Who's ZOOming Who?

This weekend, we decided to be brave and venture out of our weekend routine (which usually consists of doing nothing, but doing nothing extremely well).  J took us (and by "us", I mean the adults in the family--no one under legal drinking age allowed) to First Friday on Elm St. in Greensboro.  The evening started off great, dinner at the Pour House, followed by a leisurely stroll along Elm, ducking into antique shops (and Mellow Mushroom for the bathroom--I did have dinner at the Pour House & that's gonna catch up with a girl.  In a hurry!) 

J then whisked me off to the longest hour and a half I've had since I was in labor (with either girl--both equally painful, so feel free to insert whichever painful and long hour & half you'd like).  We went to a "comedy" club.  I'm guessing the "comedy" part comes in when the owners laugh all the way to the bank with our money.  It was akin to being trapped in the early days of Comedy Central, with random standup acts and no remote to change the channel and being too lazy to get up to walk all the way the tv.  Now, don't go to fussin' at me, saying "it takes courage to get up on stage in the first place!".  I know ALL about courage--my middle age butt got up on stage with the youngsters to dance last week.  In spandex nonetheless.   However, if making fun of people is what's passing for comedy these days, then consider me a grumpy old curmudgeon (with the exception of when Mary Margaret & I make fun of people, because THOSE people deserve it!).

Saturday we decided to take the Sound & the Fury to the zoo.  We have season passes, provided by my mother in law.  The weather was gorgeous so we thought we'd enjoy a leisurely day at the zoo and it shouldn't be too crowded, as folks should be at pools or working in the yard or somewhere other than the zoo.  To put it politely, we were wrong.  I have NEVER seen so many folks, other than when Chic Fil A gives out free sandwiches.  Undaunted, we parked 2 miles away & sauntered in (give or take 1.75 miles).

We had already made our minds up that we were going to stay on the African side of the zoo (the zoo sprawls over a mile & a half--granted that doesn't sound too far, but remember I don't exercise, much less with two kids to whine along the way).  We merely meandered.  We got season passes.  No additional money wasted.  If we didn't see it, we'd come back.  Not like the poor saps on a day pass who HAVE to get it all in in one day.  We kinda got to see some animals.  The girls weren't very impressed with the chimps, especially when I kept pointing out which ones must be sisters, because they fought just like the two sisters in my house.

 

And as the sun set on our zoo day (see what I did there--the shadow pic and the sun set reference. Yeah, I was an only child for many years.  I've learned to entertain myself), we ventured to Sir Pizza, (the holy grail of pizza places--square pizza slices!)  and over to Coffee Xchange for dessert.  Yeah, Coffee Xchange is one of my clients, so of course I'm gonna plug 'em!  Even if they weren't I'd still plug 'em--their espresso shake is outta this world.  I was amazed at how happening downtown Asheboro was for a Saturday night.

Now if I could figure out how to get people to pay me to watch my own little personal zoo.  Hey--isn't that the same as a reality show??)!

May Dance Recital, "A Night at the Movies"

Today I am truly feeling my age.  I slept in until 9:30, which is the middle age version of sleeping into 2pm for college kid.  I just can't get it going.  Why the lethargic nature? No--I didn't clean the house (clean, why?  Is Ewan McGregor coming over?)  No--I didn't run a 5K (run, why?  Is there a bear chasing me?)  No--I didn't stay up late watching Saturday Night Live (stay up late?  10 is beyond my bedtime). 

Nope, I'm worn out because yesterday was the day to don fake eyelashes, glitter and watch RuPaul's Drag race marathon (Psyche!! No, not really).  We DID don the glitter and we DID get all purdy because it was dance recital.  Not just one session, but two.  Yes, two recitals all in the course of one day--not for mere mortals. Two recitals in one day is the stuff of Titans! The Sound was in the first recital, the Fury in the second.  Since I am a glutton for punishment and in the teenage advance classes, I, alas, was in both. 

The theme for this year's recital was "A Night at the Movies" and each song came from a movie.  I'm pretty sure my songs all came from "On Golden Pond", "Cocoon" or "Driving Miss Daisy"--what else could possibly accompany an old lady up there dancing?  Thank heavens Ms. Kody went with the younger crowd and picked "Footloose" (the new version, not Kenny Loggins--I lobbied hard for the real version, but youth wins over experience), "All That Jazz" and a song from "Slumdog Millionare". 

Lulu had three dances in the first recital, most of which I can't remember the names to, but were good.  Here are some pics she let me snap of her backstage:

My stupid DROID ate the pictures of Peytie.  I'm just gonna have to make that kiddo dress back up in her outfits and take some more official pics (in MUCH better lighting too).  While Lulu would fight me tooth & nail to dress back up, Peytie enjoys wearing costumes around the house. A lot.

The girls and their first cousin did a trio to a song from Willy Wonka.  Super, super cute (loved how Peytie kept up with the big girls).  I saw it from the wings, but can't snap pics.  Even if I did, my stupid DROID would eat them all.

What?  Pics of me?  Fuggetaboughtit.  Ain't happening.  Bad enough I had to wear costumes from 12-9 yesterday.  No way I'm putting that out here on the internet for all to see.  I spent my day wearing enough Spandex and short shorts to make Richard Simmons jealous.

I will show you a picture of my trophy.

See the take 2?  That was for how many years I've been taking.  Thank heavens they didn't put my actual years of dance down there, because that would be longer than Magic Feet's owner has been alive.  And that would be embarrassing.  For me. 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have eyelash glue and glitter to go wash off.  How do those girls on RuPaul's Drag Race do it??

Things I Like About Motherhood, #1, Sweet Surprises

While most days have me ready to enlist the Sound & the Fury in whatever version of the French Foreign Legion that will take them, some times one of them will do something that makes me happier than a venti latte or a Ewan McGregor film.  Or even better still--all my laundry washed.  And folded.  By Ewan Mcgregor!

Exhibit A:

Flowers from my Peytie.  J had taken the week off after Easter & I came home to a clean kitchen, dinner going and these sweet flowers (in our best crystal, nonetheless).  Granted they do come from my best blooming and largest azalea (which ironically is in the back of the house where only the dog enjoys it), but still.  Flowers from my baby! 

And if that wasn't enough, here's the sweet little note that came with them:

And no, before you ask, she hadn't done anything bad that she was trying to make me forget.  Just because.

Guess I'll hold off on calling Pepe Le Pew for at least another day!

Easter 2012

Better late than never, I suppose.  This whole being employed thing is great for the family economics, but it greatly cuts into my leisure time.  Used to be I had time to mull over my words.  To think a thought to fruition.  To be charming and witty.  Now I have to be terse and clipped, much like I am paying by the word.  Kinda like the old timey telegrams, only spread worldwide.  And with pictures.

So in as few words as possible, here's our Easter.  Festivities started at Archdale UMC on Palm Sunday, with an egg hunt.  We have been attending Archdale UMC since September and this was the first big shindig we've attended (not counting church, of course).  They do it up right.  Stories, games, face painting, snacks.  And eggs.  A field full of eggs.

Then it was off to our usual Easter place, Kill Devil Hills, NC on Good Friday.  Since I'm a workin' now and since folks gotta have their coffee, I didn't get the day off.  Instead, I worked part of the day & then we were east bound and down (yes, a VERY old Smokey & the Bandit reference).  It was good to hit up all the usual good eats places (Spanky's--I'm looking at you).  We dyed eggs with some very vintage tin cups (soy milk formula tins from when my sister was a baby, circa 1979).

These would bring a pretty penny on the Antiques Road Show.

The Easter Bunny brought some wicked, easy flying kites.  We took down to the water and flew kites.  For an hour or so.  If there was a job to fly kites for a living, I would definitely have to apply.

Not a Strike to Spare

We asked Pey what she'd like to do for her birthday and she answered with the typical seven year old girl reply--getting mani/pedi's, going shopping and roller skating.  Ha!  As if!  Nope.  Peytie wanted to get in touch with her inner ....... (that's the sound of me drawing a complete blank, as I know no bowling terms and no famous bowlers to reference).  Yes.  My sweet little princess wanted to say happy birthday to herself by donning funny looking shoes, hanging out in a funny smelling place and risking broken toes if she dropped a 6 pound heavy round thing on her foot.

The bowling alley had made it even harder to say no.  They had given out coupons for el cheapo bowling lane rental & funny shoe rental.  It was too late to back out with an excuse once Pey saw that coupon.  When the rest of the world was out enjoying the warm spring day, we hid out from the natural sunlight and went a bowlin'.

I learned two things from this foray:  1)  the person who invented bumpers was a genius  2)  there is a reason cheap beer is associated with bowling--enough of it and you don't care about how poorly you bowl--too bad I had none.

J was still on the injured reserve list, so he sat at the score keeper spot and took pics.  I didn't get a reprieve and was forced to embarrass myself out there (but I repeat--thank heavens for  bumpers!!)

We bowled two games.  Lulu took the first one and I took the second one.  As you can see it was a barn burner.  Yes, my skillz rival those of my children.

I only wonder what she'll want to do for her 8th birthday--dirt bike racing?  Monster trucks?

Dem's Da Breaks, Toots!

Or perhaps I should say, "Dem's da tendon reattachment and bicep reconstruction, Toots!".  Yeah, in addition to starting a new job and having to learn everything there and in addition to having to figure out a routine for being a working mom and still taking care of/arranging care for the Sound & the Fury, J upped the ante and threw in just a wee, little, over night hospital stay, major muscle/tendon surgery.  Yes, I realize he's the one who had surgery, but this is MY blog and I'll whine if I want to.

Don't be fooled.  What looks like a minor cast is in reality, our 15th anniversary trip.  At least he got an overnight stay with room service.

 

"What happened?", you ask?  He simply wouldn't listen to me & I had to lay down da law!  Ha!  Too bad we don't have an interesting story to relate when people inquire.  Truth is, he tried to pick up Pey while she was sitting in a chair and hyperextended his elbow.  I tell him he needs to invent a better story, say, lifting a car off of an elderly lady before the gas tank exploded.  Nope.  Just another Friday night around the Godwin house.  Do we know how to par-tay or what?

He had surgery on March 14th.  He is in a true cast now (as opposed to the splint they put on there immediately after surgery).  The true cast comes off April 13th at 10am.  At 10:05am, the Hallelujah chorus will begin, with revival to be held immediately after.  Can I get an AMEN!!

Bringing Home the Bacon! (And Coffee!)

Regular readers of my blog know two things about me:  1)  That I have been unemployed at leisure since selling the shop in September and 2)  I have a *slight* coffee addiction.  Yes, I drink through a two month supply of coffee in 3 weeks, but that's Amazon's definition--they started by selling books, so what do they know about what normal coffee consumption is?

In my quest for obtaining employment, I have sent off numerous cover letters to numerous outlets--some via employment sites, some via company websites, some via employment agencies and some via Craigslist.  Usually the ones on Craiglist amounted to nothing more than scams (as appealing as working as a personal assistant to someone currently abroad seems, it was merely a ploy to get somebody to launder money--thank heavens for internet research or else you might be seeing me on the nightly news and not in a good way).  In my efforts to leave no possible employment stone unturned, I sent off resumes to anything remotely related to any talents I remotely possess (for example, I even sent off a resume to be considered a housekeeper for a local college because I remotely know what a mop is).

Last Friday, I replied to a Craigslist add for an account manager.  I figured that the only thing it would probably amount to was more spam in my inbox (and more funny fodder to add to the scammer stories).  Within two hours, I received a phone call.  Of course, I let it go straight to voice mail, because I have had my share of life insurance companies calling to get me to sell life insurance--didn't need that on a Friday afternoon.  I Bing searched the number and it was a local company.  A local company that sold COFFEE.  It was like the mothership calling me home!  COFFEE!!!  I cannot put enough stress on the coffee part--they roast it AND import some from Italy.  The Holy Grail of employment!

I spoke with one of the two owners and arranged an interview for Monday morning.  I was an absolute nervous wreck.  I spent all weekend researching the company.  Researching their competition.  Researching what to wear on an interview.  Researching what to say on an interview.  It wasn't so much that I wanted A job.  I wanted THIS job!  Monday came and so did the interview.  It went well--lasted about two hours.  I was offered the job via telephone less than two hours later. I felt like I was holding revival up in the house--lots of "Hallelujahs" and "Amens" going on in my living room!  I started work on Tuesday.  Yes, a whirlwind, but a good one. 

J & the girls took me out to celebrate Tuesday night.  He even bought me some roses.  Awwww. 

The little bag of espresso was my parting gift from the interview.

 

Now I have a husband at home buying me flowers and a boss at work making me cappucinos and espressos several times a day.  Only by selling red lipstick there too or Ewan McGregor stopping by to discuss the roasting process, could it possibly get better!

Happy Birthday Dr. Seuss!

In celebration of Dr. Seuss' birthday, the Sound and the Fury's school has been having fun days all week.  For example, they wore their favorite hat to school on Tuesday in honor of The Cat in the Hat; carried small stuffed animals in their pockets on Wednesday for There's a Wocket in My Pocket; and stuffed gefilte fish in their shoes for a mash up of One Fish Two Fish and The Foot Book.  Or maybe I'm joking about the last one :).

Today they were to dress as their favorite Dr. Seuss character.  Pey was thinking about Daisy Head Maizy, but other than possessing a stuffed flower for her head, we were out of luck.  I wasn't buying (or sewing) a pink dress to complete the ensemble.  I did what every haggard mother would do--I "Bing"ed searched Dr. Seuss costume ideas.  The usual Cat or Things 1 & 2 popped up, but I wasn't sold.  Then I saw a picture of Horton.  Hallelujah!  Horton!  We already had an elephant costume!  Praise be!

So once again, I present the elephant costume, complete with a Truffala tree, or whatever Horton was supposed to hear his Who on.

And once again, I present Lulu.  Who is too cool for school (stuff).  She refused to participate.  I guess we can invent a character for her, Swimmy Emmy Fish.

Princess Ball 2012

J is on the executive board of directors (that feels like it should be in all caps, or something equally grandiose) for the local Communities in Schools (CIS) chapter.  Last year, they initiated the first ever Princess Ball--a daddy daughter dance (try saying that three times fast), an "awwwww" inducing event of the first magnitude.  Raise money and get to cry your eyes out all at the same time!  Well, at least I'd be crying my eyes out.

I was all set to go pour punch and dole out pizzas, but unfortunately Saturday morning I got a phone call that my grandmother was very ill and in the hospital.  Instead of helping the princesses primp, I laid out their clothes, packed a bag and drove all balls of fury to eastern NC, where the cotton grows tall and XM radio signals don't reach.

J was left with the daunting job of helping the girls get ready.  I have already made J promise that should anything ever happen to me, he would have someone teach him how to do Pey's hair, lest CPS come knocking on his door.  He's a great dad, but he is thwarted by a pony tail holder and a brush.  Thankfully he called his twin sister over to pinch hit and get it done!

The little princesses are treated to having their nails done (I was hoping to get mine done too, but oh well), decorate cupcakes, dance to a DJ and have unlimited pizza (Lulu had 5 slices & Pey 3--they got our money's worth).

Lulu was too cool to wear her crown.  Or dance.  But Pey thoroughly enjoyed herself.

While I hated I couldn't be there, at least I got some really good pics of J & the Gruesome Twosome from my sister in law.

Maybe it was a good thing I wasn't there.  I would have pulled my best Charlene Darling and cried at "Butterfly Kisses" or "Dancing with Cinderella".  Although the cupcakes and nail painting might have made up for it.

Sweetie Bowl Party

We used to take the Sound & Fury to a Super Bowl party at a house where I didn't even know the hosts.  There is nothing like taking the Sound to the bathroom, only to find that the Fury has snuck up to the hosts' bedroom and have to feel like I'm committing a felony just by going to retrieve the Fury.  Ok, maybe not felony, but a serious case of the Peeping Toms (or Snoopy In-laws).  To make it worse, there were usually around 30 people at that party and it was just too much stimulation for the girls (or maybe for me--I don't do well in crowds). I spent more time chasing them and worrying if they were bothering people than enjoying myself. If I was going to be miserable, I might as well do it in my own house.  After all, I do a great job of making myself miserable at the house everyday.

My nerves couldn't handle another Super Bowl under the guise of that "party".  I'd rather have a root canal (not that I've ever had a root canal, but I'm betting it's right on up there with the most miserable things in the world)  The girls & I were going to stay at home and have our own version of the Super Bowl Party--the Sweetie Bowl.  What's the Sweetie Bowl?  The same thing as a Super Bowl party, only with waaaaayyyyy more estrogen (and not in the wardrobe malfunction estrogen kinda way). 

I let the girls plan the menu and it always involves more junk food than they consume in a month.  It probably involves more junk food that the population of Guam eats in an entire month. We toss a blanket out in the living room floor and have a picnic.  Once the first round of  food is gone, we do girly things like paint nails and brush hair.  Like most people who watch the game, the girls are only interested in the commercials.  Me, I was watching to pull for my second favorite Manning brother, and more importantly to pull against that "leave my pregnant baby mama for a super model", pretty boy, Tom Brady. 

Yes, Pey is wearing her bathing suit in the bottom pic.  What can I say?  Only girls here & we can do whateva we want!

This year was a total success.  Brady lost to Manning. Again.  And my nails are a beautiful shade of plum!

GOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLL!!!!!!

Something that I placed on the level of me having a nice chat over Starbucks with Ewan McGregor as far as actually coming to fruition, actually happened.  Never in a million years would I have ever thought this would happen, but it did.  It really did!  I have witnesses! I promise!

Peytie scored a goal in soccer!!! An honest to goodness goal!  And it was even in the right goal!!  My little defensive minded goalie figured out to work it on the offensive end too.  I was so proud of her that if I had a towel, I would have waved it and turned into the crazy towel mom!

What was Pey's reaction?  A cross between a mental mild mannered celebration and a physical cardiac attack from over exertion.  She asked to sit down right after it.  That's ok--she earned it!

No benches in this league, so flopping on the floor it is.

Or better yet, flopping on J.

100th Day of School

Back in the Dark Ages when I went to school and we had ink wells, carried our lunches in tins, cinched our books together with a leather strap,all the classes met in one room heated by a pot bellied stove, and my nemesis was a girl named Nellie (ok, maybe I'm confusing my history with Little House on the Prairie, but it was so long ago, I can't remember), the only day of school we celebrated was the 181st, which was the first day of summer vacation.  Now, there is a trend to celebrate the 100th day of school.  Why?  I have no clue.  Not like it means the school year is half over.  Not like they get the day off.  But it seems to be a rip roaring success with the youngsters.

At any rate, the Sound & the Fury's school decided it would be fun this year to have the kids dress up like 100 year old people, because we all know that nothing says PAR-TAY like arthritis and glaucoma.  The girls excitedly raided my closet for gear, which is what every 30 something mom wants to know--that her wardrobe rivals that of her great-grandmother.

Skirts, knee high socks (THESE belonged to the girls--not me), sweaters, some frumpy jewelry and they were almost set.  To make it more believable, we added baby powder to their hair to gray it out (irony--I'm constantly covering my gray to black it out).  To complete the look, I took gray eyeliner and drew on wrinkles.  I knew exactly where to place the faux lines, because I study my real lines every morning in the mirror.  When it was done, they looked a lot like I do on a daily basis, only without the red lipstick.

Wonder if they'll have parties in their classrooms?  Prune juice and Geritol for everybody, followed by a long nap.

Indoor Soccer

Pey really enjoyed playing soccer in the fall, so we decided to try our hand at indoor soccer with her to keep her skills sharp.  And by skills, I mean running around chasing imaginary butterflies in her own little world while a soccer ball rolls by somewhere in the vicinity.  The local Y offers indoor leagues which only meet on Sunday.  That's right--just once a week after church.  No practice during the week.  No early Saturday morning games.  What's not to like?

Once again, she is the only girl on her team.  Once again, she's the biggest kid on the team.  What can I say?  Us Godwins grow 'em big!  Coach Matt was very nice and patient.  Too bad Walter Matthaeu had already passed away, because he would be the ideal coach of this team.  The "red" team (yes, we didn't even get a name--we got a color) looked like The Bad News Bears out there (the original version--I refuse to acknowledge the Billy Bob Thorton version).  All we were missing was the "Chico's Bail Bonds" on the back of the shirts.  We didn't win a game.  Most games, we didn't even score a goal.

Pey looks like she's auditioning for Olivia Newton John's "Let's Get Physical" remake

Oh well.  At least she got to chase some more butterflies.

Wine Down With Nikki Cherry

It's nice to know people who know people.  My good friend Jess (or as the local sub shop screws up her name, Jeff) had been inviting me to Wine Down parties for a few months.  "What's a Wine Down?", you ask.  Does it really matter?  Weren't you hooked at the mere mention of wine??

Actually these "Wine Downs" are painting parties.  You bring a bottle of wine, relax and paint with the local artist Nikki Cherry.  My schedule had never permitted me to go before, but the planets were properly aligned this time, and I could actually throw my bottle in a bag and go get all Bob Ross up in the house!  Back when I was pregnant with the Sound and was too big to, well, move, I loved to paint.  Granted, it was the Donna Dewberry method, but still, it was putting paint on a brush and putting the brush to the canvas (or clothing, walls, or furniture--I was fat & couldn't move.  Sue me.)  I felt so artistic.  And amazed that I could turn out something other than Jackson Pollack style splotches.

This particular class was to paint an owl.  Here is what Nikki's version looked liked to entice us to actually show up:

Kind of psychedelic looking, but still, a brush to canvas & wine!

With a blank canvas in front of me, a filled paint palette to my left, a mason jar full of brushes and water to my right and my Solo cup full of chianti in front of me we began (which reminds me of the bad country lyric, "I'd rather had a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy).

Just the basics; paint, brushes and vino.

I had never been to any kind of painting class (Donna Dewberry gave me private tutorials via VHS, obviously waaaay back in the day), so I didn't know what to expect.  Nikki stood in front and told us which paints and which brushes to use and then demonstrated the stroke.  I was very impressed with her technique and how she put the instructions in easy to understand language.  Terms like volleyball, heart, nickle were used and don't we all know what they are?  Terms like big brush, rounded brush, tiny brush. Got it!

An artiste at work.  Yes, Fotoflexer's collage feature is no where near as good as Picnik.

My owl turned out more psycho than psychedelic, but I had fun.  The Sound & the Fury are arguing over who gets to hang him in their room.  For the time being, he's just scowling down from the mantle.  I'll be sure to hide him before company comes over.

The whole group.  Yes, those eyes will haunt you!  The owl's.  Not mine.

Duke Swim Dive vs. UVA

Friday was a teacher workday, which meant I had the Sound & the Fury all day.  Thankfully it wasn't too bad, as the Sound slept until the crack of lunch and I had made cupcakes, so the few hours they were together, they were in sugar induced comas and didn't fight.  Whenever there is a workday, we always try to do something fun, or at least something out of the ordinary routine (like emergency runs to the dentist, for example).  We saw that Duke swimming was holding a home meet and since we never spend time around an indoor pool (when will they develop the sarcasm font?--mere italics don't cut it), we decided to make our yearly trek to Duke's Taishoff Pavilion.

Our house, indeed.

Let me preface this by stating that when I was at Duke, I didn't even know we had a swim team, much less go to the Aquatic Center (actually I did once for a lifeguarding course--couldn't figure out how to get on pool deck, so I dropped the class.. I was nothing but devoted. HA!).  This will just go to show you what kids will make you do.  When we were at Duke, we hated Duke.  Now we look for any excuse to head back to the alma mater (and force the girls to go through the tour of "Parents--The Early Years", which includes such sites such as our freshman dorm.  And yes, my apartment where J stumbled in looking for his wrestling buddies and ended up with a wife instead).  I considered wearing J's varsity letterman jacket (yes, he was a big, bad wrassler and we have an ACC 3rd place championship plaque in our house to prove it).  I decided against that, because I didn't want to date myself.  Kids these days are too hip to be wearing old fogey letterman jackets and if I'm anything, I'm hip.  Or so I lie to myself.

I told Lulu to do something "swimmery".  Instead she gave me petit mal seizure-y.

Odd to see Lulu in the stands for a swim meet.

Duke swam against UVA, who was nationally ranked.  Considering that, the team competed very well.  Peytie was engrossed with the divers.  Since that kid is constantly flinging herself about with reckless abandon, I predict she'll be taking years off my life by jumping off the platform.  The really high one. We did what we usually do to celebrate anything remotely good in Durham--we headed to Hog Heaven BBQ.  If you can get past its location in the shadiest strip mall in Durham, you'll be treated to the best BBQ in town.  Good, especially considering its sketchy location with quick access to 85, might very well be your last meal.

Aztec Dragon, Corks Crew Meetup

Yes, I realize it's been almost 3 weeks since my last post, but let's face it.  I'm boring. Nobody wants to read about how I spend my days playing Words With Friends with my retired mother.   Not that I can be held accountable for my boring nature.  It's January.  It's cold.  I have gone into hibernation.  Tabatha's Salon Takeover marathons and easy cheese were simply calling my name and who am I to deny Tabatha?  Plus, those double word scores ain't gonna play themselves.

My BFF and partner in crime, Mary Margaret, found something worth making me put on pants (no, I wasn't truly pants-less, but my sweats don't really count as proper pants).  The Greensboro Corks Crew (see what they've done there--corks crew, corkscrew?? Brilliant!) was having a meet up at the Aztec Dragon (Mexican Chinese--intriguing) with 5 generous pours.  J was gone on business last week, so I figured after a week of house arrest with the Sound and the Fury, I had to get out.

Apparently, these Corks Crewers are serious about their wines.  When I put down "close race between Boone's Farm and Manischewitz" on my application as my reply to "What's your favorite wine?", that got me branded as a rouge and a renegade.  When they heard my name last night as I was checking in, the organizers immediately recognized me.  And sat me in a separate dining room.  No, just kidding, but I'm sure they probably wanted to.

Jay Tarigo of American Premium Beverage was the master of ceremonies and had the set up of 6 pours.  Yes, a bonus pour!  We started with a sweet bubbly white and worked our way to the good reds.  Jay was very informative.  For example, we learned that the screw on tops on some wine bottles is called a "stelvin" and that Zebulon, NC is home to  the largest synthetic cork factory in the US.  Who knew?  Sake tastes like rotten bananas.  Who knew? (ok, so maybe you did know that. I just don't get out much).

The wines were all paired with Asian foods.  Once again, who knew that a potsticker would go well with a pinot?

Mary Margaret goes incognito with a "fake" name.  See, she's trying to avoid  being recognized.

After all our erudition, we decided our brains couldn't handle any more knowledge.  So we hit up a beer & pizza joint for dinner.  A $2 Yeungling special will go a long way to ease smart thoughts.

Now, to figure out how to properly play "stelvin" for a double word score.

2012, Down in the Mouth

2011 was not the best year I'd ever had.  In fact, it ranks right on up there among the worst.  I was very happy to bid '11 goodbye and hope for better results in '12.  So far, '12 hasn't gotten the "Happy New Year" memo.  Here's a summary of how my 2012 has stacked up, by numbers:

2:  days into the year
0:  all happened today, no other day
1:  1 kid
2:  2 emergency dentist trips

Yes, you read that right.  The second day of the year, I have gone to the dentist, not once, but TWICE for emergency issues for Peytie.

Last night, I realized that I am, indeed, the worst mother on the face of the planet.  Peytie has been complaining about her tooth hurting for a week or so, but since the Sound & the Fury have doctorates in complaining with master's degree in griping, I dismissed it.  She had been cutting molars in the far back and had a hard time with that, so I just assumed she was still teething (yes, I know that I should never ASS-u-me anything--the one lesson I retained from geometry class).  After hearing her gripe for a solid week, I decided to look.  Wanna guess what I saw?  A hole.  A little black hole.  Like the kind of picture they show kids to scare them into brushing.  AND flossing. I felt like calling CPS on myself.  Sure, she looks clean and well nourished, but her teeth are rotting!!  My sweet kid is the poster child for the anti caries league.  Yes, I just took her to get a filling in August, but I still felt like I had neglected my poor child!

I called the dentist and begged them to squeeze her in today (and made a mental note to buy Peytie a pony.  A pretty one.  With pink ribbons in her hair.  And gumdrops for hooves).  Turns out, the filling they had put in in August had fallen out.  To make matters worse, something about her storing food in the tooth (ewww) had rotted the area (given the fact that she inherited my horrendous teeth, means she's in for a lifetime of British jokes--yes, my mouth and college education cost my parents the same amount, and yes, I have been known to break a tooth eating a soft chocolate chip cookie, that's how weak my teeth are).  My poor baby came back to me all Novocained up, which they didn't have to do in the summer.   To see her slobbering all on herself made me feel all the worse.  My baby.  My poor, poor baby.  I wondered if a unicorn would make up for it?

I tried to be a good mommy and made her soup for lunch.  She snuck a piece of pizza from Lulu, but even Lulu felt badly for her sister so she let it slide.  Perhaps this was the one time Lulu should have yelled and screamed and taken it back. Poor Peytie had never tried to eat under the influence of Novocaine and wanna guess?  She took a chunk out of her lip.  And never felt it.  I don't do blood and this was a lot of it.  Torrents.  It looked like Attilia the Hun had marched through my kitchen.  I called the dentist and made ANOTHER emergency run.

The dentist called in the periodontist and together they packed and glued and gauzed the area.  By the time we had gotten to the dentist office, the bleeding had stopped and she was scared to suture it again, for fear of getting the bleeding started back up.  That was all fine and dandy by me, as the thought of that would have made me pass out (don't ask how I managed to even function enough to drive the 20 minutes from home to the office).
 
Perhaps I learned my lesson the hard way.  I didn't celebrate New Year's Day with the traditional Southern hog jowls and black eyed peas.   If I promise to eat a double portion next year, can I ask for a 2012 mulligan??  Please?

PS.  I have pics of Pey's mouth, but decided against posting them.  Because, well, ewwwwww.

Pretentious Young Foodie

One of the few advantages of Facebook is that you get to reconnect with friends from everywhere.  Some you reconnect with just out of morbid curiosity, some because you were actually friends with back in the day.  Granted, with FB you have to sift through a lot of crap "working out again--feels so good", "sick again--poor me", "my kid is the best because they brought home all C's", but every now and then you get a genuine nugget of absolute goodness.

I have "friended" an old friend who attended the now closed Warren Academy with me from kindergarten until 7th grade.  WA was a Christian school.  And it was strict.  Extremely strict.  Tape kids to their desks.  Put their desks in the janitor's closet for solitary confinement.  Prayer circles for disobedient kids, strict.  We were like little trained monkeys.  Only with far less bananas.  Or fun.

Jason was so kind as to share this gem his mother unearthed with FB yesterday:

Yes, that says "Holiday Cooking".  Surprising for a Christian school and obviously before the "Happy Holidays" vs. "Merry Christmas" war.

WA loved to make us perform like the aforementioned monkeys and were always pimping us out to do things like this cookbook.  I'm sure we had our marching orders to bring in recipes and write neatly on the old school mimeograph paper (the predecessor of the copier, kiddos).   Jason had mentioned several people who were contributed recipes and I was one of them (I have absolutely no recollection of this, as I have repressed the majority of my memories from that gulag).  I wondered what I had added and imagine my sheer delight to click on his next pic to see MY recipe!!

Even back in 2nd grade (or so I'm guessing, because it's written in cursive and we didn't learn that until 2nd grade), I was a pretentious little foodie.  And cheesecake addict.  J pointed out that I misspelled cracker.  And graham.  But hey, mimeograph paper didn't have spell check.  Yes, kiddos.  This was before computers.  And internet.  Possibly even before fire--not sure, repressed memories and all that.  I guess this was a precursor to the live morning tv segments I would do 30 years later.  Too bad I didn't have this recipe then, or else I could have made it live on air.

I am so grateful that he shared this with the FB masses.  It is so nice to look back on the sweet kid I used to be.  Before I turned into the haggard and jaded Burdie of today.

Now I'm craving cheesecake.

The Worst (Laziest) Parents Ever

Lest we get all high and mighty and think that just because the Sound & Fury get decent grades, have no oozing sores and haven't yet reported us to CPS, we have something that jars us back to reality and reminds us that we pretty much stink at parenting.  We learned that we might be the worst (or laziest) parents on the block.

Our voice mail at the house is via the phone--no blinking light on an answering machine.  That's soooo 1985.  We're all high tech and what not (yet, we still have a landline--go figure).  Here's where the lazy comes in.  Usually the phone with the display of "New Voice Mail", is on the kitchen counter, right where we stop to close the side door and hang up our keys.  That phone has been MIA somewhere in the house for a week.  Granted, there is a little "locate" button that if I were to push, the phone would beep.  I just wasn't feeling playing Marco Polo with a phone, so I never tried.  Neither did anybody else.  Honestly, the only phone calls we get on the landline anymore are from our pharmacy reminding us of prescriptions that have been left there for a week or connect eds from the PTSA at school, I don't ever think to answer, much less check messages.  I figure that if people truly want (need) me, they will call my cell phone.  Even my 85 year old grandmother has a cell and calls my cell (still waiting on her to learn to text though).

I happened to notice that the phone in the living room said "New Voice Mail" yesterday.  Thinking I had just missed the PTSA announcement about hoodie delivery, I checked.  5 messages.  Not just missed calls, but actual messages.  Most of them were from the pharmacy and school, but not the last one.  Nope.  The last one was from Peytie's new soccer coach.  And it was a week old.  And he was saying that Peytie had practice/scrimmage Sunday.  As in this past Sunday.  As in we missed it.  Completely.  So much for starting off on the right foot with a new team.  Our kid is going to be water jockey for the rest of the season.  I did what any good wife would do--I made J call the coach.  I figure J is from 'round here, so he might know the guy and can laugh it off.  I would just be the crazy mom who was too lazy to check her messages.

I still don't know where the other phone is.  Peytie is practicing her water fetching skills as we speak.

Getting Crafty With It

I found myself faced with the first Christmas since I'd sold the shop and ergo, no idea of what to get the Sound & the Fury's teachers.  It was so easy to tell the girls to go fix boxes (within reason) for their teachers.  Usually the teachers got boxes full of solids or peanut butter cups (the Gruesome Twosome tend to fix things that they like), but hey, at least the teachers were getting something that the kids had put some thought into.

Since I no longer am cooking 15 hours a day (like I did at the shop), I REFUSE to cook anything for teachers in any way, shape or form.  I'm on strike.  Consider me Norma Rae of my kitchen.  I may have even stood on the table and ask J to unionize the workers of this house, but I digress.  Enter my best friend, Mary Margaret, has gotten me hooked on (read, addicted) to Pinterest.  Now that I'm unemployed at leisure, I have plenty of time to peruse the various "pins" out there.  Granted, I am the LEAST crafty person you will ever encounter so I usually look at the crafting pins much like I'd window shop at Tiffany's--nice to look out but way out of my league..  Martha Stewart will probably sue me if I mentioned her in this un-craft blog.   That's how bad I am.

However, I saw a pin to turn ordinary washers into Christmas ornaments--personalized at that.  J & I took off to Home Depot and befuddled everybody working there when we started holding washers up against each other, just for looks (because we all know that's how plumbers pick their washers out, right?  if they look darling against each other).

A few taps with some imprinting die (thanks again to my Norm Abram-esque father in law), some co-ordinating ribbon and WHA-POW!  Teacher gifts!

Not too shabby, eh?  Especially for a non crafter!  Now to find something to make from Popsicle sticks and twine!!