation as soon as school is out, in about two weeks. We've never done the big amusement park thing with the girls. To be honest, I think Dad and I are a little fearful. You know, of normal parent things, too much junk food, throwing up on rides, getting lost or, godforbid, stolen, wearing poor parents to a frazzle. But ever since Molly's little friend came back from Six Flags on vacation and showed her some fun pictures, she's been begging me to go. So, que sera sera!

Aren't the suitcases ca-yute? Got them at Lilly's Kids.

You should have seen me fiddling with those fortune cookies. I broke three just trying to get the original token fortune out. Shoving mine in wasn't nearly as hard.

So, we are just as proud as punch at Miss Jacy Ellen for hitting a HOME RUN off the coach's pitch at her t-ball game last night. She flapped her little arms in her prissy little run and cleared those bases. The other team didn't know what hit 'em! Yay for Jacy's first home run!




So, I'm off to drop Miss Molly, the best catcher in the third grade, off at softball practice. (I know, we're eating, breathing and sleeping it right now!) And then I'm curling up on my new settee (have I told you about the settee? that's for another post) with this...



The summer Cath Kidston catalog came in the mail today and I'm all set with my little treats!

Happy Tuesday!

Proud Mommy!

My precious daughter and her precious self did such a great job at her recital. She wore her first big girl corsage in honor of the occasion and she presented one to her teacher as well. After her spectacular performance, her daddy gave her a big bouquet of pink tulips for his princess. The whole family came in to see Miss Molly and then we headed home for a barbecue and piano cake. The day was a success!

Yum-O!

Oh, I want one of each thing on painted furniture.com! One of each thing!

Oh, and I want one of each of Leigh Penne Baker's wire minis. Please?

Coaches.

Love 'em or hate 'em. Necessary evils to some. Role models to others. We've been very fortunate in the last several years to always have good coaches for the girls activities. It's so important. I don't think people realize how much a coach can influence a child, their attitudes and their motivation to commit to a sport or activity.



Coaching, like teaching, is such a fragile bond between parent and child. I feel sympathy for some coaches. I am one of those parents in the stands who watches the difficult parents march down to the field to "have a little talk" with the coach. I've watched them skip practice and wonder why their child has to sit out, argue and have poor attitudes and wonder why their child doesn't play a key role on the team. I've seen the endless time and patience these volunteers have with our kids and value them, but certainly don't envy them.

I got a call yesterday from our cheerleading coordinator. Last year I helped with cheer camp and I thought that was what the call was about. Well, apparently, our coach is moving and would I please (just short of begging me voice)pleasepleaseplease step up and take over? Commit upwards of five months of my time to not traumatize other peoples' children and be an intermediary between parents?

Oh, friends. What have I gotten myself into? Will this be fun? Will my child remember Mommy being her cheer coach with fond memories or red-faced embarrassment?

Commit to it, I did. I'll get back to you on the results.

Things that make me crazy

Black spots on my roses.

Junk mail in the mailbox and spam in my Inbox.

Those doilies with peoples' names crocheted on them.

Dull pencils.

People who call me after we've talked or had a get together and asked me not to repeat some mindless gossip they've just told me. Like I'm such a big blabber mouth, I'm not going to be able to help but spill repeated tripe to every Tom, Dick and Harry that passes me on the street.

When people don't trim the grass around their fenceposts or mailboxes or whatever stand in their yards.

Grumpy husbands.

Popcorn without butter.

Lazy people.

Grocery store flower bouquets. Hate them.

IKEA.

Apple juice. Long story. Hate it.

Spandex and people who ride bikes and wear it. Neither one looks comfy. It's like saying "Look at me, I can wear this and you can't because your butt is too big. Neener neener neener."!

Bills in the mail. The only things I want in my mailbox are catalogs and magazines and birthday cards and mailorder packages and letters from old friends on scented stationary. Not bills.

Particle board and furniture that is made from it. Please.

People who are late. It's so disrespectful. "My time is more important than your time, so I've made you late." is what they're really saying.

Musings

Why is it called a restroom if you don't rest in it?

Why do we put shelf paper in our kitchen cabinets? No one sees them, no one cares if there is shelf paper in there, it doesn't serve a purpose? It's like wall papering a closet.

Why do people look so vulnerable when they eat bananas? Have you ever watched someone eat one? There is no way to look tough when you're eating a banana.

Why does my car get filthy thirty minutes after I've vacuumed it out?

Why won't my dog stop going outside and eating the chicken's feed?

Why do ceiling fans get dirty if they're constantly moving?

Why does the library stop charging you fines after you hit $1? Do they think, "Well, that's enough. They've learned their lesson."???

Why won't my housekeeper move my couch and vacuum under it? She moves everything else in the house, but not the damn couch.

Why does my mother have the ability to still make me feel twelve years old? And will I do this to my girls? Someone better stop me.

Why is it so hard to keep myself from watching trashy television like "Dr. Phil" and "Wife Swap"? I know its terrible. I know they're exploiting people. But I can't help myself.

Why do I like to wash the laundry, but hate folding it?

Why does my eight year old need to be babied one day and treated like a miniature adult the next day and how can I tell which day she needs what on?

Aside: there goes the damn dog again, out to the henhouse to eat the feed. What is her deal? Does she have an eating disorder? Should I ask the vet? Wouldn't you think her food would be more appetizing? Good Lord!

Why do people fly flags on Memorial Day and Fourth of July, but not the rest of the year?

Why does the cover on my pool rip every year and let leaves in so my little pool boy (otherwise known as Jason) has to vacuum them out? What is the point of buying a new cover and covering it if we have to clean the leaves out every spring?

Why does a gallon of gas cost more than a gallon of milk and which one do we need more?

Why is it a woman's job to fix broken hearts and a man's job to fix the kitchen sink and why can't we learn to be more diverse and both do both?

Why do children like candy so much?

"I don't really want an answer . I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void."

What movie is that from? Guess it and you've guessed my favorite movie of all time. I think I might watch it this afternoon whilst I make my salads and burger patties for Piano Recital cookout tomorrow.

Happy weekend!

Everything but the kitchen sink

So I had a great morning today. I woke up early, fried some sausage and whipped up some French Toast for the fam, put a load of laundry in, stripped the beds, studied for a Social Studies quiz (otherwise known as watered down history in public schools) with Molly, put a roast in the crockpot and was all set to send the kids on their merry way on the bus when disaster struck. I was washing out the last pot to put away from breakfast and flipped on the garbage disposal and Armageddon hit my kitchen. It exploded all over my clean countertops, walls, cabinets, stove, me, everything in sight. Food we'd eaten days ago and water gushing out from under the cabinets all over my month old rug and freshly mopped floors. I stood there agape, not knowing what to do, not daring to turn the disposal off and risk getting splashed in the face with drain detritus aged seven days or more. Little Jacy snapped me out of it by shrieking "Ewwwww...." and waking me from my dazed stupor. As I am frantically calling my hubby on the cell, I'm grabbing every towel in the house and telling the kids to "head outside for the bus, I'll meet you there..." I'm wondering what in the world I've done to ruin such a calm and lovely morning.

Now.

Apparently, after about two hours of dismantling plumbing, washing towels, mopping floors and getting a stern lecture from Jason, the culprit was the large bowl of leftover spaghetti I shoved down the disposal yesterday. Weeeeellll, that's what it's for, right? To eat leftovers? I went grocery shopping yesterday and, as is my habit, I rid the fridge of every leftover, wiped it down inside and out and restocked it with fresh food. Every grocery trip for many many years I've done this and nary a problem I've found. I guess every dog has it's day and every disposal gets to the point where enough is enough and it cannot stomach one more bowl of leftovers, one more plate of scrapings and purges itself. Today was my day.

Lesson learned. It is going to be a Plan B day today.

Piano Recital

Saturday is Molly's piano recital. Come one come all. I'm so proud of her! I taught piano lessons for several years but never wanted to nudge any of my children into an area they didn't want to go, so when, two years ago, Molly said she wanted to try piano I was elated! She has come so far and now we are preparing for her second piano recital. The invitation I sent to the family is above. That picture is from last year's recital with her holding her certificate of achievement. Bless her. Isn't she presh?

So they whole fam damily is coming to watch. And afterwards, they're all heading back to our backyard for a cookout. Here's what we're having:

Hamburgers
Bratwursts
Poppy seed salad
Georgia cracker salad (yes that it's real name, recipe below)
Fruit Salad
Baked Beans
Chips and dip
Relish Tray
Strawberry Cake
Piano Cake
Homemade ice cream
Sweet Tea
Coke

Here is the piano cake I bought from Merritt's for her.

If you're in the area, stop by and have a piece.

Georgia Cracker Salad (recipe courtesy of Paula Deen)

Crumble saltines in a bowl. Mix with chopped tomato, green onion, mayo, salt and pepper. Squeeze hardboiled egg in your hand until crumbly. Mix in.

Serve on lettuce leaves. Scoop with ice cream scoop.

I know it sounds weird, but its wooooooooooonderful! If you're from the South, you'll love it!

Happy Mother's Day

Hope your day is special, friends.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Turn and Face the Strange Ch-Ch-Changes...

Do you like David Bowie? If not we can't be friends. He's the most fascinating, yet singularly scary looking man that has ever been on a children's movie. Come on, didn't you ever see "The Labyrinth". I shudder.

Anyhoo, as you can see we are undergoing some cosmetic surgery here. So I have some of my little sidebar elements missing. Don't yell at me in CAPS LOCK if you were once there and now missing, I'll getja back on again. Dear me. It's not because I don't love ya, it's because life interferes with my internet addiction and I must do things like laundry and weed the garden and make dinner and stuff.

Bear with me.



Okay, just so you don't think I'm crazy with my Bowie semantics, here's a really bad video of him singing it. Great song.

It's the little things

In an effort to stop and smell the roses I'm trying to concentrate on the little things that make me smile every day. I think that, especially as we become busier this time of year, we neglect and forget to nurture that which makes up every day life.

So here's my list today.

On my way to pick up Jacy I drove through the neighborhood that the school is located in the center of and saw a cat laying on the upstairs windowsill of a large house surveying his domain. He lay there with his slanted, lazy eyes flicking his tail and surveying the scenery and for a moment I was jealous of him.

I watched my girls skipping back and forth on the sidewalk this morning as they waited for the bus.

My oldest had piggie tails in her hair this morning with fat purple ribbons (not bows, Ash) and she would giggle and wrinkle up her nose and I thought "Memorize this. Soon she'll have little boobies and a purse on her shoulder and be out the door with no nose wrinkling and certainly no ribbons. Memorize it."

It is sunny here today for the first time in almost two weeks and the grass is shooting up and the plants are stretching their necks up to soak it in and I have all the windows in the house open and the front door flung wide to let the sun into this house that has been damp with rain for days.

My littlest brought me home a Mother's Day present of a hand print flower and a little seed sprout in a plastic cup and she was so proud and even more so when I put the painting in a frame to display and I thought "Memorize this. Soon she'll be purchasing me a trinket and doing her obligatory card and the joy with which she has just given me this craft will pale in comparison to this moment. Memorize it."

My dog rolled in something hideous outside and I just gave her a bath and she is soft and damp and laying in a ray of sunshine on the wood floor dozing and she is pwecious!

I have turned my cell phone off.

I folded laundry today and watched my cooking shows at the same time and took extra time to fold things in nice creases instead of clumsily and placed it gently in the drawers instead of shoving them in there.

I cut my husbands hair last night and gave him a big smacker on the neck when I was done.

My ironing is all done and the basket is empty. Lovely feeling.

There. Now you go.

Ants

Okay, we are being invaded. I have ants crawling everywhere in my house. Well, not everywhere, but enough to make me crazy.

If you know me you know I keep a very clean house. And I mean very clean. We don't leave food out, we run the sweeper every day. We take our shoes off before we come in. We keep the bathroom really super duper clean. Why do I have ants crawling randomly around our abode?

It's not even as if there is a big line of them like you see in cartoons, each carrying a morsel back to their little ant hill. You'll just be lying on the rug playing Barbie's and see one cantering across the wood floor. Or sitting here typing away and one wanders across the computer screen. I actually had one on my arm the other day. On my arm.

So, what is the deal? Do I call the exterminator? Do I set out little ant traps full of poison that my cherubs can get into? You know I'm very against all forms of toxicity in the home and we try to go all-natural when we can. Does anyone know of an all-natural home remedy for those little teeny tiny ants that don't seem to have a destination except to wander aimlessly about in my little house? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Luscious Links for Tuesday

Okay, you know I need these baking dishes. I need them. My pink kitchen needs them. I'm heading over to The House on the Hill to get some. Wanna come?

Didja ever read "The Poky Little Puppy" when you were a kid? Hows about "The Little Red Hen" or "Mrs. Duck's Lovely Day". Remember Little Golden Books? Go find your little ones some gold spined treasures and sit them on your lap and let them turn the pages.

And I'm probably the last person to have heard about SBB's new site. Sigh. As usual. Why don't you people talk to me more? I know that your visiting, I SEE you! Well, if you haven't been talking to the people that visit your blog and, like me, didn't know that the woman who helped revitalize your need to be domestic (along with Martha and Katie and Paula and Sandra Lee and Rachel and Shuggie and, sorry) go here and worship at her feet. Not really. But she is a really neat lady. Or so I've heard.

Anyhoo.

Do you know this lady?



Me either. But she looks like she enjoys baking and lord knows I do. Let's go see what's cookin' at her little site Bake Space. Although I don't trust thin bakers. It's just not natural to me. They should all look like me or Mario Batalli. If you're cooking stuff worth eating, well, you'll eat it right? Hmmmm...food for thought. Get it? Food for thought...oh I kill me.

Okay two of my new friends that you'll love Domestic Chicky and Pixie Blossoms. Go visit. They'll make you laugh and they have beautiful blogs!

Happy Tuesday.

Car-Meee-Vul

Or carn-evil depending on how you look at it. When Jacy was a tot she called our annual small town "fair" the Car-Mee-Vul instead of carnival. It's not what you think. It's a poorly done rendition of a town fair.

When I was a little girl, I didn't live in this lovely growing suburban town that I'm raising my children in now. I love our town and have adopted it as my hometown-it is my sweetheart's boyhood home and we've lived here now for about a third of my life-I worked that out just now, aren't you proud-and we'll never leave. I love it. But sometimes you get nostalgic for the town you grew up in. The town of your childhood, where the pinky dinky man cruised the streets and we ran behind the DHT truck that was obliterating mosquitoes and filled our little lungs with toxic poison that has probably warped me to this day. We played in the giant sprinklers that watered the crops across the street and watched fireworks in the backyard set off by the town hall. We marched in parades in our cheerleading uniforms and attended every church picnic and football game, both just as religiously. And the "fair" that was and is lovely labeled the Green Corn Festival (such because it was held in honor of the green corn that our town is famous for-people drive to get corn from my hometown) was the carnival of your imagination. You know, square dancing and street vendors and gospel bands and big circus colored tents housing craft fairs and rides that made my best friend throw up in my lap after she'd eaten a huge cone of pink frozen yogurt. Picture that all over my white keds and my two layers of rolled down socks. There were turtle races and frog jumping contests and soap box races. Go here to read my ramblings the last time I reminisced about Green Corn Festival.

Our Trail Days carnival here, is not nearly as picturesque. It's more of an advertisement for all the businesses here in town disguised as a parade, a car show and a grungy assortment of rides set up in a parking lot. But the kids LOVE it! And it's this weekend and I'm containing my sarcasm and packing my wet wipes to enjoy making memories, albeit not cute, red-checked picnic blanket memories, but memories nonetheless, with my family. So tomorrow evening, assuming the rain holds off, I will be rocking the seat in the ferris wheel, sliding down the giant slide on a gunny sack, twirling round and round on the Tilt-A-Whirl and spending copious amounts of money so the kids can try to ring the bell and win a prize. Oh, but they do have giant corn dogs and funnel cakes, so I'm safe. Que sera sera.