Phood Phor thot

Since yesterday was a holiday, my kids didn't have to go to school. That's always a happy time, especially when it's pouring rain outside (not that my children enjoy the great outdoors all that much, but you know...). There is usually quite a lot of whining about being bored and bugging me as I sit at my desk, working away and trying to tune them out. It can be exhausting.

I'm sure it can't be a reflection of me as a mother that I forget to feed them when they're here. I think it's just more of a habit. I'm in the habit of not feeding them lunch during the week because they aren't here. So when they're here, I sort of forget that I should see about getting them some lunch. Pateriko is pretty good about fending for himself. That doesn't help the situation. I just assume somewhere internally that all is well. However, yesterday, around 1:00 PM, a paper airplane landed on my desk. I turned around, but nobody was there. Upon further inspection, I found that the plane carried a message written in Litkia's handwriting and in her normal incorrect spelling. The plane said:


I would like to pause here to say that hungery should be a word. If adding a 'y' to the end of a word means 'having', then why can't we say hungery? That would mean having hunger. It's legit. She is as brilliant as her mother. And while I'm on that train of thought, I think that there are many hundreds, nay thousands of words that should be considered legit that we mock and say are incorrect. I also think that if we can say PH makes the same sound as F or that the letter E or the letter A can make 74 different sounds based on what's around them, we can do whatever we want. I've often thought that English is just a mixed up mess anyhow.

So anyway, the kids got fed and all was well. Again, I don't think it's a reflection on my status as a good mother that I had Pateriko make a box of mac and cheese to feed himself and his sister. I think it's just good parenting that I'm teaching him to cook....only I wasn't in there. Still counts.

I think.

For shame, for shame...

If you pass by my house on foot or on your bike, or if you drive into my driveway in your car and check my meter, or if you come to my front door to visit, there's a very real possibility that my dog, who will be in the back yard, may start talking to you. And of course by talking to you, I mean barking incessantly and in the very most obnoxious way until you want to throw something at him. I'm not sure what he'll be telling you. It could be any number of things. For example "Hello person! I don't think I've made your acquaintance. How are you today? Do you have a tennis ball handy?" or maybe "Please go away kind sir, you do not belong here and I may have to do you bodily harm if you get any closer." I have no idea what he's saying because he is a dog and I do not speak dog. When the mailman comes, I'm pretty sure he's saying "Mail's here! Mail's here! Mail's here!" and when he sees a squirrel, I think he's saying "It's a squirrel! Squirrel! Hey! A squirrel!" Those are the only two that I think I understand for sure. At any rate, my promise to you, friend, is that he will bark.


What my dog will NOT do, however, is jump on you. If you are walking on the street, my dog will not come racing out to you and try to eat you because he will be locked up behind a gate. I have been frightened by too many dogs to ever allow my dog to scare you or your children when you're out for a walk or a bike ride. If I invite you into my home, my dog will not jump up on you and try to lick your face off due to extreme happiness at your presence because he will either be shut up in the laundry room or again, in the back yard, safely behind a closed door. If you venture into the back yard, I can't help you there. I will however, warn you of the dangers of dirty dog paws on your good pants if you choose to go out there, but I will STILL do my dead level best to keep him away from you.


I know you think your dog is sweet and would never hurt a fly and that he's only a puppy (even though he seems a lot like a horse to me) and that he would never bite (even if his bark sounds pretty harsh). The problem is that I am completely unaware of any of those things about your dog, and when he comes flying off your front porch at me growling, showing his teeth and acting like I'm lunch, it scares me. Heck, when he comes flying off the porch towards me and doesn't bark or show his teeth it scares me. Shame on you for letting him scare me. Shame on you for letting him run the neighborhood chasing me on my bike while I scream and worry about him nipping my ankles. Do you know how stupid I look when that happens? It's humiliating. Shame on you for making it difficult for me to have fun with my family in my own neighborhood. Shame on you for not honoring the leash laws of this city.


What you do in your own home is your own concern. If you let your dogs jump on the company, that's completely up to you. It's your house. I can't make you do any different, and if I don't like it I suppose I can steer clear. But please, let me be outside minding my own business without your dog interfering. Kthx.

A Little Princess

You may already know that I got a spiffy new iPhone not too long ago. I have since downloaded and deleted many interesting applications for said phone. One of the happier ones that managed to withstand my furious deletion was BeamItDown iFLOW Reader. The version I got was free and the books that came with it were all children's classics. Of course, there are plenty of books to buy, which I'm sure I'll never do, but in the meantime, I'm reading all these children's books while I wait to see the doctor or wait in the car for the kids to come out of wherever they are. I've finished "The Secret Garden" and "Aesop's Fables". Last night I finished "A Little Princess". I have to admit that it smacked a lot of "The Secret Garden", but they were both written by the same person, so maybe that's why.



At any rate, I just need to talk about it. That sweet little precious love of a girl behaved so beautifully through her adversity that it made my heart twist up in a knot. She was so strong and kind and amazingly in control of her little emotions. I am fully aware that her behavior was the key to everything working out in the end. However, I just have to admit that I kept hoping that she'd just haul off and kick that horrible old Miss Minchin right in the shin. I really wanted her to eat ALL SIX of the hot buns instead of giving FIVE of them to one hungry, little, dirty member of the populace, leaving only ONE for her own starving self. I wished for her to smack that hateful Lavinia right in the mouth for once, but she never did. I know the author was trying to make a point. I get it. But sheesh. Thank heavens this book was written for children and these lessons were lessons that children should apply to their lives. I figure if she wanted somebody as old as me to learn something she would have named it "A BIG Princess".

Comforting Cornbread

Let’s talk about cornbread.

I love cornbread. Alottabit. Cornbread is one of those things that I can cook and actually cook well. When I make cornbread, the smoke alarm never goes off like when I make cookies, because somehow, cornbread is more important than cookies. I very rarely ever get it wrong anymore. It’s crispy on the outside and soft on the inside, but firm enough to stay together with no obnoxious crumbling. Cornbread is great for crumbling in your soup, but YOU should be the crumbler. It shouldn't do that on its own accord.

My mother taught me how to make cornbread, just as her mother taught her. She tells the story of her brother stealing the good crispy outside of the whole skillet of bread by stretching out his long fingers over the top and giving it a good twist. Up it came in a big circle and then he’d run away with it. He ran because he knew my grandmother would be directly behind him, mad as a hornet about his bad behavior. It was always too late for her to do anything about it. He was too fast and the damage was already done. That is a BIG, BIG no-no around here. Everybody should get their fair share of the top layer. Of course it’s not even the top layer, it’s the bottom layer. When you take the skillet out of the oven, you turn it over to get it out so, the top becomes the bottom. If you don’t know cornbread, there’s a good chance you don’t even know what I’m talking about and that just makes me very sad for you. This picture is a close representation of what cornbread SHOULD look like, only it's obviously a little crumblier than I like and has some peppers or something in it. People really shouldn't mess up good cornbread with extraneous stuff.

If you live anywhere North of Tennessee or have only eaten cornbread in a restaurant, I’m willing to bet you are one of the deprived. Cornbread should NOT be bright yellow. Jiffy has a corn muffin mix, which should never, no never, be confused with cornbread. Jiffy is for the weak. Jiffy leaves a bad taste in my mouth. No, I’m serious. It really does. It’s a pasty bitter aftertaste. Gives me the heebie-jeebies just thinking about it.

Cornbread is best when served with soup or pot liquor. Cornbread was meant for soaking up the juice left in the peas or the turnip greens. My grandmother believed that cornbread crumbled in buttermilk and eaten with a spoon was the cat’s pj’s. My eldest sister does the same thing, only with milk. Those wouldn’t be my favorite uses for cornbread, but I certainly don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Field peas and fresh tomatoes with hot cornbread…sigh. Comfort food is what that is. Just comforting.

Lies that Daddies Tell

I firmly believe that you can't be a truly GREAT dad unless you can master the art of lying to your children. A lie, by definition is an incorrect or false statement and doesn't necessarily have to have a negative impact. I'm not talking about lying maliciously with intent to harm or anything, I'm talking about telling your 14-year-old daughter that Roses is closed on Saturday at 2:00 in the afternoon, or telling her that it's against the law to ride in the car at night with the overhead lights on like my own father did. Another prime example would be telling your children that you train dragonflies to land in your spare time or that you picked their mother up from a dumpster somewhere but she just doesn't remember it.

I think one of the biggest jobs of a Dad is to make the eyes of their daughters roll up in their sockets and to make their sons shake their heads in disbelief. It's a gift and a right and an obligation. A dad should be able to tell these lies with a perfectly straight face and be able to stick to their story, even when closely questioned. When a dad is asked a question about something and he is unsure of the answer, he should quickly be able to make something up off the cuff and spout off an answer as if it were God's truth. He should be so believable in his lies that he has them truly convinced that the scar on his leg was from a shark bite he got while snorkeling in Belize.

Here's a good, true life example of a daddy lie:

Dirty Larry: Kids, do you know about dinosaurs that are herbivores?

Kids: Yes, they only eat plants.

Dirty Larry: Good! What about a carnivore?

Kids: A dinosaur that eats meat!

Dirty Larry: Great! Now...what is a reservoir?

Kids: Um....*silence*

Dirty Larry: That's a dinosaur that only eats at restaurants.

Litkia: Oh!

Pateriko: *silence...shakes head*

You know, if I were completely honest, I'm still not sure if it's actually against the law to drive barefoot or not.

I think maybe psycho

There's tenderhearted and then there's psycho. I'm trying to determine which of these labels best fits my son.

This is the child who at 4, would burst into tears watching his Disney Sing-A-Long Video that had the song "Somewhere Out There" on it. (see blog song) The song was next to last on the video and I had to be sure that if he watched that video, I made it into the den in plenty of time to remove it from the player before that song came on, otherwise I'd have a blubbering mess on my hands. I can't say how many times I looked up from what I was doing and realized that it was too late because I could hear the sad strains of that song coming from the other room. I would have to go running in there, just moments too late and wipe his crying, pathetic little self off the floor.

This is the same child who at 5, came to me crying because he felt so sorry for Porky Pig. You realize that Porky Pig has a stutter, yes? Well, Pateriko grieved for him and wished him the gift of correct speech. It didn't matter to him that Porky was a big star or that Porky didn't seem to be too upset by his handicap. He just mourned for him.

This child watched 20/20 without my permission when he was in the 2nd grade and came to me so upset to learn that there were people in the world who had a disease that kept them from ever sleeping. Oh how he fretted over that one!

Through the years, there have been so many things that made me label him as tenderhearted and maybe a little melancholy, but he has been so much better these last couple of years. That is, until these past couple of weeks. I saw him, once again, become emotionally unwound over something that didn't deserve that much attention. This time, it was a lizard. A lizard, riding on the windshield of the car, down the highway, hanging on for his dear, lizard life. Pateriko was visibly upset. He couldn't bear to watch this little green reptile flung to his death. So, being the good and patient mother that I am, I stopped the car at the next convenient spot and he got out and flicked the little fellow to safety. He got back in the car, most obviously relieved. It was a solid week later when the same thing happened, but this time it was a praying mantis. A bug mind you. An evil bug at that. But this creature had to be rescued from a certain death on the windshield of the jeep as well. I did ask him what size an animal had to be before he would just allow it to be blown off to it's unknown destiny and his response was that he shouldn't be able to see it's face.

So, armed with all this information, how is it that this same child can play a video game where he is given two paths to follow (good versus evil) and he inevitably picks evil? He chooses to become the killer of his peers and seems to enjoy the carnage he leaves in his wake. WHAT is UP with THAT?

I had no idea.

It doesn’t normally occur to me to wonder what my husband is doing when he’s not in my presence, but I was told something shocking today by my children. Dirty Larry actually revealed one the secrets of his daily life to them that even I wasn’t privy to. He told them that sometimes he didn’t go to work. He said that sometimes, he just spends his day training dragonflies to land on tall skinny things like car antennas and gladiolas. He told the kids that if they are adult dragonflies it can take only a day but the newborns require more like a week to learn how to light correctly. When I confronted him about it today, he acknowledged his participation in this activity but corrected me by telling me that it was dragonflies AND butterflies. Then I asked him if he got paid to do this or if he just did it for God for free. He shook his head “no” to say that there was no money involved and then said, “It makes me happy”.

Seriously. No idea.

I think Jesus frowns on this...

What is wrong with this crazy mixed up world? What happened to the days when your Cracker Jacks had popcorn AND peanuts? Not to mention a REAL prize like a spinner made out of actual tin and not just some punch out cardboard rocking clown that you have to assemble. I quit buying Cracker Jacks long ago because the peanuts had all but disappeared. I'm pretty sure that I can say I never DID get anything made out of tin from a box of this snack, even as a child, although legend has it that tin toys did exist. Sailor Jack and his dog, Bingo, have let me down.

So, just for the record, Fiddle Faddle, Crunch N Munch, Poppycock and all their knock off type counterparts are doing no better. Where are the peanuts people? That's the best part! I say if you're going to allow the ratio of popcorn to peanuts to be, say....100:3, then the picture you have as advertisement should reflect that. I think it should be against the law to show all those peanuts as if that's what you were being offered, because it's very disconcerting to open the box in anticipation of a danged peanut and not get one. Or at the very least it should be considered a sin. I'm fairly certain Jesus would NOT be happy.

To add insult to injury, the nutrition information on the side of the box says that one box is 3.5 servings. Who eats half a serving? Who is going to open the box and eat half a serving and then close it back? Plus your half a serving isn't going to have a peanut it in. I can almost guarantee that. One serving is 120 calories. So that whole box of popcorn with approximately 3 peanuts included actually costs you 420 calories. That's nearly the same caloric value as 4 Curly Wurly's!! Have you HAD a Curly Wurly? No? You most definitely should. They don't have any peanuts, but they never CLAIMED to. See?

Unforgettable...that's what you are.

I wonder sometimes if you remember me. I want to believe that you do because there is some truly significant part of me that craves to be remembered. Besides, I remember all of you. I remember some of you better than others. You may have passed through my life only briefly, but I'll bet donuts to dollars that you made some sort of impression on me. Maybe you were the girl that was so innocently sweet and polite, who smiled at me and spoke so quietly I had to lean forward to hear what she was saying, or possibly the boy who was late every single day, walking in with disheveled hair like he had just rolled out of bed. I remember you, my four sandy-haired playmates, turning cartwheels in the front yard and catching bees. I also remember how I felt when Daddy told me you all died in the same car accident. What an impact you guys made! And you! You were the one who came to visit for a weekend. I slept in the room with my sister so you could use my room during your stay. I cried when you left because I felt pretty sure I would never see you again as long as I lived, and guess what? I didn't. But I sure do remember you fondly.

You were mean-spirited. You were so skinny! You couldn't stop touching my hair. Your eyes were two different colors. You put ice in your milk every morning. I liked you because you said what you meant without backing down. I didn't adore you because you told me I was fat. You had an imaginary friend. That was so much fun! You said something to me that I will never forget. I loved how you played the piano. You made me laugh when you made a face while I was singing. I just flat out admired you. You had the worst breath. You had some really big feet. I wanted your direction.

And that was only twenty of you. There are so many hundreds and hundreds of you here in my head. How could I ever forget you? I'm holding tight to you too. Don't get the impression that I ever want you to go away, because I don't. And that includes those of you whose memory evokes tears. You all had a hand in making me who I turned out to be. I wouldn't trade you for the world.

I remember you.

What Did Dirty Larry Bring Me Today? Episode #12

Let me just say that there is absolutely no reason why Beej should ever be walking around with a wrinkled face or not smelling up to par, because Dirty Larry keeps her in the good smelling stuff and the super duper face creams. I can't help but wonder if he's trying to tell me something. Actually, Dirty Larry attended a manager's meeting last week, geered toward the cosmetic vendors. This nice haul, displayed decoratively on my new Dolce and Gabbana towel, is the latest bunch of goodies brought home to the Beej. I must say that there was MUCH more, but the rest was oriented to men, so I took no notice. What that champagne had to do with cosmetics, I do not know, but look at that cute little tiny bottle!



Read Previous Episodes of "What Did Dirty Larry Bring Me Today"!