Recent Books; I've Been Remiss

So I have read two books recently that were really good.  Apparently, I read dark literature, and I am probably not going to change that.  I guess it's because I have good life with good friends, good family, and good (okay, debatable) children. 

Bel Canto

Story of terrorists who invade a private party for a Japanese man.  The man is visiting from Japan to the South American country because his favorite opera singer has agreed to perform.  The story is in third person omniscient and opens the reader up to the minds and hearts of not only those held captive but also the terrorists. 

It's a slow read in the beginning, but as the book progresses, the reader finds himself/herself engaged in the intimate details of why one does what one does. 

Three Stars; the ending was a bit truncated, and the epilogue a bit too "happy"

Zeitoun

 Read this one in about a week, and for those of you with children, you will understand that this is a feat.  It accounts a Muslim family before, during, and after Katrina.  The book shows the effects of a government gone awry, and the people within the government agencies gone power hungry. 

For those of us who are sucked into tragedy and feel empathy for those who experience tragedy, you will understand why I read this.  When Katrina hit New Orleans, I sat in front of the television and cried until my husband turned off the television and forbade me to turn it on again.  I sent money, I gave blood, and I adopted a family in need (probably to no avail after reading this book).

This non-fiction tempts the reader into believing that New Orleans may have been much better off if the federal government, more specifically FEMA, had not gotten involved in the disaster.  I was completely sucked into the narration of the book.  The ending, which I had to go to early on in the book, depicts a triumph of the human spirit that is admirable~I, myself, would not have fared as well as the protagonists. 

The Tale of the "Sneaky Penis"

Okay, it sounds more risque than it really is, but I feel the need to share...

In our family we are very open about private parts. I grew up in a puritan Catholic manner, so the words penis and vagina were not uttered.  In fact, as a child, I was pretty certain that if I went farther than first base, I would be killed in a horrific car accident and end up with a front row seat in hell while pregnant.  It took me until I was in university to...well, whatever.

We decided that we would be very factual about boy and girl parts with our children, and we have called them by their medical terms since they were born.  Which is why I was shocked when my husband came out to the porch one morning this week while I was enjoying my coffee to tell me this story.

Apparently Daddy went upstairs in his undies to get the kids ready for school.  The girl child would have none of this, and she told him in no uncertain terms that he was to go and put on some pants.  He complied but was a bit befuddled.  Upon returning properly clad in full dress to get the four year old, she said to him, "Now your sneaky penis won't get me."  I asked her about it, but she clammed up like a kid getting into trouble, so I let it be.  I mean, did she hear about the sneaky penis at school?  At church?  From Dora?

In a way, I'm glad that she thinks penises are sneaky. She's not wrong in her assessment that men's appendages have caused many a heartache. The sooner she realizes that boys are sneaky and so are their penises, the better off she will be, and the better her father and I will sleep at night.  Lord knows I don't want to have "the talk" with her any time soon (double digits, but I'm not fooling myself), so this was refreshing.

On the other hand, I don't want her to be all worked up over a penis.  They have their place.  Without one in particular, she would not be here to talk about sneaky penises.  I don't want her to be afraid of men and their penises, but being wary of them and their sneakiness would not be a bad thing.

Would it? 

I'm chalking this one up to childhood and calling it a day. Thoughts?

The New Millenium and the RSVP

I like to think of myself as an Emily Post follower.  I know how long I have to write thank you notes; I am aware of when and where to take gifts, big or small; I know where the water glass, wine glass, and all utensils go on the table; however, until I was 37, I was unaware that RSVP stood for "respond, please".  I blame my mother for this; I blame that sweet woman for a lot of things, but for 37 years, I thought that RSVP, stood for "reserve, please." 

I found out about the "respond" versus the "reserve" when I was called out for not showing up to a senior recital for one of my former students. She is now a professional opera singer, so I kind of feel regrtful in addition to being embarrassed...still (Catholic Guilt runs deep, friends~I'm sure Mom still feels the sting of not enlightening me of the RSVP).

Since that time, though, I have become a bit of an RSVP snob.  I would judge people who did not RSVP in an appropriate manner or in an appropriate amount of time.  When we have parties at our home, I get all worked up about people who don't RSVP, and then I simply delete them from the invitation the following year.  I mean, really; how hard is it to RSVP, especially in today's world of Evites, and Facebook, and email follow ups.  I even ask people to email the RSVP to save time and a phone call that requires small talk, which is never small. 

Then I found an invitation to a party for one of my daughter's many birthday parties that she is invited to stowed away in the catch-all basket that also contains seeds, scrap paper, receipts, a jump drive, a few screws, tape measures, and any other thing that is homeless in our home.  I was doing the "holy god, I can't take this mess any more," and I found an invitation to a party for THAT DAY!  It was yesterday, so this is still fresh in my mind, and I am mortified. 

As a self-proclaimed RSVP snob, I am horrified that not only do I have to apologize for not sending appropriate response, but I am feeling so guilty that I think I need to send a gift...

So I appeal to my twelve readers and ask your help.  Do I simply call and apologize?  Do I rescind my snobbery and become one of the unwashed masses who still think that RSVP means "reserve"?  And what about Facebook?  Does that even count, any way??? 

Maybe we/I should be a little more understanding about things over which we/I have no control. I mean, it may be enough to leave a restaurant for grammatical errors on the menu; being and RSVP Nazi might be taking the snobbery factor too far.

Whatsay you?

Sour Cream Poundcake for the Southerner in You

I got this recipe from my husband's deceased aunt.  In their family, one does not deserate the deceased by making their recipes.  I don't know why, but it's true; or it was true until Lynette, Sis' daughter-in-law, got uppity and made this poundcake.  Since that time, Sis is living through her recipes, which, in my humble opinion, are completely awesome.  Legend has it that Sis would spend her days in the kitchen making everything from homemade buscuits to peach pies.  Her sloppy potaotes are epic (recipe forthcoming). 

I was posting recipes that were easy to fix and good for you, but this is much more fun, and, now that summer is here, I have more time to get back to my southern roots and pay homage to a woman whom I have never met, but who has recipes that really speak to the southerner in us all. 

First up: 

Sour Cream Poundcake
You must follow this recipe exactly;  A Kitchenaide is best, but I kick it old school and use a hand mixer. If anyone would like to procure me a Kitchenaide, I will happily take it off your hands.  I hope my better half is reading this. Never mind.  I would weigh 750 pounds...

5 Eggs
2 Sticks Butter
3 Cups Sugar
1 Cup Crisco
3.5 Cups Flour
1tsp Baking Powder
.5 Cups milk
.5 Pints sour cream
1.5 tsp lemon extract
1 tsp vanilla

Cream shortening, butter, and sugar in a really big bowl.  Add eggs one at a time, while continuing to mix and scraping the bowl. 
Mix flour and powder together in a separate bowl. 
Add flour mixture alternately with milk and sour cream.  This takes a while, but it is imperative to get the cake to rise properly.  I put a third of the flour in and beat it well, then add the milkl, beating it well; flour and sour cream; flour.  The batter is pretty thick.
Pour into a coned bundt pan (the really tall one with the removeable bottom?).  This requires a helper because the batter is really heavy.
Bake at 325 for 1.5 hours

In honor of Aunt Sis. 

On This Mothers' Day

I would like to take a moment to wish all moms a happy day. 

I never really appreciated my mother until I became one, myself.  It is truly a job that is not for the faint of heart.  Being a mom requires stronger stuff.  I am not a gushy person; I am more of an in-your-face-realist.  In that vein of thought, I have decided that Mothers' Day is overrated for those with small children. The only ones who really think that Mothers' Day is awesome are old moms whose children have grown up. These people have been able to get their young ones out of the house with some reasonable sense of sanity remaining, and because of that, they deserve to be celebrated.  I am not in a hurry for my children to grow up too fast, but on days like this, I do look forward to seeing how they will turn out and what I will get from them when I am old and, hopefully, appreciated.

I am looking forward to being old with grown children with my sanity in tact so that I will be able to enjoy the beautiful roses my husband buys me for more than thirty minutes because after thirty minutes one or both children decide that the roses are for other things than admiration:  a paint brush, or a stirring stick, or just to be taken apart so that the petals may be counted.

I am looking forward to having my grown children having me over for dinner and telling me how awesome I was as a mom, even if they are lying through their teeth.  On this one magical day of the year, I will be celebrated as not only wonderful, but also insightful, patient, kind, patient, caring, patient, beautiful, patient, giving, and patient.

I am looking forward to being served breakfast in bed that is for me alone unless I want to share.  Upon waking up in the daylight, I will have this fabulous meal on a tray with an unbeaten rose in a small vase, and I will be able to eat with relish...in silence...and not have grubby fingers digging my strawberries out of my bowl. First person singular possessive pronouns will be a part of my vocabulary again in reference to inanimate objects.

I am looking forward to celebrating Mothers' Day when I am old because I can then say that I have survived motherhood.  I will have conquered the most difficult job on the planet, and will have come out on the other side with dignity, respect, and only half of my hair pulled out.

Moms everywhere, I salute you.  Whether you are on the other side watching and being celebrated, or, like me, you are looking forward to being celebrated, I hope you enjoy your day. 

It's Official, I'm a Soccer Mom

Not only am I a soccer mom, I am the Team Mom.  Now before you judge, thinking that I run around in a minivan all day, please do not.  I run around in a truck all day; my husband drives the minivan.  I always made fun of the minivan until my friend Dana told me not to be a hater; minivans rock.  When H was born we became believers. Even the dog thinks that the minivan has super positive qualities.  He likes simply stepping up into the car instead of making a running jump (he’s getting older, poor guy).  I also made fun of the way that these soccer moms have coffee together and shop together and get their nails done together.  I am not much of a joiner.  My exercise consists of a morning run with my four legged child as a partner since he doesn’t talk or yoga by DVD, and I have never played team sports.  I do think that they are important, though.  “No man is an island” and all that. So when the opportunity to have the girl child involved in some team sports, I was in.

Some of the other moms at H’s school wanted to join a soccer league, and we thought that it would be a good way to get the girl child to exert some energy on a Saturday morning and learn to play well with others, as she struggles with that.  What I didn’t think about was that I would have to get up early, cook breakfast early, get two children dressed early, and get us all out of the house before 9:30 (thank God we didn’t sign up for the 9 am games!).  I also, innocently enough, offered to be “team mom”.  What I didn’t realize was that I would be in charge of ensuring that everyone knew about any changes, any postponements, any announcements, any anything. 

The first game, I did all of the above, threw on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, popped a baseball hat on my head, and off we went to our first soccer game.  I was in for quite the awakening.  Not one mom had a baseball hat on her head, and forget about any of them walking around without make-up.  Shit!  This meant that I had to shower before each game?  Cleanliness is something that I have never considered to be a virtue.  In fact, I subscribe to one of my sister’s thoughts as to cleanliness being overrated rather than a virtue.

These moms were also very well prepared for their children’s matches.  While I had a big bottle of water in the boy child’s stroller and the camera as an afterthought, these parents were equipped with camping chairs, sports drinks by the case, blankets, cameras, video cameras, and jackets with colors corresponding to their kids’ team shirts all organized neatly into a wagon.  I kept wondering what time these chicks woke up on Saturday.   I felt like I was at a college soccer game, not one for four year olds. 

Well, I quickly became one of those parents.  I shot about a hundred photos (not all of my kid, mind you), I jumped and clapped and cheered like I was at a pro-football game, and told the four year old that she was awesome, even though she was more interested in picking dandelions than actually kicking the ball.  I gave her a pep talk before the second half, and made mental notes~all I had was a water and a camera~ about what I was supposed to bring to the next game, and planning what I will do for snacks.  Even the snacks are a one-upmanship.  I'm waiting for someone to break out the hibachi at some point (what ever happened to tossing out some juice boxes and rice crsipy treats?).  I'll probably make something homemade, more for budget's sake than anything, right?

What in theory was to be a Saturday morning diversion became an epic adventure in keeping up with the Joneses.  I still don’t have coffee with the moms;  I still wear my baseball cap to the games without showering; I refuse to haul a bunch of stuff to the field in a wagon; however, I am into the game when we get there, taking lots and lots of pictures and posting them to Kodak for the other parents to see.  My question, though is, "How did I get sucked into this? When did I become 'one of those parents?'"

I'm Busting Outta Here!

On Thursday this week, my husband encouraged the boy to swing his foot up and to get himself out of the pack and play.  Mind you, that the pack and play is a holding area while husband showers and I struggle to get the girl child ready for school.  We have/had a system that worked.  Due to my husband's positive reinforcement, the plan is now defunct, where I have to come up with another one.

It's only common sense that the little man would take his new found knowledge and figure out how to get out of his crib in short order, and that is exactly what happened during nap yesterday.  I was resting with a book when I heard a loud thump, which I thought was the work of my daughter.  I went to the door and rang the doorbell so that she would think the witch was coming for her.  I did not hear any running back to the bed; in fact, all I heard was a giggle from my son's room.  I then heard a shaking of the door.  Upon investigation, I saw Houdini standing in his room just itching to run out. 

After we got everyone back down for a nap, I slept on the floor of his room to ensure no more shenanigans.  My children absolutely need naps, and it is my job to ensure that they sleep at least two hours during the day.  I need for them to take those naps, as well.  I don't know what the age of naplessness is, but I don't think that seventeen is too old for them to lie down for a couple of hours on the weekends. 

In the afternoon, we converted the crib to a daybed so that the toddler wouldn't fall on his head in the middle of the night.  I am not a fan of waking up for midnight emergencies, even head trauma.  I figured that if he can sleep on a matt at school without gettng up, then he can stay in his bed.  I was so very wrong.  According to the father, little guy woke up around four times last night.  It was not my night to get up with the little darlings, so I was unaware of the wakings.  I think that my husband would have loved for me to feel his pain, but tonight is my night, a school night.  I will feel the pain shortly, assuming Little T hasn't mastered the art of staying in bed. 

I am always pointing out my daughter's short comings, but I neglect to give her props where props are due.  She slept through the night at 8 weeks, and is still an awesome sleeper. She is a three hour nap girl when she finally drops off, and is quite compliant when it is time for bed in the evenings.  Her younger brother, however, is not as easy.  I kept them on the same militant schedule, so I'm at a loss as to what his deal is.  The girl child was also convinced that she could not get out of the daybed, either.  Little T was found in the middle of the room last night crying. 

I write this with a bitter sweet thought.  My babies are growing up, which is good and bad.  It's good because this means diapers may be a thing of the past shortly.  It's sad because we are done at two children.  No more for us.  Now I have to wait at least 20 years before I can snuggle with an infant that is directly related to my womb.  I say 20 years because if anyone shows up at my house with child, somebody's going down.