Logrit, Logrit, How I Love Thee

As kids, one of my sisters stubbornly refused to say 'yogurt' and instead said 'logrit'. It's actually one of my favorite memories. I love that we come by our stubbornness honestly, it runs in the family, and the more pressure put on us to cave, the less likely it is that we will.

I grew up with yogurt in my house, but as a grown up on my own, it fell by the wayside. Yogurt was kids stuff. Then we had kids and it was all about 'gogurt' and weird fruity cereal flavored stuff.

Now we are all older, and I find that I love yogurt and miss it desperately when I don't have one every day. It makes breakfast or lunch or snack time so much better. I've stopped my incessant need for strawberry only (much like my jam only that is still a strawberry only zone), and have branched out to all fruit except blueberry. Never blueberry. I eat fat free, all natural and after the first week, I fell in love with it. It's not yoplait by any means, and I really like that!

There is no yogurt in my fridge today. It is a sad, sad day.

I'm too busy to get to the store, so more sadness for tomorrow. The fridge will still be logrit free.

How Do You Like Your Eggs?

Staying home sick as a kid, I immersed myself in Perry Mason and The Rockford Files. And while Perry just didn't do it for me, Jim Rockford sure did.

It wasn't just his TV show, James Garner rocked my movie world as well.

I loved his movies with Doris Day, like The Thrill of It All and his old westerns, particularly Support Your Local Sheriff and as a grown up, I fell in love with with his portrayal of a soldier in the classic WWII movie, The Great Escape.

But the role he played that I can watch over and over and over and still swoon is Murphy from Murphy's Romance. When he tips his hat back, I go weak in the knees.

One of my favorite movie lines of all time is at the end, when Murphy tells Emma he'll only stay for dinner if he's still there for breakfast and Emma asks how does he like his eggs.....

James Garner, how do you like your eggs? I'm good for anything except poached!

Happy Birthday Husband!

Today is my husband's birthday. He is 36 years old today. I'm not afraid to say it, I am the older woman. I am older than him by two months. Shocking, I know.

But we were in the same grade and he was so cute and funny and when he turned his charm on and focused on me, I was a goner.

Happy Birthday, Babe. You are still too charming for my own good!

Bazaar Procrastination

My daughter is going to DC for spring break.

Yes. My 13 year old daughter is flying to DC with a group of kids and teachers from her school.

I said no when she first asked. Her dad said no. It's expensive, she's so young.....then she cried her girl tears and Dad caved. Um, don't you think it's a great opportunity for her? Fine, I cave too. Just because the idea of flying cross country at 13 would have made my 13 year old stomach heave until it was empty, doesn't mean my own daughter feels the same.

She has busted her backside, earning money. I'm so proud of her determination!

We'd given thought to her making things (sewing or something) so when the opportunity to share a table at a local bazaar came up, I said sure.

Yikes. For the last two months we've been bazaar crazy. Knitting and sewing and planning and procrastinating.

Yes. Procrastinating. Because my daughter and I share the same gene that tells us not to worry, we have plenty of time to finish something and then suddenly the end date is days away and we are scrambling to finish our projects.

Technically, only one out of four projects are done and the bazaar is a few days away. And yes, instead of working on something right now, I am blogging.

Bizarre procrastination indeed!

Learning To Drive

It's a right of passage for every young person, one that I was dreaming of and counting down the years to for years before I was even 16. I remember my first drive, with the Omni and it's stick shift and lurching through every stop sign trying to figure out the clutch and shifting, my Mom sitting next to me, giving instruction and encouragement.

In all my learning, I only remember her being upset that I was hugging the edge of the road and the ditch that ran next to it...which if you ask her today, I'm sure she'll tell you that still makes her nervous when I drive.

I've been looking forward to my first born learning to drive. I have! I imagined I'd be a cool cucumber, calmly giving tips and never yelling 'stop, stop, stop!'

And suddenly it's now, and my son is learning to drive and I'm not always as calm as I thought I'd be. My biggest issue isn't him, it's the other idiots driving around us. Don't they know my heart is driving? They need to exercise extreme caution!

I find that I have to battle some desire to jump out of the car and pound on windows, screaming things like "what's wrong with you?" and "It wasn't your turn at that four way stop!"

In spite of that, my son is driving us everywhere, and he's doing great. I'm very proud of him and even if at times I want to cry with disbelief that he is actually old enough to sit behind the wheel, to put his arm on the back of my seat as he backs out of the driveway, to adjust the mirrors to his proportions, well, that's just the price of motherhood, isn't it?

One I'll gladly pay.

Tales Of The Porta Potty

Who likes 'em? But when you have to go, and there is one in all it's blue glory, you thank the good Lord it's there.

Seeing a line of porta potties at a crowded event does make you feel better. You'll still have to wait, but at least it's not going to be so long you seriously consider walking into the bushes and using nature's facilities.

At my daughters last cross country meet, at one of our local country parks where a little bathroom services the whole area, I was glad to see the porta potties. And after drinking my water bottle while I sat around waiting for her race to start, I knew I needed to make use of one of those blue havens.

I did a scouting walk around, checking out which line had shorter wait time, which porta potty had a sign that actually clicked over to the red "occupied" sign, and I finally make a well informed choice.

It was a porta potty. I held my breath and did what I needed to do. But as I was standing up, pulling up my pants, a little girl started yanking on the door. Um, I'm in here. I reach out to make sure the door doesn't pop open, even with the lock on, but I'm too late.

All of her yanking made the whole door jam and door lock wiggle enough to pop open. There I am, standing with my underwear up, thank God, but my pants not. I pull the door closed but it's too late. I've flashed everyone.

Okay. Well. Things happen. Who cares, right? Well, it turns out I do.

I will employ my huge family gathering bathroom rules from now on when dealing with porta potties.

1. Go to the Bathroom in Pairs.

2. Have your Partner Guard the Door while You are in the Bathroom.

3. Return the Favor and Guard the Door for your Partner.

Following these rules will prevent little children yanking your door open. If your partner does her job right!

Music Memories

Hearing a certain song can transport you back to another moment, and no matter where you are in reality, suddenly you are standing on the smooth wooden floors of your New Jersey apartment, the sun is shining, the windows are open bringing in a sea breeze and Tom T Hall is blasting from your new CD player.

Okay, that specific memory is mine, but the other day I heard a snippet of The Day That Clayton Delaney Died, and I swear I could hear the ocean water rolling along outside our apartment.

The same can be said for certain Amy Grant songs (Fat Baby anyone?) and I am in our blue station wagon, singing along loudly, while we drove three days to our new home in Arizona. Jolene by Dolly Parton has me smelling my Grandma's perfume and hearing her and my Mom talk as we drive Grandma's car into town. The Statler Brothers singing their album Holy Bible reminds me of my mom putting their record on and all of us cleaning the house like crazy. Michael Jackson's Beat It instantly has me at the roller rink, racing around and around and around, the breeze blowing my bangs off my sweaty head and the skates rubbing blisters, but I couldn't slow down when the awesome MJ was playing!

I may have zero musical talent, but I do have an extreme appreciation of all kinds of music, and the awesome thing is, so did my Dad. When I read letters he wrote to my Mom, so many of them were about the current record he was listening to, or a certain song he was totally digging. His taste was eclectic, and I love that!

Every time I hear Barbra Streisand, I think of him writing about Uncle Art bringing a Cat Stevens tape to listen to on their fishing boat, but not getting much play time because, "I bought a Barbra Streisand tape and I've about worn it out already, but I love it for the music keeps me reminded of when I was home."

I know exactly what he means.

Real Vs. Fake

In these modern times, we have so many fake things that compete with real, and usually the real is way better than the fake.

Sour cream and Imo.

Butter and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter.

Bacon and Sizzelean.

Sugar and aspartame.

Heinz 57 and all other kinds of ketchup/catsup.

Maple syrup and Maple flavored syrup.

Wait a tick. Not so fast.

There is No Way real maple syrup with it's thin consistency and tree sap flavor is better than Log Cabin maple flavored syrup.

No way.

When I have a pancake or a waffle or french toast, I want a syrup that sticks, that tastes a bit like heaven.

And I've got to say real maple syrup just doesn't cut it.

I'd eat dry toast before I let a fake butter touch it. I'd give up bacon completely if sizzelean was my only choice (btw, do they even sell that stuff anymore?). But give me the sweat sticky goodness of Log Cabin authentic maple tasting syrup any day and I'll say thank you very much!

From Sticky Fingers To Muddy Paws

I had a dream. I dreamed I would have 6 kids. Then I had my first and thought, well, maybe just 4. Then my second, and it turns out this baby having business was just not going to work out for me.

So I moved on. I have two awesomely awesome kids and if I'd had four or six, I don't know that I would be the good Mom that I am. But that part of me that longs for baby to hold and cuddle and love and snuggle, well, that has never stopped longing!

The answer to that was a puppy. I know, it's not for everyone, but frankly, I am a huge fan of dogs and getting our Beagle puppy was just right. Then we got another puppy. Then to make things that much more crazy, we let our daughter have one too.

I am the proud Mom to a 15 year old son, learning to drive, a 13 year old daughter, in love with piano, and three very lovely dogs.

I have less sticky finger print marks on our TV (only an occasional 'hi' written in the dust on the screen) but I traded those in for muddy paws leaving perfect prints on my fresh mopped floors.

I do miss those sticky finger days, especially when I watch my son's hands turning the wheel of the car, or my daughters fingers dance up and down the piano keys, and in my minds eye I can see their baby dimpled fingers reaching for me....

But then one of my crazy lovely dogs will come over and put her muddy paws on my leg, look at me with her big brown eyes, and I'm back in reality, firmly cemented in the present, with a mop in one hand and Mr Clean in the other.

I love all my kids, from the tops of their heads to the tips of their toes....or tails.

The Dangers Of Comfy Pants

Comfy Pants should come with a warning label.

It should be known far and wide that comfy pants are so comfy, you will want to wear them all day when you are lounging around the house on a lazy Saturday. Next you will come home from work, kick off your heels and peel off your tights and slid into your comfy pants, since you are just hanging out at home.

The next step on this slippery down hill slope is wearing them out. You will wear them to drive through the bank. Run to the library. The grocery store. Dinner out.

The next thing you know, you are sad when your one pair of comfy pants are in the dirty clothes and you start dreaming of having two pairs so you will never be without.

This my friends, is a dangerous place to be.

But it's so comfy!!!

My Mother's Biscuits

My Mother's biscuits are the bomb.

They are the best biscuits I've ever had. Hands down. No exceptions.

Going to eat at her house, if she says she's making biscuits, it's like, oh man oh man oh man, it's my lucky day!

I've tried to make them myself. They are simple baking powder biscuits. I can follow a recipe. I can do this.

But I can't! No matter how I try it, following the recipe exactly or playing fast and loose with the measurements, my biscuits are just a sad imitation of my Mom's. After all these years, 17 married one's in fact, I am finally close to accepting defeat.

No one can touch my Mom's biscuits.

And that is why I'm sitting here eating my fourth (!!!!!) cold biscuit. She sent some home with the kids last night and I knew, I KNEW, I would be eating them for breakfast.

Oh man oh man oh man!

I Hate This Old House

And I used to be it's number one fan!

When that magazine came to our door, I couldn't wait to flip through it's glossy pages, see it's lovely redo's, dream of changes big and small in my own old house....

It's been years of living in this old house that I love, years of getting This Old House periodical, and years of just the basic remodels being done.

The final straw came yesterday when I read the cover of the latest issue.

"Install A Wall Niche."

Install a wall niche? Really? This magazine is not preaching to my level of grade school choir! I'm still holding out for a real hand rail leading up the stairs and actual tiles to cover the hardibacker that lines my kitchen walls.....There is no way I'm going to make a hole in my wall when I've been working so hard on covering the ones the house came with!

I can finally admit it. This Old House is full of dreams I had for My Old House when we first got it. I still dream of those things, and I know one day, some day, I will have this old house put to rights, but until then, I am sick of This Old House.

I want a magazine based more closely to my reality.

I've Tried It And I Hate It

Sushi. It's hip and happening.

I'm totally hip and happening.

I like rice. I don't like raw fish.

Apparently, a California roll has crab instead of fish. I like crab. I do not like imitation crab.

I like cucumbers. I do not like avocado.

It was going to be a 50/50 crap shoot whether it was good or bad.

I probably would still be a sushi virgin except we had lunch brought to our office, and there was some sushi, and some comments were made about me not trying it (as in, I'm a chicken!) and I am not a chicken.

I am adventurous, as previously posted.

I tried one.

It tasted like a beach smells.

I can now say I've tried it, and I hate it. The only problem is, this was sushi in a clear plastic box, from the local grocery store. I was quickly informed that "real" sushi is so much better.

Crap! Another challenge! I guess I've got to try it one more time before I can say it's not really for me!

Of course, this challenge of chicken-ness could all be in my head......

Cluck, Cluck!

Goodbye Old Fort

When my son was 8 or 9, we bought him a wooden play structure, a fort if you will. It wasn't fancy, we never got the slide or the rock wall we dreamed of, but it had a rope ladder and a steering wheel and it was good. My son is a kind enough big brother that more often than not, his sister was climbing on it too. They would have elaborate play times in it, adventuring all over in their imagination.

Even the dogs loved it! It had a rope swing that the dogs would make made dashes at, tugging and swinging back and forth.

It hasn't been used in a while, by kids or dogs.

It was sitting on the back corner of our property looking sad and lonely, literally rotting away with neglect.

My son said I could give it to my nephews. I asked my sisters and I got a taker. But it's actually a daunting task to move a play structure without taking it apart, and no one wanted to take it apart! So there the fort sat, waiting.

Then today my sister said she was ready for it. A spot was cleared at her house, my husband would be home with the truck, we would move it. So we did.

I was in the middle of cooking dinner and didn't want it to burn so I did not see it get loaded up. I did not drive down the alley's of the next two blocks to come to a stop at my sisters house. I did not see R and T's joy at having a fort in their back yard.

And my husband said the boys were beyond joyful!

I keep telling myself the fort has gone to a better place. It is going to be loved and used and keep going on its adventures with two very clever little boys....

Apparently my husband was right when he told my sister I was going to cry later.

I so am.

Goodbye Old Fort, you served us well. Give R and T some awesome memories, but please, keep your splinters to yourself!

Who Knew I Wasn't Going To Like It?

I should have, that's who.

I know myself well enough after 36 years of living in my own skin to know that as lovely as the picture might be, as perfectly as the extra veggies going to seed on my shelves will find a way to be eaten, as tasty as the name implies it will be, if it calls for sweet potatoes AND cauliflower AND onions AND garbanzo beans AND tomatoes, I probably won't like it.

I like most of those things on their own. With butter. Or cheese. Or cooked down until I don't recognize it (that's why I love ketchup!). But all together, with a liberal dash of hot curry powder, to replicate a dish from India, well, I shouldn't be surprised that I didn't like it.

But, here's the thing about me, I am actually adventurous. I do try new things and I like to taste new foods. I guess I will remain surprised every time a recipe I try doesn't quite live up to how I imagined it would taste.

I think that's why God made McDonalds, right? So when one of my adventurous meals is a complete and total fail, and I'm not feeling the love to start over on a new meal, the kids can still eat happy.

This might be why, on new meal nights, they are very eager to hear how the first bite is.

Is it good?

Yes? Oh. Okay.

No? Awesome! Cheeseburgers for us tonight!

October, You Are Not Summer

October, you are not Summer. Why are you acting all sunny and warm? Why are you making it so hard to really transition into fall?

Oh, don't get me wrong. You are lovely! Beyond lovely, actually. You are a ray of sunshine perfection!

But, you are not summer. You are supposed to be colder and wetter and darker.

I am going to work without tights! And no jacket! Short sleeves, bare legs, in October!

No way is this the way I imagined October. I mean, in your sister month of September, I forced myself to not get out the tights. I said to myself, wait until October 1. I will be wearing tights and sweaters from now until April, wait just a bit.

So I waited, toughed it out, and now you, October, have the audacity to be full of sun and warmth!

Thank you.