You'll Shoot Your Eye Out!

The Christmas shopping season always sends me into the family photo albums for a glance back at childhood holidays. Every time I look at this photo of Hubby with his Red Ryder BB Gun, I feel compelled to shout out loud, "Nutta-finga!", "Frag-ee-lay" and "Oh, fudge!"

And aren't those some stylish pajamas he's sporting there?

The View From The Deck

Hubby and I took a two hour cruise on the Belle of Cincinnati recently while it rolled through town. It was really nice despite the rainy, cloudy weather which played havoc with my picture taking plans and probably sent Hubby's already miserable cold into a sinus infection. We enjoyed the ride, and I just kept thinking to myself, no matter how many times I ride a boat on the river I always think the view from the water is just plain cool.

Only 97 More Days!

There is sits. Staring at us every day. Mocking us even. Leaving us to look longingly out the patio doors, wishing for a different season. Whoever said good things come to those who wait never built a pool in the fall and had to wait until spring to swim in it.

The pool man says he's coming March 1st to open it for us. I imagine we'll be swimming in it even if we have icicles hanging off our noses.

The Dog will not be Thankful When This all Starts to Come Back Up

I dried cornbread and bread slices overnight in order to make dressing this morning. That empty row in the front? Apparently, the dog, who has never swiped anything off the kitchen counter before, helped himself to a seven slice feast of white and wheat bread last night.

I have been forced to add a package of stale buns to the mix, and I'm not namin' any names but somebody around here could use some Gas-X.

Earning My Stripes

Holidays have a way of provoking memories of family for most of us. For some, those memories aren’t so good, but for many, like me, Thanksgiving and Christmas remind us of good times with loved ones who are present at the table only in spirit now.

I’m in the process of making dressing for the Thanksgiving meal we’ll have at mama’s tomorrow, and I can’t stop thinking about grandma. Grandma made the best dressing in the whole world. Not stuffing, dressing. Stuffing was a little frou frou for us. As a kid, I regularly perched myself on that wobbly kitchen stool and watched her mix up cornbread and bread with onion, celery, spices, broth and of all things, chicken noodle soup until she had it just the way she wanted it. Then I would wait eagerly for that savory smell to start drifting from the oven. Dressing has always been one of my favorite parts of the Thanksgiving meal.

There’s a hierarchy to the assignment of dishes for the Thanksgiving meal, with the cooking of the turkey and dressing left to the senior members of the family. When you’re a newlywed or a new in-law who has to prove her culinary worth, you’re usually assigned something foolproof like corn or rolls, and you work your way up the casserole ladder each year until you reach the pinnacle of the spread, which is the turkey. Dressing, however, is right up there under the turkey. Screw it up, and your one shot at captain’s bars in the Thanksgiving army is over. You’ll be busted down to green bean private faster than you can say French’s Fried Onions.

I graduated to dressing duty a couple of years ago, which was a little earlier than I expected, but I think mama was just overwhelmed enough that year to delegate that duty. And since no one else jumped at the chance, I said, “Me, me, me!” Now, I didn’t mess up the dressing that year, but my dressing was just okay. It wasn’t bad, but it didn’t set the world on fire. Its popularity level was somewhere between Bristol Palin (thank heavens the viewers of DWTS did the right thing) and a TSA pat down. Since then, I have continued to tweak it in hopes of making it really good one day. I don’t have any hope of it ever being as good as Grandma’s, but I’ll try. And as I mix that cornbread and fixin’s tonight, I’ll be seeing Grandma in her apron standing in front of that stove with that banged up baking pan wishing she was here to teach me how to graduate to captain.

*That picture is of grandma holding mama in the early 1940's.

Things Hula Likes

Pink. She's sassy and gritty. She likes to provoke. She doesn't try to fit in, and she's always true to herself. Oh, and she really knows how to throw down a rockin' party anthem.

I apologize in advance for the two f-bombs in this one. They didn't have a clean version of this video. However, if you like, you can stick your fingers in your ears at 1:19 and 2:30.

Dear Daughter

Dear Daughter,

I know I’m a drag on your wish to be fully independent right now. And that 18th birthday that looms ahead has you thinking that the whole world will change on December 30th and that suddenly you will make your own rules and live your life solely as you want to. As the woman who squeezed you from my womb and nurtured you the last eighteen years, I have to tell you in the sweetest, most loving way I know….that’s not going to happen. Not just yet. Why? You see, my job is not to make you happy. My job is to turn you into a loving, compassionate, productive citizen, and my job isn’t done. You think it is. And we’re getting close to that point, but we’re not quite there yet. And sometimes my job requires me to make and enforce rules that you don’t like.

Oh, I know you think I’m holding on too tight. I thought my parents did too when I was your age. I know you curse me under your breath when I tell you that you can’t stay out until 2am or that a certain boy is not coming anywhere near our house. I know you sometimes count the hours until you’re living in your own dorm room or apartment and you don’t have to worry about me or your dad enforcing a curfew or asking where you’ve been all evening. And I know that you think we’re stricter than everyone else’s parents. I know because I was once there too. And while I hate that it makes you angry, I know that one day several years from now, you will understand that I was right. Seriously, you will, and you'll thank me for nixing the tattoo. It doesn’t make any sense now, but one day it will.

You’re strong. You’re smart, and you’re very independent. But there are still those times when I see glimmers of a middle schooler or a young girl who doesn’t always know how to handle herself. God gives me signs these days that for a little while longer your dad and I need to keep shaping you and molding you into the person YOU want to be. My love for you is big enough to withstand your anger over the boundaries we set for you because I know that one day when you’re about thirty; you’ll be glad that we kept you from turning into one of THOSE girls. Rest assured, the day when I put my foot against your tail feathers and shove you out of the nest is rapidly coming, and more freedoms are just around the corner. But for now, my wings are still wrapped around your stubborn little being with the knowledge that one day you will understand. And be glad.

PS-You can have the iPod back tonight.

Love, Mom