A Snowball's Chance In...

They say it's your birthday...

2009-01-15T16:17:00.007-05:00

Yeah, that's the Beatles.

I'm coming out of blogging semi-retirement to pay tribute to someone special. Today, TFYO became TSYO, at 6:03 EST this morning. Yes, I remember the moment she was born, because it happened when Ray would normally be doing the news, and I would be getting ready to go on after him for the recap. It seems only fitting that my first child would be born during the first newscast of the day, and that it snowed, even though we were in Charleston, SC.

Last year, I did a little retrospective of TSYO as she had aged over five years. This year, I'd like to come up with a list of her greatest quotes, because honestly, there are a ton of them. Anybody who used to read here regularly knows that TSYO was diagnosed with an autism spectrum disorder a little over a year ago, and the interesting wiring in her brain lets TSYO see the world a little differently. It also means she lacks an internal editor for her thoughts, which can sometimes be a lot of fun. It can also be dreadfully embarrassing.

When TSYO was not quite two, not yet really speaking in sentences, she had a terrible cold. This was back in the days before doctors decided all over-the-counter cold medicine was bad for little ones, and TSYO's pediatrician told us to give her some Infant Tylenol Cold to help clear her nose and her cough. Now, TSYO has a lot of phobias and anxieties that spring from her autism. Taking medicine is one that's been around from the beginning. Trying to get her to take anything, be it pill, syrup, melty things or other is like trying to medicate a cat. There's usually much howling and a lot of scratching, fleeing and hiding that goes on. Our brilliant pediatrician suggested putting the Tylenol in the sippy cup after I had been thrown to the floor on my last attempt at treating my child. Have you ever tasted Infant Tylenol? It's disgusting. My only guess is that the manufacturers thought that babies weren't smart enough to understand that it tastes terrible, and therefore gulp it down like so much pablum.

I furtively dropped the required dose into her cup, and mixed it with milk. I thought it didn't smell too bad, but the colour was definitely pink. TSYO looked at me skeptically when I handed her the cup. I told her to go ahead, that it was cherry flavoured milk, something new to try.

She sniffed it cautiously. She put the cup to her lips, and slowly took a slurp. Her lovely blue eyes grew wide. They filled with tears. She slammed the cup down on the table and yelled:

"TYLENOL!!!"

And that was that. For two years afterward, she sniffed every piece of food and drink offered to her, and pulled apart every sandwich to make sure we weren't trying to slip her something.

Around the time of her second birthday, we went to the bookstore to pick out some new board books for her. It was around this time that the first Harry Potter movie had come out, and with it a bunch of stuffed toys in stores. TSYO wanted a toy to go with her books, and I let her pick one out of the bin. She chose the three-headed dog called Fluffy. Then, in her exuberance, she took off running towards the cash register waving it's three floppy heads about, shouting "Doggie! Pretty doggie! I love my pretty doggie!" Other parents were aghast. I paid for my Sandra Boynton books, and my three-headed doggie and slunk from the store.

When she was three and a half, TSYO decided that she liked being held. If you know anything about kids with autism or Asperger's, they often aren't really into showing physical affection. Try as we did, couldn't teach her how to give a hug. We'd place her arms around our necks, but she'd only draw them back and wrap them around herself, while giving us what became known as "the pointy chin". Instead of a hug, she'd push herself up against us, and dig her chin into our shoulders. So, when TSYO finally decided she liked hugging, I held her anytime she wanted to be.

We were sitting on the living room floor, her in my lap, her head against my chest, her little arms wrapped around me. She suddenly sat up, and grabbed my shirt and hauled the front of it down and said "Goodness Mommy! What've you got down there?"

Ray fell to the floor and had to crawl out of the room, strangling his laughter as he went. I tried to explain, with a straight face, that grown women had breasts, and when she got older, she'd grow some, too. She pondered it for a moment then said:

"Well, I hope they aren't as big as yours. They're humongous!"

TSYO often says things that sometimes sound mean, even though she doesn't intend to be.

When she was in pre-K last year, I drove her and a little boy on the way to a field-trip. The little boy, like so many little boys, kept asking "How much longer?" I told him it would take about an hour to get to where we were going, and that it was 9 a.m. at that moment.

"Well, when are we going to get there then?" he asked.

I was about to answer when I heard TSYO:

"Um, well, Mommy said it was nine o'clock, so if it takes us an hour, it will be ten o'clock when we get there. That's one hour. Ten is one more than nine, you know? Or maybe you don't know. How could you not know that?" She didn't mean to insult him, I think she really didn't understand how he couldn't know that.

Recently, Ray took TSYO and Baby J to the playground. When they got there, TSYO wanted to go on the swings, but two very large moms were sitting in the only two swings watching their children play. Ray re-learned that anything he says, even quietly will likely be repeated. TSYO asked why the grown-ups were sitting on swings meant for kids. Ray said under his breath that they were too lazy to get their fat butts off the swings and move to a bench. At least, he thought he said it under his breath. Twenty minutes later, when one of the women had vacated a swing, TSYO shouted:

"Hey, look, Dad! One of the lazy people moved their fat butts off the swing! I can go swing now!" Thankfully, Ray was not beaten to death with a snack cake.

Just this past Christmas, TSYO demonstrated her lack of tact yet again at Build a Bear Workshop. Her Nana and PawPaw thought it would be nice for her to get a doll for her birthday, and they took her through the process. TSYO decided to build a boy monkey, named Aaron, who had a guitar (like Elvis Aaron Presley, yes). Part of the process involves stuffing the shell of the doll and putting a heart inside. The sales rep took the half-stuffed monkey from TSYO over her protestations, and handed her a heart. He told her to rub the heart over her heart and make a wish, so that her monkey would have a little piece of her inside. TSYO's response?

"Well, for starters, I wish you'd give me my monkey back."

She did get her wish.

Happy Birthday, my Little Wonder. May your next six years be as interesting as the last.

ardeo, ardere, adarsi, adarsus

2008-10-25T12:12:00.005-04:00

Ardeo: Latin, to burn, conjugated. Three years of Latin, it's all I remember.

The other day I was having a conversation with my husband on the cell (which more often than not is how we have any conversation at all nowadays).

I forget exactly what we were discussing initially, but my husband made a comment that someone needed to "be whupped, and good", and I got to thinking, how exactly would you conjugate "to whup" within the Southern vernacular?

So, we started trying to conjugate "to whup", while I was driving.

You can "whup" someone, you can "whup up on" someone, the present tense is "whuppin'" and of course, the past tense would be "whupped". You can also "open a can of whoop-ass", but we quickly agreed that "whoop" is a noun and "whup" is a verb.

So, this is what we came up with:

To whup: to beat soundly, preferably with a switch, or some other object

I whup
You whup
We whups up on
Y'all whup up on
They whups up on

Used in a sentence:

"I was workin' on my truck, when my wife comes out all sudden-like and starts whuppin' me good because I done left the toilet seat up again."

or

"They matched you purty good in the first half, but by the second, y'all were whuppin' up on 'em."

or

"C'mere, boy. You sass your momma like that agin and I'm gonna whup you."

Or something like that.

And for those of you wondering where I've been, I'm back doing a regular shift again, weekdays 6 p.m. to midnight. You can listen online, live! www.rockofsavannah.net They've even taken a much nicer picture of me for the website. Sorry for my absence.

Hanna, Ike and Josephine...oh, MY!

2008-09-03T08:22:00.004-04:00

The last time I wrote, we were watching Tropical Storm Fay. Now I'm nervously watching Tropical Storm Hanna. They keep changing the forecast track for the storm. Originally it was going to make a direct hit on Savannah, then it shifted south, now it's shifted north to somewhere between Charleston and Myrtle Beach.

Normally, I wouldn't fret too much, but it's supposed to become Hurricane Hanna before it lands, and I'd rather not be stuck at the house alone with two kids and two cats in the middle of a hurricane. Right now I'm just waiting to see if I flee up I-75 to my in-laws or if I chance it and park my butt here, with the possibility that I'll be eating canned food for the next few days. And then, of course, there are those two other storms hanging out there in the Atlantic.

So, in order to take my mind off of impending tropical weather (Hanna, Ike and Josephine??), I now present gratuitous baby and kid pictures...

I have more I need to get off my camera, but that should do for now. If Willowtree can post pictures of his pets incessantly, I can post pictures of my kids, right? Right??

UPDATE: The new track shows Hanna bound for South Carolina, and then skipping up the coast to Newfoundland and Labrador. I bought those extra D cell batteries for nothing. Ah, well. There's always Ike.

Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky...

2008-08-20T06:55:00.003-04:00

...Stormy Weather. Sung by seemingly everyone, but my favourites are Lena Horne, Billie Holiday and Etta James.

For the last few days we've been watching Tropical Storm Fay as it creeps closer and closer to our coast. Chatham County (the county right next door to us, and home to Savannah proper) is now under a Tropical Storm watch. Am I nervous? Maybe a little, although we are not under any watches in our county.

Truthfully, a tropical storm doesn't scare me as much as the idea of a hurricane. I've often told Ray that, while I know he has to stay and cover the storm for his listeners, the first evacuation order that comes will find me, the kids and the cats making a beeline up I-75 and to his parents house.

I actually did a live broadcast once as a tropical storm came ashore in Charleston a few years ago. The storm was quickly downgraded to a tropical depression, but it didn't make it any easier to stand outside of an oil change place and try to convince listeners they really needed to come on down and see me to win tickets to the Moody Blues. We did get some people to come by, but it may have been that they felt sorry for me. I was almost five months pregnant with TFYO at the time.

"Come on down folks! When was the last time you had your oil changed? Schools are closed and half the businesses in town have shut down, so now's your chance to be first in line to get an oil change for $19.95, and have a chance to win tickets to see the Moody Blues!"

There I was, just starting to show, holding an expensive piece of electrical equipment, while the rain just poured down all around us, and the wind tried to uproot the palm trees. At one point, I was underneath the awning that was over the front door. I walked inside, and moments later the thing collapsed from the amount of water that had pooled in it.

Thinking back on it, I suppose I should be nervous, but we're prepared. We've got all the batteries for our lanterns and radios and flashlights. We have our water supply (bottles, stored in the garage), plenty of canned foods, plus extra ice in the chest freezer. I've even taken in the patio furniture and moved the grill. The grill will be important, because if power goes out, I can use the side burners to cook things.

So blow, wind, blow!

When I was at home I was merry and frisky...

2008-08-18T17:12:00.006-04:00

for those not in the know, that's the opening line to The Irish Washerwoman.

I just have to say... I F-ING ROCK!!!

Our Kenmore brand washing machine broke over the weekend, with a load of denim still in it, and believe me, the air was as blue as the fabric refusing to spin in that drum.

After much plugging, unplugging, pulling the timer thingy, pushing the timer thingy, and kicking the cabinet, I figured out that the lid latch was broken. It wasn't just broken, it had disintegrated, and if the lid doesn't latch, the washer won't drain or spin. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, it's the little plastic and metal thingy that the lid presses in to make the washer go. We have to have these apparently because people are too stupid to not know that they shouldn't put their hands (and other things) into a washer that's going through the spin cycle.

Ray and I thought about calling in a repairman from Sears, and then remembered the hell we went through trying to get our five year-old dryer repaired when it's door latch broke. Long story short, we ended up buying a new dryer because it was cheaper than paying some dude to fix the door. However, we are in no position to buy a new washing machine right now (much as I would like one!).

Half an hour and some serious Googling later ( do yourselves a favour, don't buy Kenmore appliances), I had myself convinced that I could fix this myself. All we needed to do was buy a new lid latch and plug it in. How hard could it be?

We called the local Sears appliance store and they said they had the part. Ray grabbed the girls and headed over, only to be told that they only had the part at the Savannah store, which closed at five p.m. As it was already four p.m., and they weren't open on Sunday, we decided we'd just have to make do until today.

Ray picked up the part and brought it home. It looked simple enough, even though it didn't come with instructions. All I had to due was unscrew the the bracket from the old latch, and put the new one in.

Not quite.

I also had to wrestle the front of the machine apart, which, funnily enough, has to be done from the back of the machine. The makers of said machine felt it necessary to point out my folly by placing this right behind the front panel.

Here are some more pictures for illustration.

Once I'd gotten the front panel wrestled apart, and the old lid latch unplugged, I noticed that the unit wasn't coming out, even though I'd unscrewed the bracket. The ground wire was bolted to the underside of the top of the machine, but I couldn't figure out how to unbolt the top of the machine, since it appeared to have been done from the underside, just like the ground wire. It took my husband (who is brilliant, but not great with tools) to figure out we had to remove the entire cabinet surrounding the wash drum.

I'd like to say that I managed to do all of this, and keep the washer in it's place in our laundry closet in our very narrow back hallway. I had to do it this way, since there wasn't room in the hallway for me and the washer at the same time.

After about an hour of wrangling, and tugging (and some cussing), I fixed our washing machine. I. Fixed. My. Washing. Machine.

This makes me almost as proud as when I made my first lattice top pie from scratch.

My washing machine is now humming merrily, spinning in contentment, as I type.

All of this has convinced me of two things:

1. I would have made a lousy pioneer.

2. I'm more mechanically inclined than maybe my Dad thought I was.

And that I f-ing rock!

Up in the morning and out to school...

2008-08-11T08:13:00.005-04:00

from the song School Day by Chuck Berry.

I'm sorry that it's been a week since my last post. TFYO started kindergarten last week, and I was filling in on the night shift, to boot.

TFYO was very excited about getting to ride "the big girl bus". I was terrified. I'm sure I seemed like a helicopter parent, shouting instructions while she was getting on the bus, but I promised myself I'd let her go, and I would not meet her at the school.

As she was getting on the bus, I caught a glimpse of her clear backpack.* I realized she was missing something, something rather important, actually. She was missing her three-ring notebook which we were told at the school open house must absolutely, positively come with her every day. That binder holds her lunch money, her behaviour chart, notes from her teacher and any homework she's supposed to do or has already done.

In a panic, I fled back down our street from the bus stop, pushing the stroller at full speed. Baby J was less than impressed, and let me know by filling her diaper and spitting up all over herself. I must have literally scared the crap out of the poor kid.

So, even though I didn't want to, I ended up joining the horde of parents at the elementary school the first day. I had hoped to beat the bus, and make it to the classroom before TFYO. As I was speeding down the twisty two-lane highway, I noticed blue lights in my mirror. I began to pull to the side, convinced that I'd never make it to the school on time now, but he sped past me and pulled over the mom in the minivan filled with kids in front of me instead.

Now, normally I'm not the kind of person who rejoices in others misfortune. Not much, anyway. But I couldn't help smirking a little as I sped past her arguing with the deputy over how late her kids were going to be thanks to him. Hallelujah!

My joy was short-lived when I actually made it to the school, though. Traffic was already backing up at the entrance, and I could tell the parking lot was full. Wending my way through the throngs of tiny people carrying oversized backpacks, I managed to find a small strip of grass at the far end of the ball field that was not occupied by a pick-up truck, an SUV or a minivan.

Gathering up Baby J (who was howling with anger at being strapped in to the car seat), I huffed and puffed my way across the grounds until I could get in a door, where I was immediately told I had to go in the front and sign in.

Back out, and half way around the school, I pushed my way into the front entrance with seemingly every other parent in the county.

I was met with cries of "Sign in! We can't let you in unless you sign the sheet!" I scribbled something down on a line which may or may not have actually been my name. It was difficult to tell. Under reason for being there, I scrawled "forgetfulness", which was true.

Finally, notebook tucked under one arm, ten pound baby carrier containing thirteen pounds of baby straining the muscles of the other arm, I made it to TFYO's classroom. Her teacher looked puzzled until I displayed the notebook, unable to summon enough breath to speak. She smiled at me and asked if I wanted to say hi to my child before leaving. I nodded.

Was I met with a smile? Did I receive a delighted hug? No. All I got was...

"Tsk! Mooooo-ooom! What are you doing here?" And she rolled her eyes. My darling, sweet child, happy FYO...rolled her eyes at me.

Now that I'd managed to catch my breath, my answer was a bit tart.

"Well, I'm not here for my health. I'm bringing you the notebook that you forgot this morning."

"But Mommy, I'm too busy talking to Frankie to talk to you. Go home!"

"Who the heck is Frankie?"

"I'm Frankie!" said a little voice. It belonged to a cherub- faced boy with a mop of curls on his head. "I've got a loose tooth, see?"

Yeah, I could see. I could see that a loose tooth was much more important than mommy. TFYO gave me another look that plainly said "Beat it, ma. You're ruining me rep, here."

So, I slunk back to the car, trying not to sniffle over my first born baby, who no longer needed me. It was then that Baby J laughed out loud...and filled another diaper.

At least I know I'm still needed!

*County school rules state that all backpacks must be made of mesh or clear plastic. Same goes for pencil cases. Purses and makeup cases are subject to search.

A letter to my blog...

2008-08-05T08:40:00.002-04:00

My Dearest Blog,

So sorry I've been out of touch. I know you feel neglected. Every time I sit in front of the computer to check my mail, pay bills or catch up on the news I think of you. I think of things I should be writing on you. But then...the baby cries, work calls, the in-laws show up, or it's dinner time, and I get called away; thinking of you, but never really connecting.

Alas, poor blog, so lonely in your corner of cyberspace. I can imagine you, sitting by yourself, whimpering in the dark, wondering why I don't come by more often. I bet you miss all of our little bloggy friends. Although, they've all gotten great makeovers, and you're still the plain little mousy thing you started off as last summer. I'm sure they don't hold it against you. I'm sure they still love you, they're just wondering why you don't say more.

Perhaps a little counseling is in order, to help us deal with this burgeoning case of blog agoraphobia. A little make-up might help us boost your confidence, and then maybe we can work on what you want to say when you meet other blogs.

I promise to work on my html skills a bit, and track down a copy of Photoshop so I can make you a pretty header. Perhaps we'll get lucky and a kind friend will help us make a template.

In the meantime, here are some roses to make up for my absence. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder...dearest, lonely little blog, I can only hope that's true.

Love always,
jen

She Loves You, yeah, yeah, yeah...

2008-07-18T10:29:00.005-04:00

So TFYO comes running into the living room this morning yelling,

"Mommy, MOMMY! I saw a rat outside my window! It was looking at me!"

I, of course didn't panic.

All right, I panicked a little and went tearing back to her room, screaming "A rat? WHERE??"

I peered out her window looking across the freshly seeded yard for any hint of a rodent: digging, droppings, anything. All I saw was a bunch of damp grass seed.

The TFYO says, "Well, wait. It might actually have been a beetle".

No, not that kind of beetle...

This kind.

Well, that's a load off my mind.

If you're looking for a moral to this song, 50 million monkeys can't be wrong

2008-07-15T06:32:00.004-04:00

Lyric from a song made very popular by Dean Martin, The Peanut Vendor. Although it's been around longer than that.

Peanuts are a big deal in the south. Of course, you know, they're not a nut, they are a legume that was imported from Africa (even though they are originally from South America), along with okra, black-eyed peas and watermelons. Peanuts were one of the staples in the diets of enslaved Africans living in the Americas, so it's no surprise peanuts are everywhere down here.

Hell, one of our Presidents used his image as a Georgia peanut farmer to sell himself to the American people. Of course, Jimmy Carter also did graduate work in nuclear physics at Union College, New York, but that image did resonate quite as much as peanut farming.

Peanuts are important down here.

However, unlike up north, most folks don't prefer their peanuts roasted 'round these parts, they like 'em boiled.

It really is a southern thing. Every summer, hand made signs start popping up all along the road offering boiled peanuts in various vernaculars. I've seen everything from "Boiled P-nuts" to "Boiled Pee-nuts" offered for sale on the side of the road. Just remember, when you say boiled down here, you better say it "bawled", or they'll know you're a Yankee.

In the deep south, you can even find them canned in grocery stores like tomatoes or other veggies.

And I despise them.

I consider myself pretty well acclimated to the American South. I love grits and greens, I eat hoppin' john and pork every New Year's Day, and I even sound more like my neighbours here, than I do my northern family.

But there are two things I can't stand: sweet tea and boiled peanuts.

My husband loves both, and while he understands my dislike of sweet tea, he never tires of urging me to eat boiled peanuts.

Basically, a boiled peanut is a peanut that's been, well...boiled. You have to use fresh, green (as in just harvested, not in colour) peanuts. Then they're boiled, usually outdoors, in a big pot of salty water until the shells/skins get soggy. According to What's Cooking America.net, they take on a "fresh legume flavor". According to me, they taste like soggy, slimy, wet and salty cardboard.

Just the idea of squishing one of those things into my mouth makes me shudder.

When Ray interviewed someone from the Effingham County Fair this past fall, he asked the man "How can I get my wife to try boiled peanuts?" The man's answer: "Well, hell, son, just shove a couple in her mouth. She'll get the idea."

And I may be coming around to that idea.

There's a gentleman who sells his boiled peanuts just outside the door of our local grocery. His sign proclaims "Best Boiled Peanuts in Georgia", and he gets extra points from me for spelling "peanut" correctly. He's a joy to talk to. He has one of those warm, southern voices that sounds like it's either going to break into a spiritual any minute, or possibly a sermon. TFYO always has to stop and chat with him whenever we go to the store, and it's always worth it to watch her listen to his stories.

She pays attention to that man, she hangs on his every word.

But I've never bought his peanuts.

I think, this week, I just might. At the very least, Ray will eat them.

This is Judy Garland singing The Peanut Vendor Song, not the best version I could find, but most of the other versions were in Spanish.

Take this job and...

2008-07-12T07:38:00.002-04:00

I'm a little in love with Johnny Paycheck.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, I say I quit, but I'm still doing the occasional air shift on the weekends, but no more work during the week. No more production work. No more responsibility beyond my air shift.

And I feel so much better.

I let the one year anniversary (blogiversary?) of my little corner of the world pass without much fanfare. Sorry about that.

I also owe y'all a post about peanuts. I promise you will have it by Monday, and since I don't have to work Monday (or Tuesday, or Wednesday...) I get to come visit you all, too!

Oh, and if any of you know someone who's looking for a pretty good voice talent, send them my way. I can do accents, children's voices and character voices, too.

Where does the time go?

2008-06-01T17:26:00.006-04:00

Sorry I haven't been around much, folks. I've been working, not sleeping, feeding a baby...that kind of thing.

We did make it out to a baseball game a couple of weeks ago, Baby J's first, and it was an exciting one for TFYO. She got to run the bases against Gnate the Gnat, the Sand Gnats mascot. Of course she won. Here are some pics for y'all.

The bottom pic shows TFYO crossing home plate. Ray knows some folks with the Sand Gnats, and as we were all chatting one of the promotions people asked if TFYO wanted to run the bases against Gnate after the fourth inning. Her response? To run for the open gate leading to the field, yelling "Woo-hoo! Let's go now!" The game, of course, was in the second inning. It was amazing to watch a huge crowd of adults all yell "Not yet!" and lunge for my child at the same time.

Like an idiot, I forgot to bring my camera, but we happened to run in to a co-worker (Hi, Amy!) who remembered hers. Amy is such a diligent photographer that she ran down the third base line and almost mowed Gnate down in order to get the shot of TFYO crossing home plate. TFYO promptly grabbed the live mic and hollered "Helloooooo, Savannah!" She then took a bow.

Here she is making nice with the insect she was running against:

I have been working more than I should, but money is money, and it makes the world go around. It also pays for incredibly expensive gas, food, cable internet, and a roof over our heads.

Baby J is fine, and is actually sleeping in three hour stretches at night now, just not in her bassinet or crib. She prefers the bouncy seat. I, frankly, don't care where she sleeps, as long it's safe and allows me to sleep with some comfort, too. She has developed a case of infant acne that would make your average teenager cringe, but it seems to be clearing up.

If you watch your stat counters, you may have noticed that I've been by. I don't comment a whole lot, as it's difficult to type while nursing, or holding a baby with one arm. I'm getting better at it, but if I don't leave a comment, don't be hurt.

For those wanting a post with more Southern flavour, I've been working on one about boiled peanuts, the delicacy of the south. Stay tuned.

Torn between two lovers...

2008-05-09T06:54:00.004-04:00

I swear this is not going to turn into "the baby blog", just bear with me for a bit. It is a good excuse to post baby pics, though.

I'm actually not torn between two lovers (my husband will be relieved to know!), but I'm torn between two paths.

You see, my employer called this week, pretty much begging me to come back, at least part time. I really wanted to turn her down. Baby J isn't even a month old yet, and I worry about having to be away from her.

But we could really use the cash.

Aye, there's the rub.

I stayed home with TFYO for the most part. I didn't work a single shift until she was four months old, and even then I realized I wasn't really ready to go back. I didn't start working regularly until she was almost eight months old, and even then, Ray and I worked opposite shifts so that one of us would always be with her. But here I am now, looking at an ever diminishing bank balance, and the urge to "pull my weight" financially is tugging pretty hard.

I feel like I should be at home. Truth be told, if I was wealthy, I'd never go back to work. Ever. I'd stay home with my kids and make stupid crafts out of paper plates and macaroni, and take them to the playground, and help them plant a veggie garden.

But my checkbook is sitting on the desk as a glaring reminder that I don't have that luxury.

How do other women manage? The idea of putting my infant into care is abhorrent to me, yet millions of single mothers do it every day. I'm barely getting enough sleep to make it through a twenty-four hour period, how am I going to manage to stay awake at work? I can't even manage to get more than one load of laundry and dishes done right now.

And don't even get me started on pumping breast milk.

So, I'm going in to work for a few hours today, and Ray will have the baby, and a couple of bottles of expressed milk. I'm only hoping we don't both collapse under the weight of our own guilt.

Greetings from the Land of the Midnight Dairy

2008-04-30T06:09:00.004-04:00

That's not a song title, but it damn well should be...

Who was I to think I'd have more time to blog after the arrival of Baby J? Some of my fears have been realized with the fact that she is a night owl, just as she was in the womb. Since Ray gets up at 3 a.m. for work, I can't really ask him to pull an all nighter with the baby. That, and he's lacking some of the necessary equipment required to care for Baby J at this point as well.

What this means, is that I've been watching a lot of late night television, something I haven't done since TFYO was an infant, who also liked to stay up all night and nurse for hours on end. It's been putting questions in my head.

Like, when did Conan O'Brien's hair get so big? Is he purposely brushing it higher to compliment that huge forehead?

When did Craig Ferguson become funnier than anyone else on late night TV?

And when did they start a series called "The History of Sex" on the History Channel?

Is Billy Mays really a person, or an animatronic doll?

And that guy that does the Sham-Wow commercials, why is he so damn angry?

Why would anyone need to have a Matlock marathon at 3 a.m., especially when the target demographic for the show is in bed by 8 p.m.?

And who thought an infomercial on colon cleansing was a good idea? Especially with detailed pictures?

I know it seems like these are frivolous questions, but when you've been subsisting on three hours of broken sleep per day, they take on an ominous tone. By the time Baby J settles down at 5:30 in the morning, I can't help but wonder if I have enough cleaning power in my vacuum, if my teeth are white enough, and if an onion chopper has a place in my kitchen.

But wait, there's more!

Actually, there's not. I've always just wanted to say that.

Welcome to the World...

2008-04-23T07:52:00.006-04:00

I meant to post sooner, but I just got home from the hospital yesterday. Sorry about that...

Baby J arrived into the world, Saturday, April 19th at 9:52 p.m. EDT via emergency c-section.

There's actually nothing wrong with her, except, perhaps for a flawed sense of direction and a love of tap dancing.

I arrived at the hospital late Saturday afternoon, having fairly strong and regular contractions, but they were going to send me home. That is, until they did an internal examination.

Nurse: "Um, that doesn't feel like a head. No, that's definitely not a head. Maybe it's a hand. "

She then calls in another nurse and invites her to take a grab.

Nurse 2: "No, that's not a head, and it's not a hand, either. That's a foot. Ma'am, did you know your baby is breech?"

Aw, hell.

It was at that moment that Baby J decided to start setting off alarms by letting her heart rate plummet, disappear, and then reappear with gusto not thirty seconds later.

Nurse 1: "Um, you are most definitely NOT going home. "

Initially, they were just going to keep me for observation overnight, keep an eye on the baby, and make sure she didn't try to kick her way out. I sent Ray and TFYO home. Five minutes later, the Amazing Baby J did her disappearing heart beat trick again, and I was informed that I'd be having a c-section within the hour. Ray, TFYO and our very dear friend Debbie all made it back just in time for me to be wheeled into the OR.

I have to say a huge thank you to all the staff at St. Joseph/Candler-Mary Telfair Hospital. The doctor who performed my surgery was quick, the nurses were all warm, funny, caring and professional, and even though I was terrified, everyone worked hard to make me comfortable. I panicked about being cut open, but everyone was just wonderful, including the nurse who did a pratfall just for my benefit. Shame I didn't actually see her do it.

I was given a spinal block at 9:35, Ray walked into the OR in his scrubs (see picture), and Baby J was born at 9:52. By 10:05, I was cleaned up, stapled up, and sent off to my room.

They're cute, aren't they?

It turns out, Baby J's heart is just fine. However, she had the cord wrapped around her foot, and she was stomping on it. It was like her own personal hoedown. Just for good measure, she was kicking the placenta around, and kicked at everyone on her way out, too.

I look like hell in this picture, but I don't really care. After all, I'd just given birth. For the record, Baby J appears to have dark hair and dark eyes. Otherwise, she looks almost identical to her big sister when TFYO was that age.

I'm tired, and I'm sore, but we're home now, embarking on our latest adventure. Stay tuned for more exciting episodes!

So tired, tired of waiting...

2008-04-15T17:49:00.005-04:00

...taking the advice of Willowtree and Dumdad. I do love the Kinks, and Ray Davies's writing is so under-appreciated.

I had another doctor's appointment today, and since I'm writing, I'm pretty sure you can guess what happened.

Not a damned thing.

I'm now at 2.5 centimetres. Whoopee. My doctor's advice? Don't sweat it, and try walking.

Easy for him to say. It's not like he's trying to walk with a bowling ball hanging down to his knees. Not as far as I know, anyway.

I have been in a bit of a cleaning fit, lately. I've been vacuuming lamp shades and drapes, reorganizing books and DVDs. I halfway thought about baking a pie, but I can't decide what kind I want. Right now, it's a toss up between canned cherries and fresh blackberries, which are just coming into the stores. I don't think I can afford the blackberries, though. I'm hoping all this nesting activity means that labour will come soon. Of course, it could just mean I'm bored sitting around the house.

So in the meantime, we continue to wait, and ponder pie...

The waiting is the hardest part...

2008-04-11T06:23:00.004-04:00

...with thanks to Tom Petty. I'm going to have to start researching songs that have to do with waiting, I think.

I'm still exactly where I was last week, at two centimetres. While I'm glad we haven't had pre-term labour yet, I'm getting kinda antsy.

I am having contractions. The little box they have at the doctor's that goes "ping" showed me that. There just not apparently strong enough to be doing anything right now. After being hooked up with various pads and bands, etc, I lay in a chair listening to my child's heartbeat. Unfortunately for everyone, Baby J doesn't like being touched all that much, and efforts to get her to stay in one place to continue monitoring her heart rate were pretty futile. Every time they got her pinned down for a few minutes, she'd turn over to the other side, which of course also made it difficult to monitor my contractions. With every move, she was snapping the velcro off the monitoring pads.

Eventually she calmed down, and the doctor looked at the readout and said incredulously, "Are you feeling those?"

"Well, some of them. But they don't really hurt at all".

So, I'm having regular contractions (apparently every fifteen minutes or so), they're just doing much to move me along. I've got another doctor's appointment Tuesday, so we'll see if we make it.

And the beat goes on...

Don't stop believin'...

2008-04-07T06:03:00.004-04:00

Would you believe I still haven't gone into actual labour yet?

I am, however, now officially on maternity leave with strict instructions from my coworkers not to do anything. Which means I now want to do laundry and clean the house.

I do have a doctor's appointment tomorrow, and with any luck I'll still be at two centimetres and I can wait another week to have the baby. I'd rather not have her just now, since she'd be a bit early. I decided to go on maternity leave after feeling like crap on Wednesday, and taking Thursday off. Friday was my last day.

I am also overwhelmed at the generosity of my coworkers, who managed to organize a baby shower in just one day. We had registered at Target a few weeks ago, and one of the girls I work with said it seemed like most of the building was there on Thursday night. And now that the furniture for the nursery has finally arrived, we may actually have everything in place just in time!

So, in the meantime, still waiting...

Does the Jeopardy Theme have a title?

2008-04-02T06:10:00.001-04:00

Two centimetres dilated, 25% effaced, and holding.

And still working. And hoping I at least make it to the end of the week.

I would have posted this yesterday when I found this out at the doctor's, but I didn't want anyone to think it was an April Fool's joke.

Don't get around much anymore...

2008-03-26T06:07:00.002-04:00

...which is a great song.

Just a quick post to let you know I'm still alive and still gestating.

Although, my OBGYN says it could be anytime between now and my due date, May 3. Actually, I probably won't even make it to my due date. I was told to start seeing the doctor weekly, beginning next week, and that it might be a good idea to bring a packed bag with me, just in case. If I show any signs of imminent labour, they're just going to admit me to the hospital and be done with it.

I've developed a serious case of pregnant woman waddle, and I get to enjoy the smirks of my coworkers as I attempt to navigate the hallways of our building, trying to remember that I can't suck in my gut as I squeeze by.

I have to keep reminding myself not to climb things, reach up for things, reach down for things, or turn around suddenly, the last almost causing me to fall over due to my new center of gravity.

Heartburn has reared its ugly head, and I keep a jar of Tums with me at all times. My feet and hands have begun to swell just slightly.

It's as though my body has suddenly decided to throw all of pregnancy's symptoms at me in these last few weeks, a final assault leading up to D-Day, as it were.

But, I feel surprisingly fine. Yeah, I'm tired, and I'm working too many hours, but it's not as bad as I imagined it would be.

I've popped in to see a few of you, commenting when I can, and I miss you all. My maternity leave starts April 18th, and I'll make sure to come visit you all then.

Assuming, of course, I haven't already given birth.

When Irish Eyes are Smiling...

2008-03-16T10:05:00.003-04:00

Well, Saint Patrick's Day weekend in Savannah is almost over, and what fabulous party wouldn't be complete without tornadoes and a four county blackout?

I was actually very pleasantly surprised at how well behaved everyone's been this weekend. The arrest rate, overall, was down. Although some of the more memorable included the standard drunk-woman-swimming-in-a-fountain story, and the guy caught with his hands down another guy's pants, who then insisted that a graphic description of what he was accused of doing be read aloud to the night court. The woman in the fountain was sobbing when she went before the judge, and still just a little dripping wet. The judge asked her if she'd had her clothes on while she was in the fountain, and the woman said yes. "Well, at least that's something," replied the judge.

Last night, we did have some very severe weather. Severe enough that me and TFYO spent some time hanging out in my walk-in closet with a battery powered lantern and some books. A tornado passed very close to the house. It missed us, and took out the main distribution power substation instead, plunging four counties into complete darkness, including the city of Savannah, where around a hundred thousand people were whooping it up between City Market and River Street.

Again, I am glad that I live in an area where emergency services know exactly what to do when disaster strikes, and I'm glad that, generally, I live in a city where people are well behaved. The police used their car lights, and generators, to get enough power and light going to move people to shuttles and get them out of the downtown area in an orderly fashion. There were no reports of arson, or looting, and everyone pretty much did as they were told, and got the hell out before the storms hit the city itself. There was no wide-scale pandemonium from what I could tell, and that was very reassuring. If a hurricane ever does hit here, I feel confident that we'll either all make it out in time, or we'll be well assisted one way or another.

Ray ended up driving in to work to help cover the evacuation, although by the time he got there, the power was back on at our house.

Big kudos to Georgia Power, too. It took a little while to get power back to all areas, but it happened more quickly than I would have thought possible. Our power was only off for a couple of hours, and by the time Ray headed home, they were slowly getting power back in to parts of Chatham County. Of all the places I've lived, Georgia Power by far has the quickest response time. Makes me happy knowing all that stuff in the freezer stayed frozen.

It was another forty-five hour week for me, and I did work about an hour yesterday afternoon, plus I managed an air shift, too! I console myself with the fact that I do get paid overtime, and it will come in handy when I go on maternity leave, just five more weeks.

Thank you!

2008-03-09T10:42:00.007-04:00

Just a quick post to thank all of you for your well wishes. I worked forty-five hours, thirty-seven minutes this week, and crammed it into five days. It's not too bad, but it's not the easy transition into my maternity leave that I had initially hoped for!

This is also a post to say thank you to reader Saphyre Rose, who sent me a lovely present for Baby J. The generosity of people I've met on the internet never ceases to amaze me. Just when I start losing hope for humanity (at least those that seem to inhabit my everyday world), someone goes and does something like this, for someone the only know online.

This is Rose's gift to Baby J:

She crocheted it herself, and the pictures just don't do it justice. She's a marvelously talented, and feisty woman. I do like reading her point of view. Thank you Saphyre Rose!

For those wondering, I am managing at my new temporary promotion better than I had hoped. There've been no major crises, and no one has seen fit to show me the door, yet. And I do get an office to myself until they hire someone else to do the job. The office has a door which is nice to close while I work through lunch. I've popped in to see a few of you, and I imagine once I finally go on leave I'll have a bit more time to read you all and maybe actually write a bit myself!

St. Patrick's Day is coming up, and it's a big time in Savannah. It's so big, there's even a news crew from TG4 in Ireland doing a documentary on how a group of immigrant Irish Catholics seemed to flourish so well in an area dominated by Baptists. I've always wondered that myself. The greened the fountains yesterday, after having to delay it from Friday (we had storms). We are not going to the parade this year. In truth, the whole festival has slowly turned from a celebration of Irish families into an excuse to get drunk in the streets on green beer. The crowds are usually huge and rowdy, and I'm just not up to dealing with it. Maybe next year, when I'm not in need of a bathroom quite so often.

I'll try to post again next Sunday!

Oh, and I forgot...to Rotten Correspondent, my due date is 56 days away, May 3rd. Although, TFYO was a week early. Judging by my size and how much Baby J has dropped down in the last couple of weeks, she may be early, too.

Breaking up is hard to do...

2008-03-01T07:21:00.006-05:00

Oh, ain't it the truth, Neil.

On Thursday, our production director, my immediate supervisor, decided to give two weeks notice. Our general manager, as is her right, decided the two weeks weren't necessary.

What does that mean?

It means I'm now the interim production director, half trained, half aware, and half way out the door.

Which wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't almost eight months pregnant.

For those who don't know what a production director does, let me explain. The production director is responsible for producing and dubbing all the commercials that air on our stations. In this case, the production director is also responsible for a nasty little thing referred to as "continuity", and I hate it.

I can make commercials all day long. I love sitting in the studio in front of the board and my audio editing software. I love fiddling with little bits of audio, and making them fit in the right places. I love picking out music, tweaking scripts, doing voice overs and character voices. I've gotten to the point where I can read the visual representation of a wav file the way other people read heart beats on a monitor. I can tell where someone has taken a breath, where the percussion solo is in the music, and where I've spliced in the sound effects, just by looking at the wav form.

What I don't like is sitting in the office in front of my computer trying to figure out which spot is supposed to run at what time of day, how many times, and which sales order it's supposed to be associated with so that the billing is correct. That's continuity. Continuity is sorting through what we call "traffic", which is a piece of paper (or many pieces of paper) that describes which spot runs, when it runs, how many times it runs, as well as any times it is prohibited to run. And I get to keep track of it all on a piece of software that is ungainly and maddening, and not very user friendly. Add in our new internet streaming system, and I spend a lot of time in front of a very angry and petulant computer.

The worst thing about being the production director is that I don't seem to get to do much production! I was at work from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. last night, but I did take a one and a half hour break for dinner with my family. They came to rescue me. The funny thing is, I spent most of the day doing paper work, and trotting from one end of the building to another hunting down salespeople for production orders that hadn't been turned in, or were incomplete, or catching up with orders that had been placed, but didn't have traffic or instruction. I didn't actually start doing production (i.e. dubbing or audio mixing) until 2 p.m. Then we had a ton of orders that all came in at 5 p.m., just as we thought we were done putting stuff in to run for the day. We had at least four clients who had to be added to the broadcast logs at the last minute. Fridays are always bad since we're planning commercials schedules for the whole weekend, but this was probably one of the worst Fridays I've ever worked.

And this leads me to my next bombshell.

Because the hours of a production director are so long, my blogging will be severely curtailed. I may try to pop in now and again before my maternity leave, but you might want to just save yourselves the trouble of checking in here for the next seven weeks. The irony is, now that I've been promoted (at least temporarily), I'll probably have a hell of a lot more to write about!

So thanks to all who read and comment here regularly. I'll try to come see you as much as I can. For those who use Bloglines or Technorati or some such thing, you'll know when I post. I would encourage anyone who hasn't to read some of my older posts. They are much better than the drivel I've been spewing out recently.

But if I have to choose between seeing my kid before she falls asleep and talking to y'all...well, I'm sure you'll agree TFYO is cuter than you. Well, Willowtree might not agree, but I think he's delusional. He thinks dishwasher detergent talks.

I'll leave you with my favourite picture of me at work. Thanks y'all.

Keep on rollin'...

2008-02-29T06:09:00.002-05:00

For those dying to know the follow-up to "Give our Georgia Friends a Drink" Day, I have it for you here.

Mayor Ron Littlefield's assistant drove the truck full of water down to Atlanta, dressed as Davy Crockett. No seriously, there's a picture in the article.

And he was promptly "arrested". Okay, well, not actually. But they were met at the capitol steps with people bearing handcuffs.

I'll post more later, but we have a work crisis going on. Like I said, I'll fill y'all in later.

Cool, clear water!

2008-02-27T06:20:00.004-05:00

In a follow-up to a previous post about the emerging water war between the states of Tennessee and Georgia, I bring you this story of politics at it's best.

You may remember that the Georgia Senate had drafted a resolution encouraging the resurveying of the current state line between Georgia and Tennessee. If our state lawmakers have their way, we'd end up getting a piece of the Tennessee River, and a chunk of Chattanooga with it.

Well, Chattanooga's mayor, Ron Littlefield, issued a proclamation yesterday in response. Here is the story from The Chattanoogan, but I'll put the proclamation here for your reading pleasure as well. It's masterfully written.

PROCLAMATION

WHEREAS, it has come to pass that the heavens are shut up and a drought of Biblical proportions has been visited upon the Southern United States, and

WHEREAS, the parched and dry conditions have weighed heavily upon the State of Georgia and sorely afflicted those who inhabit the Great City of Atlanta, and

WHEREAS, the leaders of Georgia have assembled like the Children of Israel in the desert, grumbled among themselves and have begun to cast longing eyes toward the north, coveting their neighbor’s assets, and

WHEREAS, the lack of water has led some misguided souls to seek more potent refreshment or for other reasons has resulted in irrational and outrageous actions seeking to move a long established and peaceful boundary, and

WHEREAS, it is deemed better to light a candle than curse the darkness, and better to offer a cool, wet kiss of friendship rather than face a hot and angry legislator gone mad from thirst, and
Whereas, it is feared that if today they come for our river, tomorrow they might come for our Jack Daniels or George Dickel,

NOW THEREFORE, In the interest of brotherly love, peace, friendship, mutual prosperity, citywide self promotion, political grandstanding and all that

I, Ron Littlefield, Mayor of the City of Chattanooga, Tennessee,

Do hereby Proclaim that Wednesday, February 27, 2008 shall be known as

“Give Our Georgia Friends a Drink Day”

I think it's the best answer anyone has come up with. I only hope the mayor doesn't mind taking all those bottles back for recycling.

I've been working an awful lot this week, y'all, so the post on St. Patrick's Day may have to wait, and the Friday Five may not be in until evening!

Friday Five

2008-02-22T08:29:00.008-05:00

Yea! I posted a Friday Five!

It's pouring down rain here today, which of course makes me think of springtime. I apologize to my northern readers for today's list. I'm really not trying to rub in your faces that it's still snowing up there, and so balmy down here. Really. Don't hate me. And don't send your cold, chilly weather down here, either.

I moved to the South primarily because I fell in love with springtime. My first time to the south was in early March of 1996. I went on a road trip with a boyfriend that took us through Alabama on our way to New Orleans. As we drove through Tuscaloosa, all the cherry trees, dogwoods and azaleas were just bursting forth with colour. It was a stark contrast to Kalamazoo, Michigan, where there were two feet of snow on the ground, and we'd just left a howling winter storm. I was instantly smitten. I moved a few months later and never looked back.

Even though it's only February, spring has already sprung in many places across the south, including Savannah. The daffodils have already begun to bloom, and some of the azaleas have too. So, today's Friday Five...

Five Reasons I Love Springtime in Savannah

1. Azaleas

They are everywhere, and I mean everywhere, down here. I even have a couple of scraggly looking little plants outside my house, although I doubt they're going to bloom. As I was driving to work yesterday, I notices that some of the older plants have already started putting forth those gorgeous pink, red and white blossoms. It's marvelous to think that while there's four feet of snow on the ground in parts of Ontario, the high today is going to be 67, and the azaleas are already blooming. If you ever visit Savannah, try to do it in the spring. The mounds of azaleas on every corner downtown will blow you away. By the way, if you come in January or February, you can see the camellias. They actually bloom in late winter. The picture is of Our Lady of Confidence Monastery here in Savannah. It shows how lovely the azaleas look against the Spanish Moss hanging from the oak trees.

2. Rain

It usually rains a lot here, and I do love it. I love the sound of it hitting the roof, I love the way everything turns green and lush after a rainfall, even in the winter. It also means I don't have to water my lawn all that much, and it still looks decent. Springtime is often the rainy season here, and it helps us grow all these great plants. That, and rainy afternoons encourage me to curl up with a cup of tea and a book on the sofa with the cats and TFYO. Any excuse, as far as I'm concerned. Here is a very short video of this morning's rain, taken from my back door. Excuse the construction debris, they're still building behind us. And yes, I know, I have no grass in my backyard.

3. Crickets

You can tell it's spring here, because we're seeing more animals and insects out and about, especially the crickets. I got to hear crickets for the first time in months a couple of nights ago. I was so excited. I wasn't so excited to find one in the kitchen, and even less excited when the cats couldn't be bothered to kill it for me. But I do like listening to them at night. It reminds me that those mild evenings spent on the porch are right around the corner. And it's a much nicer sound than ATVs through my backyard.

4. Green

Winter is short here, and relatively mild. There's actually quite a few deciduous plants that stay green here right the way through, like the live oak. But when spring comes, huge carpets of green seem to pop up overnight in farmers' fields, along roadsides, pretty much anywhere you look. It's almost as if all that green is waiting just below the surface for a good rain to wash away the dirt and let it emerge.

5. No jackets required

I bought a winter coat this past November, and I'm not really sure why. Oh, I got to use it a few times, mostly around Christmas. But now, I rarely need more than a sweatshirt and a rain coat. Usually, I'm just wearing a t-shirt. Several people I work with are from Michigan (small world, y'know?), and half of them wear short sleeves right the way through the winter. One guy wears shorts and a t-shirt everyday. Granted, the natives look at us without coats and think we're nuts, but who cares? It's mild, the breeze is soft, the flowers are blooming. Who wants to bundle up at a time like this?

Well, that's my five. For those who don't live in the South, give me five reasons you love spring where you live. Or if you hate spring, tell me why, you curmudgeons!

Old black water, keep on rollin'

2008-02-21T09:07:00.003-05:00

A great song by the Doobie Brothers.

There's been a lot of talk about water here in Georgia lately. If you're stateside and pay attention to the news, you know how bad the drought is in this part of the country. Now the good folks at our state legislature have hit on a plan to bring more water into the state.

They want to annex part of Tennessee.

Not much of it, just a little slice of the Tennessee River and most of Chattanooga with it.

According to the sponsors of a bill that would redraw the state line, the state line was never drawn correctly in the first place. Apparently, back in 1818, a surveyor mis-marked where the line should be because he was using nautical equipment to do the survey. Supporters of the "redraw" plan also have said there were forest fires, and he was being harassed by Native Americans while trying to figure out where the state line was.

The bill has now cleared the state senate unanimously, and the state house is lookng at a similar bill that would encourage a resurveying of the line.

Of course, Congress has to approve any moving of the state line, and I'm pretty sure Tennessee isn't going to go along with this.

I do find it amusing, though, since that whole area is where my in-laws live. Folks up there have been joking about a new "civil war". If I was living in Chattanooga, my biggest gripe in moving to Georgia would be about having to pay state income taxes, since Tennessee doesn't have them.

I honestly can't wait to see what happens with this. Alabama, Georgia and Tennessee have been duking it out for a while over water sharing, since all three states are suffering from the drought. But there's no doubt that Atlanta, with it's huge population, is definitely in dire straits, if they had any water to make a strait. I can't help but imagining little "water militias" popping up all along the state lines. Alabama already has a group that calls itself the Alabama Minutemen, although they're primarily concerned with illegal immigrants right now. I'm sure they'd be up for defending a river, though.

Lawmakers in Tennessee are questioning the sudden desire to correct a two-hundred year old mistake, but Georgia lawmakers claim they've been protesting this for years and nothing has been done about it. I think they may have to protest for another two hundred years before that thing gets changed.

By the way, the picture is a Thomas Nast Harpers Weekly illustration of the Battle of Lookout Mountain, which is in Chattanooga. I got it from this site: www.sonofthesouth.net It's a great site that has many Civil War era images, and despite the name, has some Union stuff, too. If you like history, please check it out.

Just a' good ol' boys...

2008-02-20T10:02:00.004-05:00

Oh, and I'm feeling much better now. Biscuits consumed, porch rockers rocked, and much sleep was had. I recommend a rainy afternoon on a screened-in porch with a mountain view to anyone who is stressed. And thanks again for all your concern. ~J

Waylon didn't write that song, but he did sing it.

We had a minor scandal here in Effingham County not too long ago, involving some of our county's finest. Or maybe not so fine.

Seems a couple of our sheriff's deputies were bored with the graveyard shift one night back in January, and decided to liven things up by playing a prank on the Rincon Police Department. Too bad it cost them their jobs.

Deputy Brian Davis and Corporal Stacy Strickland are accused of making prank 911 calls from various pay phones around town, and then leaving the phones off the hook, resulting in Rincon cops driving all over the place to check out the calls. Not only that, but Cpl. Strickland is also accused of playing his cell phone ring tone through his cruiser loudspeakers while driving down Weisenbaker Road around 4 a.m. I have no idea what the ring tone was, but it might as well have been the Dukes of Hazzard theme song. There's more on the story here, from our local paper. So far, no charges have been filed, but each call could cost them about a thousand dollars.

I have to say, it's kind of reassuring that there's so little going on out here that law enforcement has the time to play like this. You know, no child abuse, no drug busts, no car wrecks , or anything. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. But then again, if the boys are bored, maybe they need something to keep them occupied on those long drives around the county. Kind of like me giving TFYO paper and crayons to keep her busy on long car trips. So here's a list of things those bored deputies can do.

Count pine trees. Effingham County still has a thriving lumber trade, and I'd say about half the county still has pine plantations. Each night, the guys can count the trees in their patrol area, log them, and do it again the next night to see if any have fallen.

Pull over any speeding ATV's. My neighbours seem to think it's okay to go cruisng through my unfenced back yard after nightfall, and I'm sure they're out driving on the streets as well. I don't know if there's a speed limit for ATV's (aka four-wheelers), but I'm sure we could work something out.

Log the number of blue vehicles they see each night. Then switch it to red the next week, and green the week after that. Have them sort the vehicles by make, model and year. Cross reference how many are pickup trucks.

Count the number of cars up on blocks in people's yards. Then compare it to the number of bass boats, also in people's front yards.

Clean pay phones in Rincon, and make sure each one of them are on the hook.

These are just for starters, of course, I'm sure y'all could come up with a few. Maybe we could send them on to Sheriff Jimmy McDuffie, just in case he needs help keeping his deputies occupied.

Friday...

2008-02-15T06:45:00.008-05:00

...not so fun day. Well, I take that back. Today will be fun, because I have nothing to do besides drive up to my in-laws, which means I'll finally be getting some rest.

To say this has been a bad week might be an understatement. No Friday Five today, because my brain is mush, and the fact that I'm even putting coherent sentences together is an achievement in my book (they are coherent, aren't they?).

Yes, I've worked double shifts with the cold from hell. Yes, I baked cupcakes for TFYO's Valentine's Day party. Yes, I had an OBGYN appointment. Yes, I had a parent-teacher conference this week (my kid is teacher's pet, by the way).

And we're all fine. Tired, but fine.

I also found out this week that one of my grandmothers has been put in a nursing home, following a rather swift decline. On the one hand, I'm surprised, because I just talked to her at Christmas, and she seemed okay. On the other, when we got up north to see her a year ago last summer, she was already showing signs of confusion.

Gran has suffered from seizures for a long time, and she had a big one a few weeks ago. While the hospital says there was nothing wrong with her (which, despite the seizures and MRIs and CATscans they still say), she began to descend pretty quickly, and I'm convinced she's had a stroke. I got a phone call from my aunt letting me know what was going on. Gran can't walk (a month ago, she had a walker and was mobile), she's sometimes unaware of her surroundings, and she's having trouble feeding and bathing herself.

I suppose it's a little selfish of me that all I can think about right now is getting away to my in-laws where I know TFYO will be petted and fussed over, and I can just sit on the porch and eat a biscuit (that's not a cookie for you British types, but a Southern biscuit) and not think. There are people in the world much worse off than me: The families of ten people killed in the sugar refinery explosion, the families in the mid-South and mid-west who lost everything in tornadoes, the families of students killed in Illinois yesterday.

But I think I need a little selfishness right now. Just a little, just for a little while.

PS: I'm trying to get around to visit all of you, if just to read. If your stat counters show I've been there, but I haven't left a comment, please don't be offended. Sometimes, I just don't have enough time to comment before someone drags me away to do something else.

And is it just me, or are any of you who use Blogger having a tough time getting the spell-check button to work?

Housekeeping

2008-02-11T05:56:00.001-05:00

Which is the title of a movie, not a song.

I do have quite a bit of housekeeping to do around here, though (to say nothing of my own house!), because I'm swimming in awards again.

I'm still not sure how that's quite possible since I haven't been blogging all that much, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.

First up, from my favourite ex-pat journalist, Dumdad comes this lovely award:

It also arrived from Kaycie, at Lost in the Bible Belt. I've always enjoyed reading Dumdad's musings from The Other Side of Paris, and have for quite a while. Kaycie is a fairly new friend, whom I met over at Confessions of a Rotten correspondent. I'm supposed to bestow this rather sharp looking award on ten people. If I've gotten it from two people, does it mean I need to find twenty blogs to give it to? Hmmm.

Next up, is this award that first came from Mya, and then came from RC.

It's a platonic love, kissy, appreciation kind of thing. Description:

‘It’s a big kiss, of the chaste, platonic kind, from me to you with the underlying ‘thanks’ message implied. I really do appreciate your support and your friendship, and yes, your comments.’

I do need to quote Mya, from Missing You Already, here, because her little description of me made me all weepy:

Jen at A Snowballs Chance in Hell – because she’s a great blogger finding it a bit of a struggle to keep up the pace as her pregnancy advances. This award will look very pretty against your black blog, my dear. Do hope you can get some sleep soon.

And that's not to diminish the marvelous Rotten Correspondent in her flinging of "mwah's", either. RC has been one of my biggest supporters in this blogging endeavour since I met her. She comes here faithfully, and reads whatever drivel I happen to spit out, and even has the niceness to comment on it. She certainly deserves that award.

Please forgive me if I don't fling any "mwah's" at folks right now, as I have a cold, so lovingly bestowed on me by a stupid coworker, whom I now get to fill-in for today. I'd hate for you to "suddenly be coughing up blood" while your boss is away, too.

Last, and certainly not least, this award come from Jo Beaufoix:

As RC noted, Jo was very brave in bestowing this award on our favourite crochety old man, Willowtree. (He's not really all that old, I just like to yank his chain sometimes. If you're the same age as the old man from Oz, don't take offense.) I love Jo, and I love Babs, her ostrich. Every time I drive by this farm out on Ga. Hwy 17, I think of Jo, because the guy raises emus and ostriches. The ironic thing about this award, is that I'm not spreading all that much love right now, since I haven't been here!

Once I stop working double shifts, preparing for parent-techer conferences this week, making something to bring for the TFYO's Valentine's Day party, and covering for hypochondriacal workers who claim to be coughing up blood while the boss is on vacation, I will be back to send out these awards to all the people that likely already have them. If you don't have one of these awards yet, leave a comment, and I'll put you on the list to thank, and you can take one for your blog! Kind of like the Piggly Wiggly for awards! Yeah!

Sugar

2008-02-08T08:42:00.000-05:00

I meant to do a fabulous post thanking a bunch of people for awards that have been bestowed on me recently (despite the fact that I've done very little actual blogging, what's wrong with you people?), but an incident last night has pre-empted my orginally scheduled post. So, Mya, Dumdad and Jo, I promise, you will get your due in a couple of days, but there's something much more important I need to cover this morning.

Last night, there was an explosion at the Imperial Sugar Refinery, a few miles down the highway from where I live, in Port Wentworth, Georgia. It used to be the Dixie Crystals refinery, before Imperial bought them out, and it's been part of the Savannah landscape for generations. Whole families have worked there, one generation after another, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters.

It appears sugar dust in a silo next to the bagging facility may have combusted, according to a company CEO who just happened to be in town this week, and as we all know, sugar is very flammable. No official cause has been given as I write this. Most of the injuries appear to be burn related, with around ten people airlifted to the burn center in Augusta, which is north of here. Several people are in critical condition. Part of the Savannah River is still closed to boat traffic, so tankers and container ships are still backed up out into the sea waiting to port and unload.

There appears to be a total of 41 injured, with six people still unaccounted for. Firefighters had the blaze under control, but there are still some hot spots in the building that are keeping them from searching for the missing.

The most amazing thing to me about the whole incident, is how quickly emergency teams responded with ambulances and fire crews coming from miles and miles away, from many different counties. A church across the street was being used for triage (it's now being used as a family information center), and the local elementary school is still being used as a staging area for emergency personnel and media. The Coast Guard patrolled the river, and the local Air National Guard unit contributed large scale firefighting equipment.

We have wonderful neighbours living in this community, people who care, and for that, I'm thankful.

Please keep all of the workers and their families in your thoughts, or your prayers, if you're so inclined.

For more info on this story, you can check out some our local TV coverage here, and here.

PS: One other thing... I used to live in Memphis, and I'm very familiar with the area that was destroyed by the tornadoes this week. I'm very lucky that no one I know was injured, but I'm one of the lucky ones. Keep those folks in your thoughts, too.

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious...

2008-02-05T10:13:00.000-05:00

...Tuesday. Why not? So far I've heard Tsunami Tuesday, Super Duper Tuesday and Stupendous Tuesday in place of "Super Tuesday" to describe this primary day. Why not take it to it's illogical conclusion?

There's not a whole lot happening in the state of Georgia for our primary day, if you believe the polls. Senator Obama will likely win the primary here for the Democrats, while Senator John McCain is leading, albeit very slightly, on the Republican side according to Sunday's Rasmussen Poll. My poor husband will be working late, covering the returns as they come in. I'm hoping he makes it home before eleven o'clock tonight.

The biggest deal for us here in Effingham County, though, is whether or not our restaurants get to serve liquor by the drink. Beer and wine are sold at our local restaurants in the towns of Springfield and Rincon, but not out in unicorporated parts of the county, and you can't buy hard liquor at all anywhere here.

It's been quite a little battle, and it's not the first time the initiative has shown up on the ballot. One side says allowing liquor by the drink will encourage large chain restaurants (i.e. Outback, Chili's, etc.) to build here, which would be good, because right now we have to drive into Savannah if we want to eat there. It would also mean that we could boost tax revenues in the county instead of having it all flow into Chatam County, which is happening now. The other side, lead mostly by church groups, claims that allowing liquor to be sold will merely encourage bars (something not mentioned on the ballot), drunk driving, and the destruction of the "family way of life" which we've all worked so hard to preserve. To be fair, they do make the point that large chain restaurants look mostly at population base before they decide on location, but it seems their driving force is they don't want "demon liquor" destroying our families.

My take is this:

I'm a grown woman, and I should be able to decide for myself whether or not I want a Jack and Coke before, during, or after my meal. I've read the ballot (Shall the governing authority . . . be authorized to issue licenses to sell distilled spirits for beverage purposes by the drink, such sales to be for consumption only on the premises?) , and it doesn't specifically mention bars at all. It simply asks the folks in Effingham County, Springfield and Rincon to decide if they want to allow liquor to be sold, by the drink, in restaurants. The county and city councils can easily outlaw bars if they choose. As it is, the state has outlawed beer and wine sales in stores on Sunday, anyway, so it's not like there isn't a precedence for restricting alcohol sales here, both on a state and local level. I think we're all adult enough to decide the drinking issue for ourselves, without anyone else telling us we're all going to hell if we don't listen to them. For those that already have a problem with alcohol, they're going to drive to the liquor store (down here they call them package stores, y'all) that's located just across the county line and bring back their fifth of whatever and leave their tax dollars in Chatham County. The tax dollars we could use to help treat their addiction aren't being spent here.

Obviously, I can't vote, but if there's a primary going on in your state (and twenty-four states are holding primaries and ballot referendums today), go vote. I'm of the mind that you can't bitch unless you vote.

Friday Five

2008-02-01T06:07:00.000-05:00

Last week's Friday Five was gobbled up by temporal rift. No, really. It swallowed me, too. Fortunately, we here in Georgia managed to seal the rift and rescue the Friday Five for your reading pleasure.

Five Things I've Learned from Science Fiction

1. Your twin in an alternate universe is infinitely cooler than you.

They dress better than you, they get more time with the opposite sex, and they very rarely ever had breakouts as a teenager. They're also likely to sport a short, pointy beard.

2. Men who write sci-fi are obsessed with triple breasted women.

I'm not really sure why this is. You'd think that extra one would just get in the way. And why three, guys? Why not an even number? Or maybe that would just make us look more like cows. For more proof on my theory about men and triple-breasted women, please see Eccentrica Gallumbits, the Triple-Breasted Whore of Eroticon Six from Hitchhiker's Guide to The Galaxy, by Douglas Adams. And after doing a GIS for this, I decided not to post any of the pictures I came across. You can do your OWN image search if a picture is that important to you.

3. Dead doesn't always mean dead.

Especially if you're a popular character. See Spock in Star Trek II (he came back to life in number III), Dr. Elizabeth Weir in Stargate Atlantis, and a host of other folks. You might get blown to pieces, destroyed with an exploding planet, shipped to a different universe or lost in a transporter beam, but somehow, someway, some enterprising scientist will figure out a way to put you back together.

4. Food doesn't sound as good in the future.

I'm sure they have gourmet chefs. But every show I've seen and every book I've read has people eating food made from machines, either with replicated DNA or dried up bits reconstituted into some kind of edible material. Shoot, in Firefly they were lucky to get dried up space rations half the time. In one of Douglas Adams's books, The Restaurant at the End of The Universe, there was a cow that would commit suicide for you so you could have a steak. In the movie Demolition Man, the only restaurant left was Taco Bell. I fear for my food in the future. The picture is from this article on futuristic food, photo courtesy of Stephen Orlick and Homaro Cantu. If you're wondering what it is, it's a maki roll, printed with edible flavoured ink on an ink-jet printer. It's an edible picture of sushi. Yeah, that's what I said.

5. The future is either really great, or it really sucks.

This depends on who you read. With Orwell, Phillip K. Dick, and the show Firefly, the future doesn't neccessarily look so good. We've wiped ourselves out with wars, we've become desensitized to our surroundings, we've lost our freedoms, we've widened the gap between wealthy and poor. But, if you watch Star Trek or read some Arthur C. Clarke, it doesn't look too bad. Sure, there's conflict, but everyone is fed and housed, and great scientific leaps are being made. Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

Well, that's this week's Friday Five, have a good weekend y'all. Since I don't have to work tomorrow, I think I'll be working on sleep instead!

In Absentia

2008-01-31T09:00:00.000-05:00

If anyone has wondered where I've been, I've been trying to sleep. Yes, I've been trying to sleep for a week, and it's not working out as well as I'd hoped.

I've been managing maybe three hours of uninterrupted sleep before our darling Baby J wakes me with a dance routine. When I finally get shifted enough to calm her down, Ray gets up at 3 a.m. The the cats decide it's time to play. Then TFYO needs to get up by 6:30. And of course, I'm working afternoons most days.

I'm not sleeping much, but I've been trying. I try to go to sleep after I take TFYO to school, but between the construction workers building all around us, and Baby J's never-ending Jazzercise class, it makes it tough to settle down, and by the time I do, it's time to get ready for work.

I try to go to bed earlier, but it takes me forever to shut my brain off. I end up laying in bed, thinking about buying a crib, when we're going to paint, what I've got to do at work the next day, and all the while, my belly bump is doing the samba from one side to the other.

Have I mentioned I'm not sleeping?

In a way I'm glad the baby is active, because it's reassuring to know she's alright. On the other hand, she only slows down when I'm moving. The minute I sit, lay down or eat, she pretends to be a Rockette. And it goes on all night long.

Add in the fact that I've got a recurring case of "pregnancy dreams", and it makes a night of quiet repose even more difficult. There's nothing like finally falling into slumber, only to be interrupted by dancing lemons chasing me down endless corridors, and up and down immense stair cases. That's one of the tame dreams.

So, I'm off to try to grab a couple of hours sleep again before I have to head to work.

Wish me luck and some chamomile tea.

I promise to come visit you all when I stop having hallucinatons induced by lack of REM sleep. And if anyone needs any dancing lemons, you can come collect them at my house.

Now here you go again...

2008-01-24T08:26:00.001-05:00

Lyric from Fleetwood Mac's Dreams.

Note: I'm about the least qualified person to discuss race relations on a wide scale. There's a good chance you may disagree with me, but feel free to tell me I'm an idiot. Just no cussing in the comments, okay?

You won't see me get political here too often, but with the South Carolina Democratic primary right around the corner, politics has been the subject of choice in our household. We've been talking a lot about race.

It pains me that so much of the primary this weekend is being tied to gender and race. I know it's a conversation the country needs to have, I just wish we could have had it before now. At the moment, there are two viable "minority" candidates, something that hasn't happened before. On the one hand you have Senator Barack Obama, who would like us to focus on his record, rather than his colour. On the other hand, you have Senator Hillary Clinton, who's husband came out and said yesterday the primary is going to flow along gender and race lines.

My question is, why? Why does it have to?

We just celebrated the King holiday this week. We honoured a man who wanted to see a world where a person was judged by their character and not the colour of their skin, and yet we have people arguing in the media and amongst each other about voting your race or voting your gender.

One of the most heinous things so far was a "robocall" in advance of the Nevada caucuses, which intimated that Senator Obama had Muslim terrorist leanings. You can read more about it here. Now obviously that can't be laid at the feet of Hillary Clinton, but I didn't hear her speaking out against it, either. It may have been a PAC, or just someone who doesn't like Obama. But, it comes back to race.

I confess to being irritated by the Clintons and their tactics. Bill goes on the attack so Hillary doesn't have to, and Obama is left fighting them both. As comfortable as I was during Bill Clinton's presidency, I find myself shrinking away from the sense of entitlement the Clintons exude in their quest for a second session in the White House. Perhaps former President Clinton is just irked by the possibility that he won't be "the first black president" anymore, as author Toni Morrison once called him.

Of course, it's not just a Democrat thing.

My husband and I were discussing the Republican primary that happened last weekend in South Carolina, where John McCain came in first, and Mike Huckabee came in second. What helped push Huckabee to a second place finish? The idea that he would help South Carolina bring the Confederate flag back to the state capitol. You can read about it here and here. Again, it comes back to race.

As we were discussing the subject over dinner, TFYO interrupted, as she often does.

"Why are you talking about sports?"

"Um, we're not."

"Yes, you were. You were talking about a race and a flag. Who won the race?"

And I got to thinking, that was a very good question.

When we bring everything down to black or white, who wins?

If you'd like to read more about this, please check out some columns by Savannah Morning News writer Geveryl Robinson. I don't always agree with her, but her writing is powerful, and she always makes me think. In particular see "Bill Clinton is not black" and "Loose lips sink ships".

Friday Five

2008-01-18T09:05:00.000-05:00

We have a lot of transplants that move from up north down here to the south. Everybody talks about how different it is, and there a quite a few southerners who wish some of the "Yankees" would go home. The northerners think the southerners are backwards hicks, the southerners think the northerners should shut the hell up and go home if they don't like it here.

But I got to thinking (as I have a tendency to do), and the truth is, things are very much the same down here as they are up there. You just have to do a comparison.

Five Things that are The Same Up North as Down South

1. Grandmas/Nanas spoil their grandchildren with sweets.

Granted, the sweets may be different. Down here we get red velvet cake and banana pudding, up north it was more likely to be apple pie and chocolate chip cookies. But the motivation is the same. There is always some grandparent pushing treats on their grandkids, "just because". That may be a universal thing, of course. Omas, Grannies, and Nanas like to feed people no matter where they're from.

2. Football

It's a bit more of a religion down here, and pro-football usually tops college football up north, but either way, there is a rabid contingent of body-painting fools on both sides of the Mason-Dixon line. I, personally, don't care for the sport, although I'm beginning to at least understand the rules a bit more thanks to my husband.

3. Everybody bitches about their local politicians

This is also universal. There is always someone complaining that their taxes are too high (even when they aren't as high as up north, or in the city, or wherever), that the government doesn't do enough/does too much, or that everyone in office is incompetent. I think I'm noticing it a bit more since it's an election year, but it seems to hold water both up north and down south. Our politicians down here are just a bit more likely to wear seersucker suits and bow ties. Otherwise, it's pretty much the same.

4. Rednecks

I used to think this was just a southern thing, but if you go driving around rural Michigan, you will see almost as many Confederate flag bumper stickers as you do driving rural roads down here. A guy I used to work with wrote a great book about this, Redneck Nation, by Michael Graham. Now, I don't always hold with all of Michael's opinions, but he makes a few good points in the book. The truth is, I think the term "redneck" (and it is derogatory), really applies to anyone who fits this definition. Some folks wear it with a mark of pride. It's really not a southern thing anymore, you can find them everywhere. And I know it's not because so many southerners are moving up north. Either this is a universal human trait, or northerners are taking the culture back with them. I have not included pictures here, because I think you'd have more fun Googling the images for yourself.

5. Everybody drives like a**holes

And you know this is true. I think, deep down in our hearts, we all think we're pretty good drivers, even though we know our neighbours are not. Each area has it's own little quirks. Up north, people get mad if you don't drive 80 mph in the right hand lane. Down here, people block two-way traffic in order to have a conversation at a stop light that's turned green. We never do those things, of course, it's everyone else. But you find these people all the way up and down the country. I have the benefit of living near a major north-south corridor, Interstate 95. It's one of the main arteries from New York down to Florida, and I've seen every type of license plate and every type of driver come through here. And most of them drove too slow, drove too fast, changed lanes without signalling, or drove erratically. And I'm sure they said the same thing about me.

Okay, those are my five. You see, we're not so different after all. So what if we eat grits down here, and you all eat...well, whatever it is northerners eat for breakfast (oatmeal? cream o'wheat?). Yeah, we've got houses and cars up on blocks in a few of our neighbourhoods, but I imagine you can find that up north, too.

Have a lovely weekend, y'all.

Happy, Happy, Joy, Joy

2008-01-15T05:52:00.000-05:00

I worked ten hours without a lunch break yesterday. I stayed up late baking cupcakes, and I was up at 4 a.m. so I could get them frosted before having to head out this morning. I found out yesterday afternoon they're doing the glucose tolerance test on me at the OBGYN today, so I've not been allowed to eat anything since midnight, and likely won't be eating until 11 a.m.

But I have no time for self-pity, for today...

The-Four-Year-Old becomes The-Five-Year-Old.

It's amazing how fast five years flies by.

Here's a picture of her aged about seven months or so. As you can see, her love of books started early.

Here she is almost aged two. She picked up her fashion tips from her father.

What's most amazing to me is that she was born less than two hundred miles from where we live now. Considering how much we've moved in the last five years, I never would have imagined we would be so close to where she was born.

My darling child has only asked for three things for her birthday.

A chess set.

Dinner at Carrabba's Italian Restaurant.

A chocolate cheesecake.

She's getting all three.

TFYO has been asking for a chess set since last summer. When I told her she was too young to have a chess set, she said she'd be old enough when she was five. I told her if she still wanted a chess set when she was five she could have one. And she's been reminding me of that promise ever since.

When I asked what she wanted for dinner, she said Carrabba's, because they sing "Happy Birthday" in Italian to you.

And when I asked what kind of birthday cake she wanted she said "Cheesecake, a chocolate one, with blue writing. But the writing has to be blue, okay?"

And that's all okay by me.

Happy Birthday, dear one, I hope you enjoy it.

Awash in Awards, again!

2008-01-14T06:12:00.000-05:00

Yes, one of my very favourite bloggers has passed an award my way. He apparently thinks I'm related to Clint Eastwood. Or he's related to Clint Eastwood.

Either way, I apparently "Make His Day". This is from Dumdad, over at The Other Side of Paris.

Lovely award, isn't it? The colours and everything.

The instructions that come with this award say this:

Give the award to up to 10 people whose blogs bring you happiness and inspiration and make you feel so happy about being part of the blogging community! Let them know by posting a comment on their blog so that they can pass it on!

But since I travel in a small circle, half the people I would give this to have already had the award bestowed on them by Dumdad already. I'd shake my tiny fist at him, but he's just given me an award, so that wouldn't be polite.

Just about everybody who reads here has probably already been over to see his blog, but if you haven't (and I'll link it again, just to be sure) go there now. Sometimes he does a "Pause for Poetry", and he has fabulous stories about working for a British newspaper. And drinking. There's usually a story about drinking, too.

I choose to bestow this award on (in no particular order): Bellevelma at Running with Books, Mike at The Grand View, jrh at Turkey on Whole Wheat, and to PixelPi at Motes, who hasn't been around much the last month or so, but whose pictures still make my day.

And for those that are wondering, my finger is doing much better. The bandage is off, the cut is sealed over, and I have a lovely gap where the top half of my finger nail used to be. I am amazed at how quickly and cleanly this healed, but it may have something to do with using a very sharp knife, and taking prenatal vitamins. Or maybe it was the initial application of Dora Band-aids.

Well I'm not paralyzed...

2008-01-08T09:21:00.000-05:00

That lyric from the Canadian band Finger Eleven's single from last year "Paralyzer".

Which will make a lot more sense when I tell you that I almost chopped off my left index finger last night.

I really thought I'd have more pregnancy things to write about, but everything has been going along so well. My back aches have mostly subsided, my feet only hurt at the end of the day, I don't have any edema. It's been great. However, I'm still a tad absentminded, and therefore should not really be handling sharp implements.

My in-laws gave us a lovely eight inch santoku-style chef's knife for Christmas, after I was caught lusting after the one they bought themselves last year. And it is a gorgeous knife. It goes through carrots like they were cheese. Smooth action, nicely balanced handle. But it still is not idiot or pregnant woman proof.

What pisses me off is that the last thing I thought before catching my finger was "I bet this would hurt like hell if I don't pay closer attention to these onions I'm chopping."

Then, WHAM!

Fortunately for me, I only cut off half of the finger nail. But as anyone who has watched a spy film knows, pulling off finger nails is a form of torture. It bled copiously, and I confess to almost passing out. Mostly because I had to wash and dress the damn thing myself.

Here's a tip (no pun intended): If you're going to do yourself unintentional injury, make sure every one around you isn't busy doing something else. Also make sure you've got more than just Dora band-aids in the house.

My husband was very concerned, of course, but he was also concerned about saving the beans and rice I was in the process of making. I quietly suggested that he might want to toss the pile of chopped onion I was working on, and start afresh. I also told him he might want to wash the knife, the counter, the floor, and anything else I may have come into contact with.

My child was mostly concerned that she didn't have a band-aid, and since Mommy had one she thought she should have one, too. Too bad for her, I was hogging all the bandages to keep from bleeding on her.

By the light of day, it doesn't look as bad as I thought. It still hurts like hell, but when I re-wrapped it this morning (with Strawberry Shortcake water-proof bandages), I realized it was just the nail, and not the finger itself that had been cut. The nail bed looks pretty crappy, but overall the injury isn't too bad, and it's seems to have stopped bleeding. It's just in sensitive place, and smarts every time I bump it.

So, if my typing seems, well...odd, forgive me. My middle finger is doing double duty today.

Tell Me Why

2008-01-07T03:55:00.000-05:00

(Tell Me Why, oldie by the Beatles.)

Interrogative, Part II

By Henrix Ibex (no relation to Ibsen)

A short existentialist dinner play.

The scene: Dinner time in an average household. Seated are Mommy, Daddy, and TFYO. Mommy and Daddy are eating. TFYO is pushing food around her plate.

TFYO: Why are you eating pork chops and greens and when I'm eating chicken and corn?

Mommy: Because you don't like pork chops and greens and I didn't feel like fighting with you tonight.

TFYO: Why?

Mommy: Because I'm hungry and tired.

Daddy: My, you're just full of questions today.

Mommy: She's been like this all day.

TFYO: Why?

Daddy: I don't know, you tell us.

TFYO: Because I like asking questions. Why are our plates round?

Mommy: Because square wouldn't fit in the dishwasher as well. Why don't you eat something?

TFYO: Why?

Mommy grimaces. Daddy attempts not to laugh.

TFYO: Why did you make that face?

Mommy: Because you've been pushing my buttons all day, that's why. Can you please stop asking me why? No more asking why at the dinner table.

Pause.

TFYO: (grins mischievously) When can I then?

Mommy hides face in her sweater attempting not to choke on food.

Daddy: Okay, no more asking why, when, what or how. Okay?

Pause.

TFYO: Who's that sitting on the couch? Is that Zoe?

Mommy exits stage left into bedroom door.

TFYO: Which door did Mommy go into?

Strangled screams are heard from offstage.

TFYO: Why did Mommy yell?

Fin

Friday Five

2008-01-04T07:10:00.000-05:00

Everybody is talking about making resolutions this time of year, and I will be, too. But I'm tired of making promises I very rarely ever get to keep, either through my own stupidity or by circumstance. So, this Friday Five will be anti-resolutions.

Five Things I Will NEVER Resolve to Do

1. I will never resolve to be nicer to people.

Seriously, I'm nice enough already. To the point that I never quibble when asked to fill in for someone at the last minute, or gripe at the stupid woman with 30 items in the 12 item check-out lane, or lash out at the rotten little brats who think it's funny to throw things at passing cars. Screw 'em. They don't need me to be nice to them. Half the people in the world don't deserve my niceness, the other half already know I like them.

2. I will never, ever resolve to give up chocolate.

I can't. I gave up excessive drinking. I gave up smoking. I'll eat salads all damn day if you ask me to. But I am never going to give up a nice piece of dark Dagoba chocolate. Pry it from my cold dead hands if necessary. If I had to choose between a limb and chocolate, I might go with chocolate.

3. I will never resolve to get to a certain weight again.

It doesn't work. I know I should have goals, but setting one this specific is self-defeating. I can resolve to eat more healthy, but to do it to get to a certain weight/dress size is silly. Eating better and being more healthy overall is much more important than fitting into a size six (something I haven't done since I met my husband, so I shall lay the blame for my copious weight gain at his feet).

4. I will never resolve to spend more time at work.

Fortunately for me, I have a built in excuse coming up in just a few more months. I love the people I work with, but spending a bit more time at home over the holidays has spoiled me for wanting to be here instead of there. It might be the pregnancy, and the whole nesting instinct, but I keep finding things I want to do around here. Paint the living room, add a chair rail, plant a veggie garden this spring. Nope, I'm never going to want to spend more time at work, no matter how good it is for my career. Screw my career.

5. I will never resolve to be kinder to animals.

Now before y'all freak out, it's because I can't be any kinder to them. I feed strays, I'm nice to the neighbourhood dogs (and their owners!) even when they're out running free, I wait for squirrels and ducks and buzzards to cross the street (even when people in their cars behind me get pissed), and I always try to find the owners of wandering animals. So, I really can't be any more kinder to animals than I already am. Just can't do it. Except for frogs. Ray ran over another one of the poor little buggers a couple of days ago. But they're really hard to see when they're snuggled up to the tires at 4 a.m. (which is when Ray goes to work). So, apologies to the frogs.

Those are my five anti-resolutions, let's hear yours. I'm sure you've already decided what you are going to do this year, I want to know what you won't ever do!

These rocks won't lose their shape...

2008-01-02T07:20:00.001-05:00

As promised, the story of the earrings. I hope you all had a good holiday, I know I did!

The Christmas Earrings

What you first have to understand is that I don't own any fine jewelry. Oh, I've got a sapphire ring that used to belong to my grandmother, but it's a lab created sapphire in a yellow gold setting. It's not something I would wear.

Even my engagement ring was not a genuine stone. Oh, Ray and I argued over it. We were living paycheck to paycheck, just getting started, and I didn't want him to go into debt for something as silly as a ring. Granted, I was a little disappointed I wouldn't have anything, but he solved that by buying a lovely CZ in a white gold setting. I loved it, I treasured it, and I wore it always.

Until the stone fell out over this past summer.

Again, we talked about replacing it. I argued that spending money on a ring, either real or "created" was stupid, as we've just bought a house, and there are things that need doing here. He said he should have replaced the other ring by now, and he felt bad for not doing it. I admit, I did kind of want a new ring, but I couldn't bring myself to agree when we could use that money for so many other things.

So, on we went. He'd sometimes catch me admiring a ring in a jewelry store window, particularly Levy Jewelers on Broughton Street. It's one of the oldest jewelers in town, and they always had lovely items, especially earrings. Simple, not fussy, always classic.

Christmas was coming, and again, we decided to put most of our resources towards TFYO's Christmas, as we knew it would be her last to be the center of attention. I bought him a nice robe and a pair of slippers. Something I knew he needed, and fell within our budget.

On Christmas Eve we opened our family gifts, as we always do. I got a giant body pillow, which I sorely needed to support my very pregnant body. In my stocking the next morning was some gorgeous cream for my very tired feet, with a promise that it would be diligently rubbed into those feet every night if I wanted. I felt bad that I'd spent a bit more than he had, but he seemed happy.

TFYO was bashing on her drums when Ray said this:

"Don't you think it's time we got out Mommy's special present?"

I'm pretty good at figuring things out. It's tough to hide things from me in my own house. But somehow, he'd been hiding this "special present" for two weeks. And, even more amazing, TFYO was in on the secret and hadn't let slip a word.

Ray disappeared into our bedroom and returned with a tiny, red wrapped box. It had a ribbon on it from Levy Jewelers.

I immediately burst into tears. I didn't even open it at first. Just held it, and asked "How did you do this?"

"Well, I had a little help from my Christmas bonus."

This made me confused, because we all got gift certificates for ham from our employer this year.

"What, you traded ham for jewelry?"

"No, we had some gift cards left from that promotion we did this year, and D. (our general manager), let me have a couple as a thank you for taking care of the station this year."

"You didn't tell me about that."

"Well, no I couldn't, could I? It would have spoiled your surprise."

I tore off the ribbon and paper, and found that little, soft, gray box, and flipped it open.

This was inside:

"I know it's not a ring. I didn't have enough to get you a ring, but I wanted you to have something with diamonds. You deserve to have something with diamonds, even though you've never asked. One day, you'll have a ring to go with those."

Of course, at this point, I was sobbing like a baby, trying to get words out, and failing miserably. All I could do was hug him, and snuffle into his shoulder. My big, strong, generous husband, who always worries about letting me down, always succeeds in lifting me up.

I loved the earrings, tiny and perfectly matched, but mostly I loved that he tried so hard to make me happy. And I was incredibly proud of TFYO for keeping the secret. Of course, the thing she remembered most about the trip to the jewelry store was that she got home made brownies from one of the clerks, but I'm proud of her nonetheless.

So, if I sometimes seem to go on a bit about how wonderful my husband is, at least now you have some proof, and not just the prattling of a woman in love. I don't always show my appreciation for him as much as I should. I know I don't. But he really is a great guy.

And I love him.

PS. I'm sitting here crying into my keyboard again. Damn pregnancy hormones, making me all weepy.

Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow....

2007-12-27T07:57:00.000-05:00

I think this says it all...

I can't believe I told her she needs to play those every day. I'm either the most forgiving and loving mother in the world, or the craziest. Maybe a bit of both.

I did not get the Red Ryder BB gun (dang it all, I really liked Diana's suggestion). But I did get something better.

No, you may not see them, because I'm never taking them out of my ears, ever again. By the way, "LJ" stand for Levy Jewelers, one of the oldest jewelry stores in Savannah. Don't worry, you'll get the story. My husband is a very clever and surprising man.

Friday Five...a little late

2007-12-22T15:54:00.000-05:00

Yeah, yeah. You heard me. Late. Tough.

Five Wishes for Christmas

1. Stability in my life.

I've moved around a lot in my life. I've lived in five different cities since 2000. But I have reason to believe things are going to change in 2008. For the first time, I finally really feel settled somewhere, and I have no intention of leaving. Ray is happy in his work, we're comfortable in our little house, and I don't see us going anywhere. So, here's wishing for a stable, uneventful year to come.

2. A healthy baby.

I have no indications that she will be anything but a healthy baby, but I am the worrying type, and we still have a few more months to go. Anything could happen. And it probably won't. But here's wishing for a healthy baby girl, anyway.

3. World Peace

Yeah, it's a cliche. Doesn't mean I can't wish for it.

4. That Jehovah's Witnesses and Mormons would stop coming to my door on Saturday mornings.

I know y'all are doing what you think is best, really, but you're not going to change my views on religion. I can stand at my door and argue theology all day with you, but neither of us will be happy. So, this holiday season, how about a little Peace on My Doorstep?

5. A Red Ryder BB Gun

Not really. I've just always wanted to say that. Of course, if you've never seen a Christmas Story, you won't get that. "You'll shoot your eye out!"

And here's also wishing all of you and yours a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Ooooo, baby, baby...

2007-12-19T18:50:00.000-05:00

With thanks to the eloquent Salt-n-Pepa for the lyric.

So, we had a lovely visit to the OBGYN on Tuesday. Got some lovely ultrasound pics, including this one where she's trying to stick her foot in her mouth.

Oh, yes. I did say "her" foot. TFYO was right all those months ago. We are having a girl, and we've already decided her name. She will, for now, be known as Baby J.

Baby J is very healthy, as well as apparently very limber. She was very active during the ultrasound, grabbing her feet, and smacking my tummy every time the ultrasound wand got close to her little fist. I think I may have been right a few days ago when I said "I may be giving birth to a Cirque du Soleil troupe".

Not a troupe, just one really flexible baby.

Missing in Action

2007-12-16T17:48:00.000-05:00

I am really sorry, you guys. I had no intention of disappearing. I apologize to those I read regularly. And to those of you who e-mailed and left comments worrying about my welfare(Susan and Peter)...thank you.

I just haven't been able to pull my brain together this past week. I know a fair bit of it is pregnancy brain. Some of it is holiday stress (shopping, cooking, did I mention I just made a couple of pounds of fudge this week?). Every time I sat down to write, I couldn't put a coherent sentence together. The phone would ring, or I'd get distracted by something else I had to do, and I just couldn't get the words to flow.

I was trying to explain this to Ray on Thursday, when I mentioned that I hadn't blogged all week, and that I was barely capable of checking e-mail. He suggested I just write an entry as it would be coming out of my brain. It would look a lot like this:

So, a little while back, My Two Cents left a comment about wanting to know the truth behind the myth of the Southern Man. Well, let me tell you...uh. Wait. Where was I? Oh, shit, there goes the phone again. (walks off to answer, comes back) Right, where was I again? Oh, yeah...The Southern Man. Aw, crap, I think I forgot to water the tree. What time do I have to be at work today? Why is the cat climbing the door frame again? I wish those damn construction workers would knock off the hammering this early. Wait, it's not early. It's late. Crap, I don't have time to write. I haven't even had a shower yet. Where did the morning go? What day is it? Thursday? Friday? Ugh, I haven't written a Friday Five. I got nuthin. Aw, hell, there goes the phone again.

At that point, I wander off, completely forget I even had a post open, and somehow manage to shower and make it to work on time. Where I promptly forget to clock in, and also forget which studio I left my headphones in, and where I laid my pen down.

So, it's not you guys. Honest. It's me.

I'm usually not this scatterbrained. It's a sad day when my husband (who can remember anything to do with baseball, but not his mother's birthday) has to remind me (who could tell you every detail of a conversation she had with someone three years ago) to take the shopping list with me as I head out the door. I suppose I could blame this on "pregnancy brain", or my recent lack of sleep ( a pregnant belly is a killer for stomach sleepers), or the suddenly compelling re-runs of The Waltons on the Hallmark Channel.

I don't know.

But I did want you to know, I'm alive in body, if not entirely in brain.

Pause for Pondering

2007-12-10T08:27:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I went to make a cup of pseudo-coffee. I bought a tin of one of those frou-frou flavoured instant coffees, because the caffeine content is pretty low, and I'm supposed to be watching my caffeine intake (woe is me!).

The directions read thusly:

Create your own flavour destination by measuring 4 teaspoons of (said coffee mix) into your favourite mug. Slowly stir in 6 to 8 fl. oz. of boiling water.

Now, maybe I'm just over-thinking this a bit, but is my enjoyment of the product really going to be enhanced that much by what kind of mug I drink it from?

I mean, suppose, just suppose that instead of using my favourite mug, I use the mug that Ray got in his divorce (which, by the way, was the only item besides a small saucepan that he actually got in his divorce).

Am I going to be saying to myself, "Gee, self. This coffee sure could have been a hell of a lot tastier had I only decided to use my favourite mug instead of this crappy thing with flowers on it." And conversely, will my enjoyment of the product be heightened if I drink it from my new favourite mug (which was a gift from My Two Cents, see below)?

Will I suddenly break out into orgasmic glory over my chocolate coffee drink? Will my hair become shinier, will my debt magically disappear, will my thighs suddenly be jiggle free?

It's almost like directions for condoms saying, "Make sure to use with your favourite person."

This Pause for Pondering not really sponsored by International Foods Coffee, and those stupid commercials about the waiter, Jean Luc, who would never have served anyone this crap in the first place.

Friday Five

2007-12-07T11:02:00.001-05:00

I wish I could figure out how to hang some tinsel and holly on my title bit up there...but, alas, I'm just not that tech savvy.

Since I've been all holiday-ish this week, I thought I might continue the trend. This is a video heavy post, kids, so give it some time to load.

Five Favourite Non-Traditional Christmas Songs

1. Brian Setzer Orchestra-Z'at You Santa Claus?

Louis Armstrong did the original, and I like the original, but I love this updated version. I've liked Brian Setzer since his days back with The Stray Cats, and it made me happy that the resurgence in swing music a few years back boosted his career. This video is a live version, and he botches the last verse, but who cares? He's fun to watch, and the song is fun, too.

2. Eartha Kitt-Santa Baby

She did this waaay before Madonna. I love this song because it brings out my inner sex kitten (which is deeply buried at the moment). Eartha Kitt has the most unique voice, and she practically purrs her way through the song. She has a ton of sex appeal. In this video from 1962, she flies through it a little faster that in the original recording, but you get the idea. If you've got iTunes, you can get the original there. That's where I got mine.

3. Barenaked Ladies - The Elf's Lament

I love this song to pieces. Who else could give you a Christmas song about illegal doping and unionization amongst elves? The song is witty, wry, and has a great retro sound. Michael Buble sang on the original recording. This video is a live performance of the song by the band alone.

4. Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - Mr. Heatmiser

I can honestly say that most Rankin-Bass Christmas specials leave me a bit...well, for lack of a better term (and no pun intended) cold. They're silly, with bad dialogue, but they're also a tradition of sorts and therefore should not be shunned. I was happy to find that one of my favourite bands had done a cover of this song from "The Year Without a Santa Claus". I'm a bit disappointed in this video, because they've sped up the Snow Miser bit to fit with the animation, but you'll get the general idea. Again, if you've got iTunes, you can hear the original recording by the band. This song is also TFYO's favourite right now, so it's a good thing I like it, because I get to hear it over and OVER again on the way to school.

5. The Waitresses - Christmas Wrapping

I had no idea this song from 1981 existed until the program director at my last station put it into the Christmas rotation. It's very 80's sounding, but I love it. For me it captures the decade and the season perfectly. If you don't know The Waitresses, you might remember they're only Top 40 hit "I Know What Boys Like". It was little sing-songy, and got annoying after a bit. This song isn't like that. The video isn't so much a video as a series of visual wipes of the 45, but that's okay, because they've got the song in it's entirety.

Okay, that's my five. What are your favourite Christmas songs? Or Hanukkah songs? Or maybe you've got a big "Bah Humbug!" up your butt and you don't like anything. Feel free to share, but leave the humbug where it is, okay?

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...

2007-12-05T09:00:00.001-05:00

Which is all I'm gonna be doing, because there's never been a white Christmas in Savannah, as far as I know. They've had snow here, just not at Christmas.

The bad thing about being a northerner living in the south is that sometimes I pine for snow. Usually, though, it's in August when the temp is in the 90's (that's Fahrenheit, y'all) with the heat index up into the 100's.

I know some of my northern friends (and family!) laugh at me when I talk about missing snow, but there's something about a fresh snowfall that makes me happy. Especially when I get to look at it from inside a warm and cozy house, made even cozier by a fire in the fireplace. In Savannah, you don't really need a fireplace. The coldest lows are generally just below freezing, and the coldest highs are usually in the upper 40's. Not cold at all by Michigan standards. Without snow, Christmas lights tend to look a little cheesy, to say nothing of those giant inflatable snow men sitting in yards that almost never see snow. And yet, everyone here dutifully puts up their lights, and sings Jingle Bells and Let it Snow! It's a mite...incongruous.

To that end, I am posting a video that my best friend, Jillian, sent me. She felt bad that a couple of days ago I was on my back patio grilling steak while it was 70 degrees out, and thought I might appreciate the fact that in the Greater Toronto Area, they'd gotten about a foot of fresh snow. With her permission, here is her video. And thanks Jill for making me a bit homesick.

City sidewalks, Busy sidewalks...

2007-12-04T08:28:00.001-05:00

From the lovely song Silver Bells. I currently have the Mahalia Jackson version on my iPod.

Oh, and this post is NSFDU (not safe for dial-up). It's mostly pictures, and it would take you dial up people most of the day to load I fear.

So, pictures from the 3rd Annual Lighted Christmas Parade in Savannah. I got as many as I could before the camera battery died on me, and many of them are a bit blurry because, well, duh, it was dark out and everyone was moving. My only consolation is that the photographer from the Savannah Morning News didn't have much more luck than I did! His pics in the paper were a little fuzzy, too.

This is TFYO, waiting for the parade to start, bagel with cream cheese in hand. We stopped at this great little cafe, Cafe Express and Bakery on Barnard St, for a little supper. I had clam chowder. What did she want? A bagel with cream cheese. And she took it with her.

This is the view up Broughton Street, from our viewing post at the corner of Broughton and Barnard. Broughton is really starting to come alive again as a commercial area of town. There's tons of cool boutiques, plus a few chain stores like the Gap that have moved into these buildings. It gives me warm fuzzy feelings to see this in city centers.

The first float in the parade. It was for a cellular phone dealer, and the had lighted mini cell towers in the back of the truck. Pity you can't actually see it.

I believe this is the lead car for the Marilyn Youman Dance School, but who the hell can tell?

This is the only picture of the Marilyn Youman Dance School Baton Twirlers that turned out. As you can see, they were twirling glow-stick batons. They were great, but also holding up the parade. Cute kids, though.

Ray was very early in the parade, which is fortunate since my camera crapped out half way through. Here he is, with holly in his hat, after giving his child a candy cane. As you can see, now that she has the candy, she has little use for him. And that kid cleaned up on the candy, too. It's a good thing my new coat had so many pockets. I was toting two bottles of water, a bag of pretzels, plus her newly acquired stash of Christmas candy.

This is the lead car for the Abeni Cultural Arts group. Their dancers follow.

These guys perform at festivals in town throughout the year. The great thing about Savannah, and the surrounding area, is that there is always some kind of event or festival every weekend.

This is one of our radio station vans, all decked out. My coworker, Stretch, is driving.

And it's impossible to see, but this is the Deen Bros. Well, a shot of them from behind, anyhow. They also kept stopping the parade, because people kept running up to their car to hug them, kiss them and give them things. I could be wrong, but I think one old lady gave them some knitted mittens. They were really good sports about the whole thing.

And just to prove that my husband did, in fact, interview Jamie and Bobby Deen...

...photographic proof. Aren't they cute?

Friday Five

2007-11-30T08:58:00.001-05:00

Another Friday...

Which of course means tomorrow is Saturday, the first day of December. Why is that special? Well, it means Christmas on the River, and the Annual Lighted Christmas Parade in downtown Savannah.

So...

Five Things to Look Forward to Tomorrow

1. Watching my daughter watch the parade

We took TFYO to Raleigh's Christmas Parade last year, it was pretty good. We stood outside the radio station where I worked, we had access to bathrooms and hot cocoa, and we were right at the beginning of the parade route. TFYO liked watching the bands. But this year, she gets to see all of the floats covered in Christmas lights. Plus, the parade runs down Broughton Street, which is already decorated for Christmas. It looks lovely, and she's already excited about it. I like seeing her excited by things, and she will surely be excited by this. The best part, watching her wave madly to Santa as he goes by in his lighted sleigh.

2. Watching my husband walk in the parade.

Ray gets to walk in the parade this year. He has a very recognizable hat (not the one to the left, that's a summer hat. The winter hat is black), it's kind of a running gag on the show actually. So, now I'm trying to figure out how to light up his fedora so he'll be more noticeable and in keeping with the "lighted" parade theme. I'm so proud of him, I could burst.

3. Bobby and Jamie Deen are the Grand Marshals

Ray actually got to interview them this morning on his show. It's the first time I've been a bit giddy over a show guest. Silly, isn't it? But it was a great interview (if I do say so), and they were a lot of fun. It's nice to see local celebrities who are also pleasant people be honoured this way. And it really is a big deal, apparently. The only bigger deal would to be Grand Marshal of our St. Patrick's Day parade, which is huge.

4. Getting to eat lots of bad-for-me food and not feeling guilty.

Being pregnant, I don't have to watch my calorie counts quite so much. So I can eat some decadent foods (fudge from Kilwins, anyone?) and not worry. And since it will be chilly, I'll need LOTS of calories to keep me sustained through that parade. Lots.

And the best for last...

5. Not having to work.

I somehow managed to get two Saturdays off in a row. Which is awesome, because we get to enjoy the festival down on River Street, and I can actually enjoy things without worrying about when I need to be at work, or who is watching TFYO. I get to spend the whole day with my family. Woo-hoo!

I don't know what y'all are doing tomorrow, but I bet it's fun. So, what do you have to look forward to tomorrow?

Love to eat turkey, pt. 2

2007-11-29T08:25:00.000-05:00

I know I should be posting every day, but life is busy, and sometimes, something just has to give. Sorry.

Also, this is a blog post about eating meat, and loving it. For those who are vegetarian/vegan/foodophobes, you may want to pass.

I had never eaten deep fried turkey before coming to the south. Oh, I'd heard rumours about it, and scoffed with the rest of my northern friends and family about what crazy people there were living in the south. A whole turkey? Plunked into a deep fryer? Only in the south.

Of course, the trend has spread far and wide, now, but when I first came to the south about ten years ago, it was still a fairly regional thing.

I have come to love fried turkey with a passion. When it's prepared right, the meat is succulent, and the skin is deliciously crispy. Really, the skin is the best part. I could live off of fried turkey skin. And I don't know anyone who fries a turkey better than my father-in-law. He brines the bird with spices and wine the day before he fries it, so the skin takes on a lovely reddish hue, and the meat just oozes juice when you cut into it. But, I admit, he's made me nervous on more than one occasion with the fryer.

You see, frying a turkey is not for the faint of heart. It requires gallons of peanut oil, a very large pot to cook in, and a free standing propane burner. Looking at the set-up itself is kind of scary. You've got an open flame underneath a pot filled with bubbling oil. It's a disaster waiting to happen. And disasters do happen. Every year there's always a story about some idiot who fried a turkey on their deck and set it and the house on fire because the turkey was too big for the pot, the oil boiled over and set everything aflame.

And I honestly thought that was going to happen one Christmas when I was pregnant with TFYO.

I was already a little paranoid, being pregnant and whatnot. I avoided everything I thought would be bad for me (including Ray's Aunt Faye's marvelous oyster dressing, what an idiot I was!). So I almost had a heart attack when I asked where Ray's dad was with the turkey fryer, and the answer was:

"Oh, he's got it set up in the garage."

I freaked out a little, but I freaked out a lot when I actually looked in Aunt Faye's garage. The place was filled with cut lumber, tins of paint thinner, and enough sawdust to throw a square dance. And there was Ray's Dad, with the turkey fryer happily bubbling away, in the midst of it.

I stared at my husband, and whispered "Is he insane? He's gonna blow us all up!"

My husband didn't seem disturbed, because apparently this happened pretty frequently, but he dutifully asked his dad if he didn't think it would be better to do that outside on the driveway.

"Naw, it's too cold and too windy, couldn't keep the burner lit. It's much better in here."

I know I looked horrified, because he asked Ray what my problem was, and seemed mightily offended that I seemed to think he couldn't handle a little turkey fryer in the garage.

"It's not like I don't have the doors and windows cracked open!"

I spent most of that Christmas before the turkey was done as far on the other side of the house from the garage as I could. Unfortunately for me, that meant spending a lot of time in the bathroom, which led to everyone wondering if I was okay, and if I was having a rough pregnancy. I just had to keep telling them the baby was weighing a little heavy on my bladder. After all, I was due in less than a month, how could they fault me for that?

Obviously, my FIL didn't blow the house up. But I have noticed that when I'm around, he fries the turkey just a little bit farther from the house than he used to. I think it's better for both of us this way.

Love to eat turkey, pt. 1

2007-11-26T06:24:00.000-05:00

You won't often hear me quote Adam Sandler here, so don't get used to it.

Thanksgiving was great. Even the drive through Atlanta was uneventful (both ways!), and that's really saying something. I'm guessing everyone who chose to drive left well before we did on Wednesday, and no one else was apparently driving on Saturday, so it was fairly smooth.

As to your some of your questions...

Turducken:

Dear, God, yes it's real. It's a chicken stuffed inside a duck stuffed inside a turkey. It's believed to be Cajun in origin. Some folks say it's from the Texas side of the state line, but having been to Louisiana, I'm betting it was created there. I've only tasted it once, and that was a sample at a food show. It was moist, and had good flavour, but for my money, it's just a bit excessive. My family can barely get through a turkey, why the hell would I want to subject them to that? I also think you lose some of the flavour of the duck meat this way. One day they're going to take a turducken and stuff it in an ostrich. It's never been confirmed, but Chef Paul Prudomme is often credited with making the dish a commercial success. Here's his recipe.

Grits/Greens/Okra

I've done a post about how much I love grits. A few, in fact. You can find them here, here, and here. I love them, when they're cooked properly. When they're not cooked properly, they're awful. Now, my MIL likes her grits "sweet", that is with sugar or jam or jelly. I like mine savory, with a huge pat of butter and a good sprinkling of salt. They're best when made with milk, because then they come out creamy. And for all you snobs out there who turn your nose up at grits, it's the same damn thing as polenta. It's just not ground as fine, and it's white instead of yellow.

Greens are also delicious, but only when cooked right. For me, that means with some kind of smoked meat, a little spice and a little sugar. Greens, including mustard, kale, collard and turnip, can be bitter. They're better after the first frost, in my opinion. And you don't want to cook them too long, either. There's a tradition amongst some Southern cooks to boil their veggies until they are mush. It's so unnecessary.

I don't eat okra unless it's in gumbo, so I don't get what the fuss is. I had a bad okra experience, once, ages ago. It was poorly fried and very soggy. My husband though, loves fried okra, especially his Momma's. Okra is often used in gumbo, where its mucousy innards thicken the stew.

What do grits, greens and okra have in common? They're all cheap and easy to come by. That made them very popular in the rural South. Greens and okra are both incredibly easy to grow. Ray's Nana D. almost always had a bumper crop of the stuff every fall. And grits are really just cornmeal. Cheap foods often become traditional foods, and you can find that in almost every culture.

We didn't do a really traditional Southern Thanksgiving this year, just because there wasn't a lot of time, and we've had several deaths in the family this year, too. Most people didn't feel like doing a big thing. We did have a deep fried turkey (more about fried turkey to come), a deep fried pork loin, my sweet potato bake, the ever-present green bean casserole, hen n'dressing, jello salad, cole slaw, potato salad, cranberry sauce, and yeast rolls. No one did greens this year, but that's okay. Quick note about dressing...we don't generally stuff turkeys down here. Firstly, you can't fry a stuffed turkey. Secondly, I think hygiene worries in the old South prompted folks to put the stuffing in a pan and bake it with the hen or turkey. We call it dressing, and I like it better than stuffing. I make a pretty good dressing with apples and a mixture of white, rye and pumpernickel. But for it to be truly southern, you need to use cornbread and put in big chunks of chicken. Hence the term "hen n'dressing".

Baby update: All is well, but I was told I could stand to gain a bit more weight! Who'd a thunk it? I gained two pounds last month, but as I was already fifteen pounds overweight, I wasn't thinking that I should have gained more. I was told not to worry, as long as I ate well. I should add, I did put on another pound over the weekend. Baby X is also very active, and did not want to sit still to have his/her heartbeat checked. Every time Nurse C cornered the kid, he/she scooted away.

More turkey talk tomorrow, we're off on another field trip with TFYO's class today.

Just a half a mile away from the railroad track...

2007-11-20T05:59:00.000-05:00

Lyric courtesy of Arlo Guthrie and one of the best story songs ever. It's not truly Thanksgiving for me until I hear someone play it on the radio.

Quick post to wish all the American readers a Happy Thanksgiving. For those who don't celebrate the holiday, grab some turkey (or tofurkey, if that's what you're into), some cranberry and have a fine weekend.

I've got an OB appointment this morning, so I'll give y'all a baby update when I get back. I'm already feeling this little one bounce around in there. So, it's quite possible I may be birthing a Cirque du Soleil performer. Of course, I may also just be rolling over on my stomach too much in my sleep for Baby X's comfort.

Things to look forward to when I get back:

The aforementioned baby update

Why it's a bad idea to fry turkey in a garage

The Confederate Flag

My recent run-in with an anti-milk campaigner

Talk to y'all on Monday.

Oh, and if there's any thing you guys would like to know about the South, something maybe you've always wondered, leave it in the comments. I've been looking for new things to write about lately. I think I'm going a bit stale.

Friday Five

2007-11-16T08:28:00.000-05:00

Friday again. I won't be here for Thanksgiving next week, we are actually going away for the weekend! How novel. So, I will instead give you next week's Friday Five, this week.

Five Things I am Thankful For this Thanksgiving

Okay, yeah, I know it's trite, but I still have to make sweet potatoes for the Thanksgiving office party yet.

1. My House.

I suppose this is a no-brainer. After all, everyone needs shelter, but this house is special, because it's the first one Ray and I have ever bought. I know we won't stay in it forever (because it's going to be too small!), but it's special because it's our first. And maybe it's not so small, as cozy. Yeah, cozy sounds much better.

2. Cake Mix

Because sometimes, you just need cake.

3. Zoe and Chloe

For those of you who have been following along for a while, you know what a trial it was to adopt these cats from the shelter. They did everything but ask us for our blood types. But in the end, we got two sister cats, complete with parasites, dandruff, and fear issues. Now, I have two plump, sleek felines who sleep on anything soft, leap into any available lap, and snuggle with my daughter. It was totally worth it. They look content, don't they?

4. The people I work with.

Not everyone I work with is stellar, but the people I work closely with on a regular basis are fun. I learn something new from them every day. They know who they are. You're great.

5. That everyone in my family is safe and sheltered this holiday.

It hasn't always been the case. There have been rough times for people in my family, and for me. But everyone now has a place to be, even if we're not all together.

Okay, that's it. I'll post as I can next week, but since I'll be trying to cram five days work into two and a half next week, I may be a little...absent. Have a good weekend, y'all!

All we hear is radio ga-ga...

2007-11-15T11:02:00.000-05:00

Courtesy of Queen.

For anyone who wonders what I do at work, here is TFYO's interpretation:

She drew this Sunday while she was at work with me. As she was drawing I asked her where my face was, and she said "Moooo-om! That's the back of your head! And I'm not finished yet, leave me alone."

Please note, she did remember the clock. The giant L-shaped thing is my chair. The loops on my head are not ears, but headphones. And the name of the station is displayed prominently. I am apparently talking to my boss. That is a microphone in my hand. If you look carefully, the squiggles to my left are the board, and the computer, again, with the station name prominently displayed. And just in case you were unsure of what you were looking at, she also wrote "Mommy at Work" on the bottom.

A masterpiece if there ever was one.

This is the way we sit in bed...

2007-11-14T07:13:00.000-05:00

This is how we spend our days...she gets a little camera shy, I think, but she plays for a few seconds anyway. TFYO does not like being cooped up. She's staying home again today, because she is still hacking up a lung, and she is unhappy. I know she wants to go to school (actually, she wants to go anywhere that doesn't involve me giving her medicine, or her having to sit in bed), but she needs to rest.

I'm trying not to let her watch too much TV, but we've run through most of the pages of her workbooks, and she's already done her homework for the week. I may have to break out the checkers.

Oh, yeah, and Blogger's got this great thingy where I can upload my videos directly, I don't have to post it on YouTube. How handy.

Blarrrrgh!

2007-11-13T06:52:00.000-05:00

And the question is: what sound does TFYO make when sick?

Sorry. TFYO has a chest cold which is why there was no post yesterday, and no post of any merit today. I'm stealing a few minutes while she watches Diego, wrapped in blankets, and sipping at juice that I have oh-so-carefully-spiked with medicine from the doctor. She knows it's in there, but this way we can carry on the charade that she won't take medicine in any form.

I took a short movie of TFYO playing piano to pass the time, I'll see if I can figure out how to get it on here.

I'll try to be back tomorrow!

Friday Five

2007-11-09T08:23:00.000-05:00

At least I haven't forgotten what Fridays are for around here. It's also much easier to remember a title, too.

The weather has finally turned chilly here this week. We've had lows around freezing and frost on the grass and the cars each morning, and I absolutely love it. There are people who say you don't really get much of a change of seasons this far south, but it's really not true. Our maples are scarlet, and the oaks are turning a lovely golden colour. Maybe I just notice them more since they're mixed in with the pine trees. Either way, it's finally starting to feel like fall, even if it is almost winter in most of the rest of the country. So, today's Friday Five is...

Five Reasons I Love Colder Weather

1. My down blanket

We bought this when we lived in Raleigh, in a very drafty house, with a very weak and wheezy gas furnace. Our bedroom was always ten degrees colder than the rest of the house. But that was okay, because we had flannel sheets, and this marvelous down blanket. It's a bit lighter than a comforter, which makes it perfect for living in the south, but it also really traps the warmth without you having to pile on the blankets. And I like being cozy when I sleep in the wintertime. Just ask my father who once accused me of having every blanket in the house on my bed. Of course, at the time, I could see my breath when I stood near my bedroom windows, so I suppose it's open to interpretation.

2. Hearty Food

Braised short ribs in barbecue sauce with buttermilk mashed potatoes. Baked acorn squash with butter, brown sugar and cinnamon. Roasted root vegetables. Thick and rich chicken and dumplings. Fresh collard greens. Grillades and grits. Clam chowder. Pumpernickel bread. I could go on, but I need to go find something to eat.

3. Not having to shave my legs every day

Okay, guys, you may be grossed out, but it's a pain in the ass to shave legs. It's awkward, and sometimes down right dangerous. I'm too chicken to wax. I tried to do it myself once, and ended up with a lovely scar. But I'm hirsute enough that I could grow enough barbed wire in a day to surround a prison. So, I look forward to when I can wear woolly tights, and tall boots with my dresses, instead of bare legs and sandals. I don't think my husband is as crazy about it as I am, but he'll deal with it. I don't carp at him when he doesn't shave on the weekends.

4. Cold weather means the holidays are coming

I admit it. I love Christmas and all the trimmings. I love seeing people put up lights, I love the smell of fresh pine and cedar wreaths, and I just love the colours that go along with the holidays. Even when I lived alone in squalor, I always had a tree of some kind, even if it was just a plastic table top one. Yeah, I know it's sentimental, but Christmas has always held warm memories for me, even if some were lousy. It's especially wonderful now that I have a child of my own.

5. We get to watch my sport on TV.

I've grown to really like baseball because of Ray, but after a whole summer of it, I'm ready to watch what I want to watch, and that's hockey. I hate football. Maybe it's because I'm Canadian, I don't know, but I just don't get football (and that's American football, y'all). So, I've been getting my husband to watch hockey for the last five years. Last year, we actually lived in the same town as a Stanley Cup winning team. And I only had to move eight hundred miles south of my hometown to do it. I still love the Leafs, but it's going to be a long time before the Cup ends up in Toronto.

Okay, that's it. For those of you who hate winter/cold weather, tough. Or, you can write about the weather you do like. Or not. No posts this weekend, back on Monday, if you can drag me off the beach.

2007-11-07T08:24:00.000-05:00

I' m into my second trimester of pregnancy, and it's finally happened.

I have "pregnancy brain".

For those not familiar with this delightful side effect of being pregnant, it involves forgetting almost everything you really need to remember and being able to drop things on the floor that you thought you had a firm grip on. And yes, that includes reality.

I locked myself out of the house last Wednesday as I was trying to get to TFYO's Halloween party. I had my hands full of camera, water bottle, purse, etc. The only thing I didn't have was my keys. That did not, however, stop me from locking the handle lock as I walked out the door. I realized my mistake just as it swung shut behind me.

I did have my cell phone so I could call my husband. The only trouble is, we live about forty-five minutes from where we work, so I knew I'd be waiting a while. It's a good thing it was warm

Our neighbour graciously made fun of me for not leaving an extra house key under the mat like he does. I graciously informed him that half the neighbourhood now knew how to break into his house while he was gone.

I also discovered during my forty-five minute wait that I would be a lousy burglar, myself. I could not get a window open no matter how hard I tried. And the credit card in the door thingy? Does. Not. Work. At. All. I couldn't even force the garage lock open.

Of course, pregnancy brain has affected me in other ways. I've cracked open the mic at work a few times, only to forget what the hell I'm going to say.

"Hey, that was...um. Who was that? Oh, yeah. The latest from Ozzy Osbourne." Fortunately for me, Ozzy's memory is about on par with mine right now, so it made for a good joke, anyway.

I also managed to juggle a cheesecake down the front of the kitchen cabinet. It was saved by the heroic efforts of my husband, who, in a move worthy of the Six Million Dollar Man, made a flying leap to catch the thing before it hit the floor. I could almost hear the "dadadadadadada" sound, as he shouted "N-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" in slow motion.

I drop my keys. I drop papers. I drop CD's at work. I can't hand anything to anyone to save my soul. I drop food constantly, but thankfully my ever-expanding chest seems to catch most of it.

My only excuse, and thankfully everyone buys it, is that I have pregnancy brain.

Right. I'm sorry, what was this post about again?

Update: I posted this, and then realized I forgot to find a title for it. Crap. It's invading my blogging time, as well.

Update, Number Two:

I've just been given another award by the fabulous Jo Beaufoix, who is so fabulous she designed this award herself. She is also fabulous, because she gave all the recipients three different versions to choose from. I chose this one:

I'm not sure how Jo managed to get her head stuck back on, but I'm grateful to have made anyone laugh that hard. I'm also grateful she didn't sue me for damages or clean-up.

He's a well respected man about town

2007-11-06T08:22:00.000-05:00

I love The Kinks.

Today is election day here in the Coastal Empire (that's what they call this region, by the way).

Have you ever tried to explain politics and government to a four-year-old?

Yesterday, on the way to school, I heard her laughing in the back seat.

"What's so funny?"

"Them. They're funny. They're standing on the street holding signs!" She cackled with glee, and pointed to some supporters for one of Guyton's mayoral candidates standing at the crossroads with political signs.

"Why are they doing that, Mommy?"

"Well, tomorrow is election day, and they want people to vote for the guy on the signs to be mayor."

"What's an election?"

"An election is where people get together and pick who they want to be in charge of government."

"What's government?"

"The government is made up of a group of people who we pick to make the laws and make sure everyone follows those laws."

"What's a law?"

"A law is a rule. You know how you have rules in school so that everyone gets along? That's what laws are like. They help everyone get along. And if you don't follow the rules, just like school, you get punished."

"Oh."

I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping we could make it to school without anymore questions about anything. It was almost 8 a.m., I still hadn't showered yet, and I'd overslept the alarm. I really didn't want to talk anymore. No such luck.

"Hey, mommy."

"Yes."

"Is a government like a mommy and daddy?"

"Well, no not exactly. You see, I'll always be your mommy, but a mayor only gets to be mayor for four years, unless everyone votes to have him stay longer."

"Can I vote for a new mommy?"

"Sorry, kiddo, it doesn't work that way. You're stuck with me."

"That's not fair."

Trying to be funny, I say "Yes, well, that's why a family is a benevolent dictatorship, not a democracy or a republic."

"Mom, what's a democracy?"

Thankfully at that moment, we pulled into the school parking lot, and I didn't have to try and discuss civic theory anymore. I would hate to try and explain some of the mayoral candidates for the City of Savannah.

Admittedly, it's been a pretty quiet campaign. All except for Jerry Sammons, who is running on a platform of legalizing marijuana, and who also promises to lead marches in the streets protesting gas prices if elected. He also is apparently a convicted felon who claims that he fought with the Contras in Nicaragua. When asked by a reporter about that claim, and why he would be fighting in the jungle with the Contras, Mr. Sammons' response was:

"Because I'm a patriot."

If I could vote, and lived in Savannah, I might vote for him. Just because it would make the next four years of city politics a hoot. Of course, TFYO might end up asking:

"Mom, what's Nicaragua?"

I got no time for livin' yeah, I'm workin all the time

2007-11-05T08:22:00.000-05:00

Lyric courtesy of the great Canadian band Rush.

I sent myself into self-imposed blog exile over the weekend. Partly because I was in the aforementioned snarky mood, but also because I had a fight with TFYO the weekend previous which gave me pause.

My husband works Monday through Friday, 4:30 a.m. to around noon every day. He's usually home on the weekends, unless he has a live appearance to put in, and then half the time he takes TFYO with him, because she's such a hit at remotes. I work Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays from 2 until 5 p.m., and on weekends from 10 a.m. to 2 p.m. See where the problem is here?

A couple of weeks ago, Ray had a remote to go to late Saturday evening, so it was going to be just me and TFYO at home. She was not happy. I tried to explain that Daddy would be home around her bedtime, but she argued with me.

"No he won't. He won't be home at all. And then you'll be going to work tomorrow morning, and I'll be all alone!"

I tried to calmly explain that no one would leave her alone, but she was inconsolable and burst out with this:

"You're always at work. You work seven days a week!"

Ouch.

It's not really true, but the more I thought about it, the more I saw what she meant. I'm not usually home when she is. The days I have off, she's in school most of the day. We almost never get to spend a weekend together as a family. And that realization hurt. Ray and I have always set up our work schedules so one of us would be home with TFYO. Now, I'm not needed to watch her in the morning, and I'm not home when she is, so she's spending most of her time with Ray.

So, I'm giving up working on Saturdays, and blogging on the weekend. My boss (one of three, actually!) was not really happy. About the work thing, I don't think he cares about the blogging. But I 've made up my mind that the money I'd make from four hours work on a Saturday is not worth having my child resent me being gone. It also means I get one day a week to sleep in (a little anyway), and I get to see my husband from sunup to sundown occasionally, too.

This coming Saturday is my first one off of work. I think we'll go to the beach.

Friday Five

2007-11-02T08:24:00.000-04:00

For some reason, I'm grumpy this morning, which is probably why this is late. I don't know if I didn't get enough sleep, enough food, or enough whatever. Maybe I've had too much whatever. Either way, it's a snarky post. Snarkalicious, even.

Deal with it.

Five Halloween Treats I Hope We Don't See Next Year

1. Taffy

You know the ones I'm talking about. They're rock hard and taste vaguely of peanut butter, and are always wrapped in black or orange waxed paper. They're hideous, and I've yet to meet a child or an adult who likes them. I don't even see them in the stores anymore, so where the hell are you people getting them? I have a suspicion that they're a little like the fruitcake of Halloween. Someone out there hoards these hideous taffys for years, and then just passes them on to other unsuspecting trick or treaters.

2. Petrified Raisins

I know you're trying to protect my children's health and my children's teeth by giving them a "healthy" snack. However, when the raisins are rock hard, and taste like the little box they come in, you aren't helping anyone. If my child breaks a tooth on one, I may have to come back to your house to help cover the dental costs.

3. McDonald's Gift Certificates

Most of these are worth about what, a buck? Which means I have to take my child to Mickey D's and shell out money in order for her to use this. Seriously, why did you spend money on the coupon book? Would you like someone to toss some Chicken McNuggets in your treat bag?

4. Religious Tracts

Some guy tried to make my kid promise to read his tract or he wouldn't give her candy. I'm cool if you don't like Halloween. I'm cool with your right to practice your religion. But don't gussy up your house for Halloween, and then hand out tracts to kids telling them they're all going to hell because they're out trick or treating. It's false advertising. How would you like it if a group of Hindus put up a bunch of signs advertising a tent revival and started giving your kids tracts trying to convert them to worship Shiva? Honestly, just give it up already.

5. Pennies

I know you grannies mean well, but pennies don't do much for kids anymore. TFYO is still excited about any form of money, but only because she likes to count it and add it, not spend it. Not yet, anyway. But I know those older kids are thinking, "Swell, Grandma. What the hell am I supposed to buy with this?" Well, the answer is, "Nothing, kid." Not a thing. Unless you want to save them all up for the next ten years. Then you might be able to afford a gumball.

Okay, that's it in all it's snarky, grumpy glory. I'm going to give in and get myself a cup of coffee now before I do harm to someone. Have a good weekend. No really, I mean that.

It was a graveyard smash...

2007-10-31T06:20:00.000-04:00

Thank you Bobby Boris Picket.

Halloween is here, and I'm going to be off to TFYO's "Fall Fling Party" at school today. You can't say Halloween at school anymore, because it could be offensive. Which is fine. But everyone is dressing up in costumes, and the room will be decorated with jack o'lanterns and cartoony monsters. Nope. Not Halloween at all.

Here are the cupcakes, with before and after decoration shots. TFYO helped with the sprinkles, can you tell?

I still need to carve our pumpkins. That is my job every year, and I love it. I love to toast the pumpkin seeds, too. Last year, I did half with just salt and olive oil, and half with Chinese Five Spice. This year, I might do some brown sugar-cayenne seeds.

I will post pictures through the day as we go. I'll have pictures of the jack o'lanterns, TFYO etc. She's going as a cat this year, which (witch?) made me happy because it's the easiest costume I've had to make thus far.

Happy Halloween!

I found this video while searching for "Monster Mash" on YouTube. It's very clever and has good editing, too, filled with bits of old campy movies. It also includes clips from one of my fave Mel Brooks films, too. See if you can catch it. And of course, it's got the song. Props to someone named soulrocket for their work.

Picture update!!

Here are some pictures from this afternoon and this evening. Obviously I'm not going to post pictures of TFYO's classmates, since I don't have their parents permission. But I saw everything from a dragon, to Batman, to three Spidermans, and a couple of princesses for good measure. My daughter was the only non-gender specific character, and that made me very happy.

And some pictures from tonight, yes I did her make-up:

And yes, I carved these pumpkins. I'm the only person in my family with no artistic talent. At least, not visual arts.

How's about cooking somethin' up with me?

2007-10-30T09:41:00.000-04:00

Good heavens, if I'd known death would have driven you all away...

With thanks to Hank Williams, Sr., who is also dead.

My poor husband doesn't know what to do with me.

I have a problem.

I can't stop baking.

That's right. The last few weeks, I've been very busy in the kitchen. Ray says I'm nesting, and I'm inclined to agree. During my last pregnancy, I stuck mostly to cookies. This time, I seem to be branching out.

It started with cake. The one to the left. I suddenly got the urge to bake one. It turned out to be a chocolate fudge layer cake, with raspberry filling, covered with cream cheese frosting. And I only ate one piece. Once I got done baking it, I didn't want to eat it anymore. Ray was okay with that, he ate most of it.

From there, I moved on to cookies. Chocolate chip, although I think I may do some oatmeal raisin next week.

We've also made banana bread (just to use up the bananas, I swear!), and brownies. Today, I'm baking cupcakes for the TFYO's Halloween party tomorrow. They'll be white cake swirled with black and orange, topped with little black and orange sprinkles, and non-pareil pumpkins.

I even went and got the stuff to bake a pumpkin pie, and we're still weeks away from Thanksgiving.

I'm out of control.

I think I may have an ulterior motive. I think my subconscious is trying to get my husband to gain weight with me. You see, I don't really eat much of what I make. I had only the tiniest piece of that cake, only one slice of the banana bread, and so far, only one brownie out of that whole pan. Maybe I secretly want Ray to get as big as I'm going to be.

Hmmm. Perhaps I should start working on a fudge recipe.

They'll all come to see me in the shade of that old oak tree

2007-10-29T06:17:00.000-04:00

In honour of Porter Wagoner (1927-2007). He will be missed.

While I was at work yesterday, surfing the web of course, I came across an interesting article about the new trend in "green" funerals. You can read it here.

Now, after reading through it, what struck me is that there's nothing really new about it at all. People were burying their dead this way for a long time before the funeral industry came about. Most Amish communities still lay their dead out in the parlor and bury them in plain pine boxes without embalming. And I like the idea. I mean, you'd need some dry ice for me if I kicked off in the summer, of course. And you couldn't leave me out for more than a couple of days. But then, I don't really want a bunch of people looking at me after I'm dead, anyhow.

Of course, laying me out in my own house would never work. The way things are here, if you laid me out horizontally on a couple of saw horses, I'd be covered with junk mail, a briefcase, a couple jackets and a cat or two within a day or so. You wouldn't be able to find me under all the clutter.

Ray's Paw-Paw (that's a Grandpa to all you northern folks, his maternal grandfather) actually worked as a mortician. But Ray's mom also notes that right up until Ray was a boy, there were still families who laid their dead out in their homes. She told me about going to viewings when she was a girl, and that it was the norm back then to keep your family members at home until a graveside service. Ray's Paw-Paw would often just help deliver the bodies home rather than to a funeral chapel.

I think I might like best to be cremated. Partly it's because it's cheap. The average funeral now runs something like ten thousand dollars. I figure if someone's going to spend that much on my death, it better be for a kick-ass party. Why spend all that money on a silk pillow and a vacuum-sealed casket that I'm not going to appreciate anyway? Nah, cremate me, scatter my ashes in a few different places that people might want to visit, and throw a huge party. The other reason I'd like to be cremated, is that I don't want anyone digging me up. Having been trained in archaeology, and walked down rows and rows of bones stored up in boxes for study, I've decided I really don't want to be on someone's shelf or used in a demonstration three hundred years from now in a classroom. That's just me.

Of course, there's a new method of body disposal that the Swedes have come up with. Apparently cremating people with certain kinds of dental fillings causes mercury emissions (who knew?). So, what they do here, is dip you in liquid nitrogen, and then shake the body until it crumbles into dust. Then they just sift out anything non-organic, like fillings or other prosthetics, using a magnetic field. Kind of ingenious really. But I don't have any fillings, so I'm not that worried about it.

I suppose I've never been really comfortable at traditional funerals, especially viewings. I know sometimes you need to say goodbye, but I think I'd rather remember someone as they were alive, rather than drained, painted and waxed in a box. I'd never even been to an open casket funeral until we moved to the US. My boyfriend at the time asked me to go with him to the viewing of his grandmother. It was an odd affair. A lot of time was spent discussing how nice it was that she was laid out in her favourite wig, but one of his aunts was not happy with how it was styled. So she got out a comb and a little bottle of hair spray and fixed it. Someone else had taken issue with her lipstick. It was the wrong shade. So, they got out a tube of their own and fixed it, right there. Then they all started talking about how this lovely woman wanted to be buried wearing pants. But how would we know? The bottom half of the casket was closed. Well, there was only one way to fix that. They popped open the casket to make sure she was wearing her favourite pair of black pants. Thankfully she was. I'm not sure what they would have done if she'd been there in her bloomers.

Friday Five

2007-10-26T06:08:00.000-04:00

In-laws are coming through town today, (which always is a reason for smiles), have a cold, have to work a full shift and all weekend (which is a reason to be pissy). What better time than now to think about food that makes me happy?

Five Favourite Desserts

If I found out (some sort of deity forbid) that I was going to die in a couple of days, these are the desserts I would fill up on.

1. Red Velvet Cake

Ray and I had red velvet cake for our wedding cake, and yes that is a picture of it. It's best with cream cheese frosting (we had cream cheese filling in ours, since the cake was covered in fondant). We had a lovely reception in the restaurant. Did anyone talk about the marvelous crab cakes? Or the saffron rice? Nope. Everybody raved about the cake. Now some folks go a little crazy with the red food colouring. Originally, the red colour came from dutch process cocoa. I like a little food colouring, and a lot of cocoa in my cake.

2. Pie

There's just something wrong with you if you don't like pie. I'm specifically referring to fruit pies here, not cream pies, which are completely different. I personally favour apple, peach and pumpkin. Awesome with a good strong cup of coffee. I confess to sometimes eating leftover pie for breakfast. I love mine with whipped cream, not ice cream. I save the ice cream for...

3. Crisps

The easiest and cheapest of all desserts to make. It's a marvelous comfort food. I like mine with either apples or pears. Just take your fruit, peel, core and slice and toss it with some flour sugar and your choice of spices. I like cinnamon and a little allspice for apples, a little ginger and nutmeg for pears. Then the topping. All it is, is flour, brown sugar, butter and rolled oats cut together until it's crumbly. Sprinkle over the fruit and bake it. How easy is that? We ate this dessert a lot when I was a kid.

4. Tiramisu

I could easily live on tiramisu. I'd be hugely fat, but I would be so content in my marscarpone cheese, I probably wouldn't care. I like tiramisu when it's done right. Not with cake, but with ladyfingers. Not with mostly whipped cream, but marscarpone cheese. Not with instant coffee crystals, but espresso. Not deconstructed, and in a heap, but beautifully layered, and light, and just for me.

5. Brownies

I prefer mine a little cakey to fudgy, and I like mine with nuts. There's just something about the smell of a pan of brownies baking in the over that makes me swoon. Which is probably why my husband likes to make them often. Chocolate is an aphrodisiac, right? Obviously they are best still warm from the oven. Heaven.

Okay, that's my five, can't wait to see yours. Have a great weekend, y'all!

Oh, the mother and child reunion...

2007-10-25T06:18:00.000-04:00

...is only a motion away. Thanks to Paul Simon.

So things are fine in baby-land, for those of you just dying to know. My appointment Tuesday was probably the quickest one I've ever had. I walked in, peed in the cup, checked my weight and BP, laid down on the table while they looked for the baby's heartbeat with the Doppler thingy, asked how I was feeling, and done.

Of course, finding the baby's heartbeat took a little doing. I had a Physician's Assistant in Training on Tuesday. She's training with my doctor, Dr. W, and that morning was doing the rounds with the nurse practitioner, Nurse C. I've said it before, Nurse C is awesome. She's no-nonsense, and very earthy. I love her.

Well, the PAIT started looking. And looking and looking and looking, until pretty much my whole abdomen was covered with that jelly stuff they put on you to make the Doppler wand move more easily.

"Um, trouble?" I asked.

"No, I know the baby's in there, I can see it, it just doesn't seem to want to hold still for me to catch the heartbeat. I'm catching echoes, but I want to make sure it's not your heartbeat I'm reading."

At that point Nurse C walked in. We both waited while the PAIT kept looking. I started to get a little nervous.

"All right!" said Nurse C, "My turn!" She pushed a lot harder with the wand than the PAIT. It took a couple of minutes, but there was the heartbeat, loud and clear and strong.

"There! Heartbeat in the 160's, just like we like it. Mobile little rascal," she said.

"Great, it's just like my first one: won't sit still, and pig-headed, too. Swell." Nurse C. looked at me with an eyebrow raised.

"You were worried, weren't you?"

And then I went on to explain the food poisoning, and the weight loss, and how my husband was worried. What I didn't tell her was I was worried. I've known so many people in the last year who've lost their pregnancies just before week 12. But of course, I put it off on Ray. Let him be the one to worry.

"It takes a lot to unseat a healthy pregnancy," she said. "And you're about as healthy as they come. Your blood pressure is great, your blood work was perfect, and whether you know it or not, you're glowing. You can tell your husband, that you are just fine and so is that baby."

So, I went to work all happy, and went home just as happy.

TFYO asked about my appointment that night, and I told her everything was fine.

"Where is the baby, mommy?"

"Well, honey, we've talked about this, the baby is growing right here in my tummy."

At that point she grabbed the front of my t-shirt and hauled it down to my navel.

"I don't see the baby! When can I see it!"

This isn't the first time she's tried to undress me, of course. When she was about three or so, she was sitting on my lap on the floor one evening, just before bed. She had her head on my chest.

"Mom, your chest sure is lumpy. Hey! What've you got down there!" I happened to be wearing a very loose shirt, and she yanked the front of it down. At that point, Ray, who had been standing behind the couch, fell to the floor and had to crawl from the room because he was laughing so hard.

"Well, those are breasts. Most grown-up women have them," I told her, trying not to die laughing my self. I pulled my shirt back up, but she took another peek.

"They sure are huge, Mommy."

I'm just so glad she's never done this in public. She has started saying goodbye to my belly at school every morning now. She seems to think my belly button is some sort of pre-natal intercom.

But Georgia never had a sweeter peach...

2007-10-24T08:24:00.000-04:00

That's not a song about a meme, but Mame. It's a stretch. I ripped it off from Willowtree.

A blog meme with no real rules. Amazing. I didn't think they existed. Usually, they have all these convoluted rules, where you have to tag three other people who were born during a full moon, but only on a Tuesday and not in fall. And then you have to answer questions like "If you were a candy, what kind would you be?" For the record, I'd be Mounds.

This is a meme about...well, me, I suppose. I was tagged by Rotten Correspondent, one of my oldest and dearest bloggy buddies. She was tagged by Laurie, who wrote a wonderful condensed version of the rules:

it's a very ancient meem, apparently, because it comes with no instructions; i guess they have been lost to the mists of time. i traced it back as far as i could, looking for guidance from the elves or druids or whoever it was who started the meem. i clicked from swearing mother to the person who meemed her--manic mother of five (va-voom! a hottie!), and from her i clicked back to self-employed mum (how did i get on this meem list, i wonder? i have no children), and from her blog i clicked back to my favorite autistic, and from her to identity crisis, but nowhere could i find instructions for this meem...and then a wizard appeared, in one of those tall pointy hats, and he pointed his long wand at me and he intoned, 'JUST MAKE IT UP, DAMMIT.'

So, I shall do that, too.

Although, I probably already told you all everything there is to know about me. For God's sake, I've even shared what colour underwear I sport most days!

So, here is a refresher course for those just joining:

I'm a Canadian living in the United States.

I moved to the States when I was fifteen.

It was hellish.

I still carry a Green Card because getting citizenship is a pain in the butt.

I moved to the South from Michigan in 1996.

I've been bouncing around the southeast ever since.

I married a guy from North Georgia, who has no southern accent

I met him at work, and he was my boss.

I work in radio, and have been a traffic reporter, a news anchor/reporter, a production assistant, a programming assistant, and a DJ (we call them "jocks").

I have one child, and one on the way.

I had two cats who travelled the country with me, who died last year.

I have two new cats, adopted over the summer, named Zoe and Chloe.

They are sisters.

My child has a mild form of Asperger's Syndrome, which is an autism spectrum disorder.

She is four, and is referred to here as The Four Year Old, or TFYO, because I'm too lazy to type that over and over.

I've known my best friend, Jill (aka Auntie Jill) since I was fourteen, and she's still my friend.

I'm terrified of spiders, tornadoes and fire, all of which I seem to run into with alarming frequency

I'm agnostic, having once been a Comparative Religion studies minor.

But I love the diversity that comes from everyone else's religion of choice.

Irises are my favourite flower and were in my wedding bouquet.

I speak very bad French.

But I cook really good French food.

When I'm pregnant, I get an urge to bake...there is a post on that coming soon.

I can't think of anything else, but if you have questions you want answered, or things you'd like to see me blog about, feel free to leave it in the comments section. A little inspiration, no matter how silly, is good for me.

Oh, and the reason why I blog? All of you, of course.

I'm not good in a crowd. I don't like talking to a lot of people face to face, which is why I work in radio. No one ever sees me, so I can talk all day, as long as I keep telling my self I'm only talking to one person. I suppose if I had a huge audience with lots of comments like Willowtree or Rotten Correspondent, I might go into hiding. I like the size of my blog just fine. I can write how I want, when I want, and the comments that I do get (with the exception of yesterday's Phil bashing) are generally ego-enhancing. Who wouldn't want that?

And of course, I've met some really interesting people all over the world. A British journalist living in France. A mom in England, who's married to a guy in a band, and who has also held all kinds of cool jobs. A nurse in Kansas who makes me laugh almost every day. A weird Canadian guy who writes random thoughts and writes code for a living. An Aussie who's coached baseball and who's one of the most lovable curmudgeons I know. A pagan who lives in South Carolina. A guy in California who's both a metal worker and a teacher (whether he knows it or not). A teacher from Indiana, who is both proud of her faith, and knows how to make science fun. Just to name a few.

Right, so I'm supposed to tag a few people. How about...Pixelpi over at Motes. And also...Bellevelma at Running with Books. Just because. And since there are not rules, you guys don't have to do this! Sweet!

Off to the baby doctor

2007-10-23T06:30:00.000-04:00

Not a song lyric, just a note.

I'm off to the OBGYN today first thing, so I'll try to post later after I make it home from work.

Promise.

In the meantime, a musical interlude from a great album.

I'll stop reading my favorite books

2007-10-22T08:23:00.000-04:00

Lyric courtesy of Alanis Morrisette, and my new favourite lyrics page.

I know you've all heard me talk about how TFYO loves to read. Matter of fact, you're probably sick of me talking about it, but that's just too bad.

We recently found out that she's reading on a fourth grade reading level, which is great, but it's also posing some problems for us that we just never anticipated.

It all started a few weeks ago. I was reading an article online about the millions of women left single in Britain after WWI. It was really a fascinating article about how at a time when women were expected to get married and produce children, some six million women never had that option because so many men of their generation had been killed or so horribly wounded that they couldn't (or wouldn't) marry.

The title of the article was "6 Million Virgins".

Little did I know, but TFYO had crept up behind me and was reading over my shoulder.

"6 Million Ver-gins," she said. "Mommy, what's a ver-gin?" She pronounced it with a hard "G" sound.

"Uh, well, um, uh...in this case it refers to a woman who has never gotten married."

"Has Auntie Jill ever been married?" I didn't like where this was going.

"No, she hasn't."

"Is she a ver-gin?"

"Um, it's pronounced 'virgin', and I think you should just forget about it for now."

Thankfully, she's still at an age where she will drop things if you distract her. But I can't wait for the next time Auntie Jill comes to visit. Hey girl, you've been warned.

I've also discovered that I have to hide some of my more... adult books. Not that I've got a collection of erotica or anything, just books that have cursing, sexual situations, violence. We recently got a copy of Ken Burns' The War, as a companion to the TV documentary he did. That book is filled with pictures and descriptions of violence that she's not ready for. But when she saw the book, she homed in on it like pigeon, and howled like a wounded animal when I took it from her.

One day I found her reading Bob Novak's biography "Prince of Darkness". Ray was supposed to be interviewing him, and had left a preview copy laying on the table. when I found TFYO, she was reading me all the captions from the pictures!

I knew when she was little we'd have to monitor her television watching, but I never dreamed I'd have to start putting the grown-up books on high shelves just yet. She's already decided my Harry Potter books are hers now, and she keeps asking when she can read them. When I tell her she needs to be a bit older, she says she'll wait until she's five.

I love this and I'm terrified by this.

Any advice?

Friday Five

2007-10-19T10:35:00.000-04:00

Having spent the better part of yesterday getting a sunburn with sixteen four-year-olds, today's Friday Five will be both brief and appropriate.

Five Things I've Learned from Four-Year-Olds

1. Don't hold a grudge.

My daughter's reaction when someone hits her goes like this:

"Ouch, hey stop it!"

"I don't want to play with you anymore!"

"Oh, it's okay. I know you didn't really mean to bite me."

"Let's go play on the see-saw."

She gets over things quickly, and so do her classmates. And she seems happier for it.

2. Behold the power of Play-Doh.

It's true. Take a group of crabby, stressed out kids and give 'em a few cans of Play-Doh. Not only do they all shut up, they all relax, and do some wonderfully creative things. I think I need more Play-Doh in my life.

3. Naps can be good.

This does not apply to my daughter, because she never sleeps during the day. However, she does sit in the corner during nap time and read quietly. We all need quiet time during the day. It keeps us from getting too cranky.

4. Enjoy little things.

We spent three hours wandering around a "Native American Festival" with these kids. The didn't give a damn about the captive bison, the tee-pee, or the dancing. They wanted to pick up sticks, play in the dirt and go feed the ducks. Dirt is captivating. There's lots of interesting things in it. Sometimes life is less about the big show than it is about just playing in the sand.

5. Sometimes it's okay to rely on someone bigger than you when you're scared.

During an animal demonstration involving a very large snake and a caged bobcat, I had six of my daughter's classmates, plus her, all vying for space on my lap. Those that didn't fit on my lap, leaned on my shoulders, hugged me, or just grabbed a fistful of my shirt. Just that little bit of contact made them feel safer and better. It's okay to go hug someone else when you're not feeling strong.

Okay, that's it. Have a good weekend. I'm off in search of some aloe vera for my neck, and maybe grab a nap before I have to head off to work.

"Give her a feather, she's a Cherokee"

2007-10-18T06:09:00.000-04:00

Lyrics courtesy of Mary Dean who wrote the song for Cher.

Short post today as I have been suckered...er, volunteered to be a parent chaperon for my daughter's field trip today. I wasn't originally going to go, but the school was unable to secure a bus for the class, and now parents and teachers will be driving the children for an hour to the Lake Mayer Indian Festival (sorry no link). Since I didn't want someone I didn't know driving my child, I opted to just do it myself.

So now I'm driving my child and two other kids. Ray is going to meet us there, since I have to be at work at 2 p.m. He gets the pleasure of driving the kids back to the school. Lucky for him, they'll probably all sleep on the way home.

Oh, and if anyone is wondering, the picture is of Iron Eyes Cody, the actor who portrayed the "Crying Indian" in that pollution PSA all those years ago. No, he wasn't Native American. He was a second generation Italian American, who just told everyone he was part Cherokee.

Friday Five tomorrow!

But I've seen it all in a small town...

2007-10-17T09:52:00.000-04:00

Lyric courtesy of John Mellencamp.

I love living in the small-town south, because you just never know what you're going to find next.

For example, a herd of chihuahuas standing in the middle of the road.

I was on my way home from taking TFYO to school. She goes to school in "Historic Guyton", as opposed to "middle of nowhere Guyton", which is where I live. It's a very quaint little town, still has it's old water tower, and more churches than you can shake a stick at.

I was driving down Church Street, when I noticed the herd. I'm not really sure how many chihuahuas it takes to make a herd, but there were six standing in the road right in front of my car.

I stopped.

I honked the horn.

And then one of the little buggers barked at me and started biting my front tire.

Being the kind and conscientious person I am, I decided to put on my four-way flashers and get out to assist the dogs out of the road. That's when the black one, who was mostly grey from age, flopped over onto the road. I thought I'd killed him.

And that's when this sweet little old lady with a walker came out of the brick bungalow to my right and started calling for her dogs. Four of the six went running to her. The black one, who was thankfully not dead, kept laying in the road. And the one that was biting my tire, kept biting my tire.

"Oh, I'm so sorry about this! They don't usually run out in the street, and I'm just not strong enough to chase them down anymore," said the lady. I imagine she wasn't, as she was coming down from her porch on a walker.

"Oh, it's no problem," I replied, as casually as I could, with the other four chihuahuas deciding to come running back. At that moment, another car pulled up behind me.

"Y'all alright?" It was some guy in a pick up truck.

"Uh, yeah, just trying to corral some little dogs." So he got out and helped me herd the four back into this lady's house. I picked up the old dog and he crawled up to my shoulder, licking my ear. I then grabbed The Biter, and he immediately whimpered and went limp. I left my car running, and carted this lady's "babies" back into her house. As I was getting ready to leave, she hugged me.

"I just love living in my town,"she said. "The people in the south are always so friendly. Not like all those people from up north moving down here. They won't give you the time of day. Always speeding through here like they own the place."

I was going to tell her that I was from up north. I really was. But I was so touched that she thought I was from here, I just didn't have the heart to tell her. I did tell her she might want to think about a fence.

I went back outside, my car was still running, and nothing was gone.

Only in my town.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Oh, and I have picked up another award, two actually. These are from the delusionally delightful Jo Beaufoix.

Jo says on her blog:

The Community Blog Award celebrates people who reach out and makes the blogger
community a better one.

I'm honoured that she thinks that about me. I really am.

About the other award, Jo says she lurves me, but not in a rude way. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I'll take it as a compliment.

What all of this really means, however, is that I need to have another awards presentation. I promise. I will. Really.

Hello My Ragtime Gal!

2007-10-15T06:02:00.000-04:00

We are truly terrible people. Dare I say it, we may be shunned by some of our friends who belong to PETA.

We are murderers.

But it was an accident, swear! I had no idea. Really, I didn't.

Saturday evening, Ray and TFYO ran out to grab us some dinner, because we were all too tuckered from work and play to cook. Ray had a personal appearance that day, and TFYO went with him to the "Healthy Savannah Festival". She tried to hula hoop, but it's not going to happen until she grows some hips.

So, back they came with our food in boxes, there was much commotion with cats running every which way, and the front door was summarily slammed shut.

Later on, I was on the couch as we went through the bedtime ritual of TFYO begging for one more book before bed, when I noticed Zoe.

She was sitting by the front door looking up, but I couldn't quite see what she was looking at. Then I noticed there was something long and spindly sticking out of the door frame. Zoe seemed to want it very badly. I thought it was either a bit of leaf or pine straw mulch at first. Then I thought it might be part of a very large bug.

So, I called for Sir Ray, killer of Black Widow spiders, destroyer of ant colonies, bleacher of maggoty trash cans, and I told him to check it out. Because, of course, I am a coward.

He got close and looked.

"Is that a bug leg?" I asked. He peered a little closer. And then a horrible thought dawned on me.

"Oh, my god, is that... is that a FROG leg?"

Sir Ray gingerly opened the door, and peeked around at the door frame. The look on his face as he turned around told me everything I needed to know.

And then, even though he kind of looked like he wanted to throw up, he started to laugh. And I felt awful, and I told him he was awful for laughing. And then I started to laugh, too, because it was just terribly macabre.

"Well, it looks like it was pretty quick for him," Ray said, "He's very...flat." So, Ray went off to fetch a paper towel. And it took him five minutes to peel the poor little guy off of the door frame. And then for some inexplicable reason, Ray started to come back in the house with those flattened amphibian remains!

"What are you doing?" I screeched.

'Well, what do you want me to do with it?" he demanded.

"Take it outside, bury it, fling it to the buzzards, toss it in the trash can! I don't know, just don't bring it in here!"

So, Brave Sir Ray, killer of Black Widow Spiders, destroyer of ant colonies, and now, disposer of flat frogs, took it outside, and chucked it in the trash.

Thank goodness today is trash day.

Friday Five

2007-10-12T07:06:00.000-04:00

Good heavens, is it Friday again? Already?

I spent a lot of time laying on the couch at the beginning of the week, and I spent quite a bit of time with the television. It reminded me a lot of when I was a kid and I'd be home sick from school, wrapped in blankets with the TV on. So, today's Friday Five is sort of inspired by that.

Five 80s Movies I Love

Okay, and I'm not talking about Chariots of Fire, or Gandhi or even Amadeus. Those are Oscar winning beauties, cinematic works of art. I'm talking about fluffy, cheesy movies that make you smile and cringe all at the same time. That kind of 80's movie.

1. Top Gun

It's the only movie I ever liked Tom Cruise in, and really, I liked Anthony Edwards in this more. Great action movie, nice eye candy, you could root for the good guys and feel okay about it. Goose dies, so there's some good crying, and there's a really steamy sex scene. Well, it was steamy to a twelve year old. And I still get shivers every time I hear "Take My Breath Away".

2. Pretty in Pink

This was one of the films I got to watch during my recovery. It's always been one of my favourite "brat pack" films. I was so in love with Ducky, and I could never understand how Andie liked Blaine better. He was so bland, and so easily influenced by his loser, rich friends. Ducky had character, and really great hair. And he loved Andie so much. Who wouldn't want to be loved that way? Annie Potts was also in this film, and her ever changing wardrobe was awesome.

3. Short Circuit

Steve Guttenberg was just everywhere in the 80's wasn't he? I, like millions of other girls, swooned over his everyman-ness. This was a great 80's film because it had it all: moderately hot girl (Ally Sheedy), cute nerdy science guy (Steve Guttenberg), bad racial stereotype ramped up for comedy (Fisher Stevens as an Indian???), and a talking machine. It was 80's bliss. It even spawned a catchy tune, which I had on cassette.

4. Johnny Dangerously

This film is on here because it was the first AA/A-14 film I ever got into without my parents. And I was only twelve. In Canada, Adult Accompaniment, meant that if you were under fourteen, they wouldn't let you in without a parent. Like PG-13 here in the states, but a little stricter. This would-be gangster movie is full of tasteless penis jokes and risque humour. Perfect for a twelve year old who thought she was pulling the wool over the establishment's eyes. It also features Michael Keaton, before he was Beetlejuice or Batman. The great Peter Boyle is in here as well.

5. The Breakfast Club

King of all Brat Pack films, directed by John Hughes, it's filled with enough teen angst to sink the Titanic, but still has a happy ending. Again, one of those perfect 80's films, covering every high school stereotype, to make sure that no matter who you were you could identify with someone. I wanted to Molly Ringwald, but I was more a cross between Ally Sheedy's character and Anthony Michael Hall.

Okay, so that's my five. If you weren't a child of the 1980's, feel free to substitute your decade of choice. But there are no serious films allowed here. Only good-time, fluffy, films.

As my friend Mya said last Friday, have a Bon Weekend, Y'all!

It's Aliiiive!

2007-10-11T06:44:00.001-04:00

Well, mostly.

I'm eating solid food ( I had my first real meal Tuesday night), and I can get up and move around without falling down. I lost a total of three pounds, and can you believe it? Just living on chicken broth, rice, Gatorade and Ensure, I managed to gain back a pound already. I apparently had some kind of food poisoning. Which is a shame because I think it came from one of my favourite restaurants. Yech.

At any rate, I am alive, and we all seem fine here.

I do need to acknowledge another award I got, again from Rotten Correspondent. I love her, but somehow I'm just going to have to design my own damn award so I can get around to giving her one.

RC thinks I'm Intellectually Stimulating. I'm not sure what this says about what she does in her spare time if she thinks I tickle her grey matter, but, hey, to each their own, and I get another shiny piece of stuff for my sidebar. Here is the award:

And here is the nice thing she said:

Jen has given me a real education of radio production, song lyrics and the healing properties of Duke's Mayonnaise. She also provides a fresh look at Life In The South, which I've been too close to to really appreciate.

Duke's is an elixir, just not when you have food poisoning. Remember that, kids.

Tomorrow, we will have a Friday Five, and then I need to get caught up on all your blogs, and the happenings around here, plus I've got some writing to do!

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh, My!

2007-10-08T08:28:00.000-04:00

It was a horrible weekend. I've been sick. Really sick. Whoever coined the term morning sickness should be thrown up against a wall and shot. Then revived and shot again.

Sorry for not posting yesterday, and this post will be short, too.

I'm too busy sipping Gatorade, trying to stop this spinning in my head.

I lost two pounds over the weekend, which would normally have me jumping for joy. But of course, I'm supposed to be gaining weight, not losing it.

Yes, the doctor is giving me a prescription for Phenergan. I should have taken it when it was offered to me two weeks ago, but I thought I was tough. That's me. Tough as a bag of cotton balls.

Ugh.

So, if you don't hear from me or see me around for a couple of days, it's because I am...er, indisposed. I promise to catch up as soon as I can keep my intestines inside of me.

Baby Let's Play House

2007-10-06T07:16:00.000-04:00

Sung by Elvis, written by Arthur Gunter. It's a Youtube clip. As you can see, as much as I like Arthur Gunter, there aren't a whole lot of lyrics, besides "baby".

Some housekeeping time!

Some of you who read here know that I belong to a new site cre8buzz.com. Some of you, including Jo Beaufoix and The Rotten Correspondent, are also members there.

Right now it's just in the beta stages but it's going public in a big way tomorrow (Sunday).

It's purpose is just what the site name says: to create a buzz. About what? Well, about your blog. If you're just starting out small, and you're looking at your lonely Hit Counter and only your Mom is coming to visit you, sign up at Cre8buzz, and let other people see who you are and what you're writing!

Or maybe you got hundreds of hits everyday, but you're greedy. You want more. You want thirty comments a day to be...one hundred. This is good for that, too.

Now, the link I have below to sign up for the beta today is for the Women category. However, I'd like to stress there are other categories you can join, including Art and Artists, Games, Religion, Politics, or pretty much whatever takes your fancy. You can visit whoever you want in whatever category you want. It's a social networking site for your blog.

Come on by and give it a shot. I can't wait to see what you avatar will be.

http://beta.cre8buzz.com/women/signup_now

Also, I've received a couple of awards, and I've been remiss in thanking those people, who, while deluded, really are nice.

My first came from Willowtree, and it's even tasteful enough to put in my sidebar. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, go over to his blog at look at the Dingo Award. I love you , Willowtree, but I hope never to receive it. By the way, Willowtree is my blogging hero. I know his ego is big enough, and doesn't need help from me, but I love reading his posts. Even if half of them are videos of his dogs. This is the award he gave me:

It's actually not so strange that he gave me this award, as it is an award for giving him an award (see what I mean about the ego?). But he's also very talented in the graphics department, and it is a lovely award, so it is proudly displayed right at the top. I shall stop now before Willowtree's head explodes and I get a bill for the clean-up.

I also received an award from Rotten Correspondent, which seems to be getting to be a habit on her part. I would really just once love to give her an award. I think I gave her a thoughtful blogger award, once, maybe. But if she's going to keep piling these little gems of pixel joy on me, how can I refuse? I don't have quite as many readers as RC, but I always love it when she brings them with here. It's the best gift she good give me weak and fragile ego. This is the award she has given me:

An award she won herself, and certainly deserved it. It's an award for someone just starting to generate buzz among bloggers. I'm not sure if I qualify, but I do have someone picked out to receive it, and I will give it out with much fanfare later in the week, when I can't think of anything else to write *grin*

I'm off to work now, but please do take a moment to visit the sites mentioned here. You know, if you've got the time!

Friday Five

2007-10-05T08:45:00.001-04:00

I've picked up a couple of awards, which you may have noticed in the sidebar. I promise to give them the proper fanfare they deserve, and that will happen tomorrow. Honestly. But my newspaper and a fresh mug of tea are waiting for me, so we're going to rush through the Friday Five.

Five Foods I Can't Live Without in My Kitchen

1. Tea

Gotta have it, especially since I'm not supposed to be drinking coffee right now. Yes, I know. Tea has caffeine, too, but not quite so much. And it's soothing. I can drink it before bed, and it doesn't keep me up. On top of that, I had a great-grandmother who was convinced that every sorrow in the world could be cured with a good cup of tea. I have many days when I think she's right. Oh, and that is not a box of tea purchased down here. My best friend, Jillian, carted that down from Canada for me.

2. Hot Sauce

Hot sauce is good on everything: eggs, hash browns, weak beef stew, greens, chicken potpie. I think it can improve on most foods (try chocolate brownies with just a hint of cayenne, so good1). Just ask any soldier about that little bottle of Tabasco in his MRE. If nothing else, hot sauce will kill the taste of anything you don't like.

3. Rice

I lived off rice after I first moved to Alabama. It's cheap, it's fortified with B-vitamins, and it's much better for you than Ramen noodles. Mix it with some frozen veg and hot sauce and it's almost a meal. It's also easy to cook, and tastes great with just butter and salt. Or maybe that's just me. Some of the best rice in America is grown in Arkansas, by the way.

4. Olive Oil

This is my good extra virgin I use for salads and stuff. But I use regular olive oil in everyday cooking, too. It's even a heart healthy fat. My mom started using olive oil long before it was fashionable to do so, and the Italians and Greeks have been using it forever. It's also really good for dry feet, too. Seriously.

5. Onions

I love onions. Milder than garlic, it still adds a great bite to most savory foods. They're great on sandwiches (okay, I admit to eating cheese and onion sandwiches, sue me!), add flavour to soups, stews, and just about everything else. I also just found out that they're a good source of vitamin C! How cool is that?

Okay, that's my five. This list really could have been longer, and I suppose it could be expanded to include non-food things, too. What five things in your kitchen can you not live without?

Thanks for the memories...

2007-10-04T09:20:00.000-04:00

So, today is a little party all about your worst OBGYN stories, being hosted by:

Brillig, over at Twas Brillig and Amy from The Butrfly Garden. The whole point being that we share our most horrific stories about the people who we need, but don't always get along with. Go over to their sites, and you can sign up if you wish to participate today. I'm a little late to the party, but I usually am.

Thankfully, I don't have too many horror stories about OBGYNs, but there is one guy who sticks out in my mind.

It was late in my last pregnancy, I was close to bursting, when I began to have a little spotting, and what I thought were contractions.

So, off to the hospital we go for a quick check. My OBGYN, a lovely lady, said to just let the doctor on call do the check-up, and if I needed her, she was only a phone call away.

The doctor on call that day looked like he was about a decade past retirement. Nice enough guy, southern drawl, white hair, but stooped over and shuffling. It never occurred to me at the time the stooping might be from bending over to peer inside various female cavities over the hundred years or so he seemed to be practicing.

There was very little fanfare...

"Okay girl, off with your pants!"

"Um, do I at least get one of those paper towels?"

"What?"

"Do I at least get something to cover me up?"

"Why would you need that? It's not like I haven't seen the female anatomy before!"

He shouted. A lot. Mostly because he couldn't hear himself, I'm pretty sure. So, I hopped up on the table and the nurse gave me a weak smile, as if she really didn't want to be there, and handed me the giant paper towel to drape over my legs.

"Alright, now, young lady, I've been keeping this speculum in the freezer, just for you!" He let out a wheezy laugh. Apparently, I was supposed to find the idea of a frozen speculum amusing. Then I got a glimpse of it, and it was huge.

Girls, here is something I've learned. Speculums, like men, actually come in different sizes. So, if the one being inserted in you is uncomfortable to the point of shouting "Get that thing out of me!", you do have options. And you should ask.

At the time, though, I didn't have this handy piece of information. And I was not happy. Ray looked concerned at the contortions my face was going through.

"Um, is it supposed to hurt her this much?"

"Hurt? Why no, son, she's just uncomfortable! It's a woman thing. I don't think you'd understand."

It took forever, and I was starting to wonder if he was mining for precious metals underneath the sheet of paper.

And then I heard it.

It was faint at first, and I looked over at Ray to see if he heard it too. I was met with a look of puzzlement.

It was humming. I could hear humming. And it was the Bob Hope classic "Thanks for the Memories". It got louder, and louder, until finally Doctor Geriatric emerged from under the sheet in full blown song.

"Thaaaaaaanks for the memories!"

I knew then I'd have a memory to last forever.

Do the funky chicken...

2007-10-03T08:29:00.000-04:00

With thanks to Rufus Thomas.

One of the things I like best about going to see Ray's family are the new stories I get to hear. Of course, I often get to hear the old ones repeated a few times, but it's always worth it to get new material.

Ray's sister, Ms. B, is a first year elementary teacher, and she had me in tears with some of the stories she was telling me about her students.

She teaches fourth grade, and she's ended up with most of the students that need extra help or a little intervention. Unfortunately, she doesn't get a para-professional to help her manage the class. She gets to do it all on her own, and I admire her fiercely for it. I also admire how she doesn't completely lose it when the bizarre happens, which appears to happen frequently.

Take for example, young Mr. J. He's a good kid, but he still has trouble writing his name, and he seems to go off on his own little tangents occasionally.

The other day, the kids were all working in groups, with Ms. B walking from table to table to supervise. It was then that she noticed Mr. J inching toward the door, holding his jacket balled up in his hands.

"Mr. J, where are you going without permission?"

"Um, I...well, I was going to the bathroom."

"May I ask why you are taking your jacket with you, since the bathroom is indoors?"

"Um, well, you see, I thought, mostly, you know, I might...get...cold?"

At this point, Ms. B, has walked over to Mr. J and taken his jacket, which is when something fell on the floor.

It was a rubber chicken.

Not a matchbox car, not an action figure, not a comic book. A rubber chicken.

Ms. B told him it would be confiscated if she saw it again.

Two days later, the kids were all working on their spelling. She set Mr. J to his list, and things seemed to be going fine. Until she looked over at Mr. J and noticed that the pencil was not in his hand, but clasped in the beak of the rubber chicken, and the chicken was doing the "writing".

As Ms. B was trying to talk to Mr. J about his latex poultry, Mr. J began making very quiet clucking sounds, and the rubber chicken started to peck at Ms. B's shoulder. I give her credit for not grabbing the thing and chucking it out the window. Although she did confess to having to step outside her class for a moment.

But this young lad's obsession with G. gallus doesn't end there.

The following week, the kids were working on math problems. Ms. B noticed that Mr J wasn't doing a whole lot of work.

"Mr. J, are you working on your math problems?

"Um, well, no."

"May I ask what you are working on?"

"My chicken."

And sure enough, instead of arithmetic, he had drawn a lovely chicken. Ms. B said it could have been a Rhode Island Red, but she doesn't know much about chickens.

Except that the rubber ones do bounce if you throw them against a wall.

Be it ever so humble...

2007-10-02T09:27:00.001-04:00

Ahhh, it's good to be back home.

But I always like going to visit the in-laws. Firstly, it was nice to be in some drier air. Granted, they're in the middle of an ongoing drought in North Georgia, so it's kind of selfish of me to be revelling in it, but its still nice. Secondly, it's nice to have someone else make breakfast, and watch my child. Again, I know it's selfish, but it's nice to sit out on the porch reading a book, knowing that your child is safe inside, if a little over-indulged.

Whenever we go there, Ray and I always start asking ourselves if maybe we should move there to be closer to his family. To see his Nana more often, to spend more time with his parents, to have a baby sitter who wouldn't mind dropping by the house on a Saturday afternoon. We talk about the mountains, and the scenery, how great it looks in the fall.

And then I start looking at houses on-line, and marvel at the low house prices, and the giant lots, and I keep telling myself it's really a very short drive to Chattanooga.

And then I start perusing the job sites.

And then reality creeps in and reminds me that we'd probably already be living there if there were jobs to be had in our field. Oops.

Living in the Chattanooga area would put us closer to my family, too, but at the moment there's just no way to make it work.

When we moved in to this house, I told myself, "This is it." I didn't want to make another long distance move. I didn't want to uproot my child anymore.

But I have to say, if an offer came from a radio station up that way, I would be open to it.

Friday Five

2007-09-28T06:06:00.000-04:00

So, today is my birthday. Happy Birthday to Me! No cake, except for this one, because I'm off to the in-laws for some quiet time and mountain air. In the meantime, here is a birthday Friday Five.

Five Women with Whom I Share A Birthday

(and I look like none of them)

1. Janeane Garafalo, SNL veteran. Alright, maybe I look a little like her.

2. Brigitte Bardot (enjoy the pic, guys, she doesn't look like this anymore)

3. Janet Munro, British actress and glamour girl. I guess I look a tiny bit like her, too.

4. Mira Sorvino, Oscar winner. Meh, maybe around the eyes.

5. Dita Von Teese, burlesque performer, and now the Ex-Mrs. Marilyn Manson, so she's available guys! I look nothing like this woman. Not even a tiny bit. Oh, and don't do a GIS for Dita at work without "safe search" on, just a little tip.

Okay, that's it. Have a lovely weekend, and tell me who you all share a birthday with.

She is watching the detectives...

2007-09-27T08:23:00.000-04:00

I love Elvis Costello. Always have.

So, I was tootling around the stats for this blog the other day, giggling over how many searches were done for "roadkill in Georgia" on the day of my quiz, when I got to noticing a rather disturbing trend.

People stumble across this blog for all kinds of reasons, usually a Google search that has nothing to do with what I'm writing about. Why they click on this blog, I'll never know, since they never comment.

But can you guess what the most common Google search was that led people to my blog?

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown, and the song FIRE!

You might remember a while back I did a post about the Great Wake Up Crew Fire of 2004, and I used that song as the title. Well, it turns out, there are a whole lot of people in Germany who are intensely interested in the song, or my story. One or the other. Because so far, I've counted over 150 page loads from that search alone, and they all originate in Germany, usually in Berlin. I'm at a loss to explain why, and I'm not sure if I should find it creepy, or incredibly hilarious.

Of course, I also get a lot of hits from people looking for song lyrics, and they've usually gotten them wrong. My favourite is someone mistook "You Can Leave Your Hat On", for "You Can Leave Your Head On", and they spelled head wrong. Gives the song a whole new meaning. Cat Stevens' "Morning Has Broken" is always popular, with a lot of searches coming out of Poland, for some reason.

Some other fun Google searches:

"Suggested pregnancy well wishes", which brought them to "What a lovely way of sayin' how much you love me..." I can only imagine their surprise and disappointment.

"Bad highlights" or "highlighting cap" has been polled over two hundred hundred times, and of course brings up my disastrous run-in with said highlighting cap. I can only imagine how many people have decided against having their hair done because of me.

Another favorite is "Lad I don't know where you've been", which has clocked an astonishing four hundred hits since I wrote the post.

There's also this PR firm that comes over to my blog every time I mention Duke's Mayonnaise. So, since you're here guys, I'd be happy to be your spokesmodel, or blogmodel. Really. I work cheap.

But the Google search that makes me laugh the most is for "Rotten Correspondent". RC, do you have any idea how many people are searching for you? I've had over fifty hits from people searching for "rotten correspondent". And I'm starting to wonder if it isn't RC herself doing the searches.

Friday Five tomorrow, and then I'm taking a very short vacation to see the in laws, so don't expect to see a post this weekend. But feel free to stop by. Maybe you can convince the guys from Duke's to hire me.

She's Having a Baby...

2007-09-26T09:18:00.000-04:00

Baby X, 8 weeks and three days gestation.

And as you can see, there is only one. We made sure to check. There is only one.

And it's healthy, and I am healthy, and everything is fine.

I really like our Nurse Practitioner, Nurse C., who is also a midwife. She is earthy and funny, and makes me feel at ease.

And TFYO is now at school telling everyone she's going to be a big sister. She also says she's going to help change the baby's diapers, even if they're stinky, which I find hard to believe.

The only thing I hate about going to the OBGYN (and guys, feel free to leave) aside from the speculum, of course, is the ridiculous paper towel they give you to cover your dignity. Or what's left of it.

Seriously. I know some cultures make walls out of rice paper, but I think they would know better than to try to make a kimono out of a Bounty Paper Towel. My poor husband just looked confused when I asked him to help me unfold the thing. I was afraid of ripping it, and thereby destroying the only thing I had to shield me from the world. It also came with a thin white plastic tie that didn't even begin to go all the way around my waist. Needless to say, I didn't even try. Ray asked me why a practice devoted to women and women's health issues would do something so humiliating. I told him that at least they weren't making me walk down the hall in it. And bless his heart, he even stayed in there through the pap smear. I love my husband.

Again, everything is fine, the baby is right where he/she is supposed to be in terms of development, and all is right with the world.

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the news.

2007-09-25T06:24:00.000-04:00

With much thanks to the late, great Robert Palmer for that one.

So, quick update on yesterday. We love Dr. G. Dr. G has guinea pigs, which completely won over TFYO. Oh, and TFYO is just as we suspected. I was told she is brilliant, incredibly bright, and probably has a very mild autism spectrum disorder, but nothing at the moment that warrants pulling her out of a classroom in which she appears to be thriving. I am relieved. And I now have someone to go to bat for me if the county school system decided to interfere. Dr. G says TFYO has a few quirks, which may need more attention as she gets older, but that compared to other Aspie kids she treats, this is really nothing to get worked up over. I'll have a full written report (with IQ scores, Asperger Diagnostic Scores, etc.) in a couple of weeks. Did y'all hear my big sigh of relief all across the world yesterday?

Also, I have my first OBGYN appointment today. And I'm also scheduled for my first ultrasound. I'm still getting sick several times a day. So far, well meaning people have told me this means: I'm having a boy; I'm having another girl; I'm having twins; or I had too much Mexican food last night.

One of those.

I am a little nervous. The first ultrasound is where you get to see if your little jelly bean is normal. So, of course I've been having bizarre nightmares (which come with being pregnant anyway). I've dreamed the baby has two heads. I've dreamed the baby has my head, staring out at me from the ultrasound. I've dreamed I was pregnant with a cat, which may have been because a cat was standing on me at that moment, trying to get me out of bed to feed it.

So, by the end of the day today, I'll know. And I'll have pictures to prove it's not a cat. Although, those first pictures usually look more like a tadpole.