Swimming And Girl Crushes.

This weekend, while Jennifer and I played in the pool, we got into a funny conversation about how it still brings out the kid in us.  I still do summersaults and headstands and my belly still flip-flops and makes me giggle like it did when I was young.  It got me thinking about all the weird little quirks I had back in those days.  It takes me back to the days of the Flippin Public Pool.  I think everyone my age who grew up in the area knows your parents didn’t pay for daycare over the summer; they bought you a pool pass and sent you on your merry way.  My friends and I spent the summer tan as could be, red eyed and waterlogged.  This is where I came to perfect my mermaid swim.

The mermaid swim came about because around this time, along with swimming, I was also obsessed with two movies and the women who starred in them.  The first was “Splash” starring Daryl Hannah and the second was “Sheena” starring Tanya Roberts.  I think all little girls become completely enamored of certain women they find to be beautiful and have all the qualities they’d like to possess when they get older.  They’re lovingly referred to as “girl crushes” but they’re not the kind of crushes boys wish they were, lol.  I thought these were the two most beautiful women I’d ever seen in my life.  I wanted to look like them, walk like them, grow fins and would most certainly find any excuse to ride a zebra through the jungle while wearing an animal hide bikini just as soon as I was old enough.   Sheena could communicate with animals through telepathy.  She’d make a fist, put her hand to her forehead, close her eyes real tight and animals would come to her.  I convinced myself I could do this, as well.  I’d try to do it on the sly when no one was looking.  I never got an animal to come to me but I could always count on my childhood friend, Crysta to catch me doing it and totally call me out on it.  She’d say: “Misty, are you actin’ like you’re Sheena again!?!?!”  Me:  “NO!  Shut up!  Gawd!”

I would go to the pool and pretend I was Daryl Hannah and had a mermaid fin and swim like her.  Luckily Crysta never called me out on this weird behavior.  I can just hear it now, “Misty are you are actin’ like you’re Daryl Hannah again?”  I’d say the name of the character Daryl Hannah played but remember her name was something like, “EEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!   EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!  EEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”   She was eventually named “Madison” but who cares.  I practiced and practiced until I had the mermaid swim motion down perfectly.  I practiced it for Jen and was impressed to find I’ve still got it!  It’s like a body whip starting at the head, moving down the body and legs must move perfectly together.  I’d jump off the diving board and mermaid swim and my goal was to make it all the way to the rope in the middle of the pool without coming up for air.  When I achieved this, I can assure you I was quite proud.  I would try to wear my hair just like her.  Achieving the perfect mermaid hair was hard work.  I would wash it, leave it wet and go find one of the Unger sisters up the street to french braid it for me.  I’d wear it that way till it dried so I could take it down and have mermaid waves.

These are just silly little memories but I’m still in love with all these three things.  Jason once surprised me with a limited edition DVD of “Sheena”.  The front reads: “Part Animal.  Part Legend.  All Woman.”  I love that!  It’s a good thing I married someone who embraces my weirdness.  I still think those are two incredibly beautiful women and every now and then I still wouldn’t mind sprouting a mermaid tail and still would kinda like to ride that zebra…  maybe minus the bikini and definitely not bareback.  I still love to swim and will always remember how wonderful those chalky suckers tasted during breaks at the Flippin public pool while I sat thinking about how great my mermaid swim was.  I guess this is just a random look into the odd things that are stored in my mind.  I might have just outed myself as a total little weird-o but maybe made someone smile because they did the same types of bizarre things.  If so, I’m glad.  Never be afraid to let that freak flag fly.

Going To Market

I just fired off my first email in an attempt to do something I’ve always wanted to do, (I’ll get to that in a minute).  First let me preface by saying I love the McKinney farmer’s market and the local trade days.  I love to see the vendors peddling their wares and selling their own original creations – be it jewelry, art or their vegetables they’ve put their blood, sweat and tears into.  It always seems like such a satisfying way to earn a living or a few extra bucks.  It’s the literal definition of, “you get out of it, what you put into it”.  I love the farmers in their over-alls, (it always tickles me when there’s an Iphone clipped to the bib).  I love their thick accents, how they’re always so friendly and proud of their displays of bountiful, ripe vegetables and how the 110 degree heat doesn’t seem to affect them like the rest of us.  They always seem so happy.  It seems like they lead a simpler type of life.  I’m jealous.  I’ve long since begged Jason to move further out into the country.  I want to plant a garden, wear tattered clothes, wear funny lookin’ hats and dig in the dirt, (a southern woman’s legacy according to Ouiser Boudreaux).  I’ve always wanted a bunch of goats and try my hand at making goat cheese.  I’m totally serious about this, by the way.  I’m tired of car horns, car alarms, sirens, nosy neighbors, rude cell phone users and traffic.  Jason is a city boy through and through so moving him out would be a miracle in and of itself.  Not to mention, me ever asking for assistance in milking a goat would be nothing short of “never going to happen”.  It’s just a silly, little dream that will probably never come to fruition but I have recently come across an idea that maybe could…

Last weekend, at the farmer’s market I got the veggies required for my southern feast but then moved on to the vendors selling baked goods, homemade soaps, etc.  I want to and COULD do something like that.  I discussed it with my brother while he was here and was surprised to find out he’s had ideas to do the same thing and mentioned a famous pickling recipe he had lined up.  He encouraged me to look into getting a booth at the farmer’s market and sell my goodies.  I don’t mean to boast but I come from a long line of mean cooks and it wasn’t wasted on me.  I’ve been thinking of what I’d like to sell and thinking about the cute little confection boxes I spotted at World Market that I’d like to get to put my creations in.  Cute little brown sacks tied with rustic ribbons and my logo.  For which, I don’t have a name yet so I’m open to any suggestions on that.  I’ve also been wondering if I could just have a mish-mash of the things I’ve always gotten compliments on when I served them to a group or do the items have to stay cohesive?  Could it be everything from tamales to sweets?  Then I realize I could make my own rules and that just sweetens the pot!  I read an article once that Paula Deen started off selling her cooking in offices.  She’d load up baskets full of goodies and go from office to office selling to famished mouse monkeys who probably wouldn’t have seen a home cooked meal otherwise.  Now that’s ingenuity and it inspires me like you wouldn’t believe!!  Everyone has to start somewhere and I’m going to try to start with a booth at the McKinney farmer’s market.  I’ve sent an email inquiring about booth costs, permits, etc.  It could end up to be too expensive, or require permits I can’t acquire – I’ve prepared myself for that fate.  But today I put forth an effort to do something I’m good at and would want to do.  We should all be so lucky.  I’m already ahead if I think of it that way because yesterday I was still just thinking about it.  Today I tried.

Waisting My Precious Facebook Time.

Lately, I’ve noticed a lot of facebookers complaining about people who post too much or tell you about every little thing they do.  I will admit, statuses like “At the store” can make things like, “Well, I’ll alert the media!”, cross my mind but, I guess what I find amusing about it is that if someone is so annoyed by it, there are options through account settings that allow you to either delete that person or just hide their statuses, (which leaves less hurt feelings).  If you’re reading statuses by someone who frequently annoys you, what does that say about you?  Some people are just addicted to the “ick” factor.  The love to hate…  Hey it’s okay; it’s been me once or twice.  I’m rarely exempt from the same things I gripe out, let me just say that now.  Although, one should admit they are in the same “place” at the same time to get their daily dose o’ boring, too.   I think people lose sight of the fact that people may have several friends on their friend list but actually only interact with a select few.  In most cases, it’s family.  I’ve never added anyone I didn’t actually know but over time I got very slovenly with my “adds”.  I realize I share a lot via facebook but that’s because my family is scattered all over the country.  I had to clean facebook house and take it down to people I love, family, and those who would most likely actually address me if they saw me in a public place.  My family uses facebook as a “check in” tool.  No one has to make any long, drawn-out phone calls to make sure everyone’s okay and to keep up with their day to day lives.  We share pictures, stories, videos and it’s a very useful way for us to feel like a piece of us is there and witnessing it even though we’re so far apart.   Not every status someone produces has anything to do with you or was even intended for you or had a thought of you when written.  It’s kind of arrogant to assume that. I could understand being annoyed if someone stopped you in a store to tell you some mundane thing you didn’t care to hear because that’s on your time.  Well, it was on facebook…………….and you’re on facebook.  Get where I’m goin’ with this?  It just happens to be in a public forum, (as odd as that sounds even in my own head….)  I guess these are modern times, people.  I think there are two options;  either enjoy being a fly on the wall or “hide status”.  It’s a handy little tool.  I wish I’d have had the option to “hide” people all my life.  For some of you, I sure do enjoy being a fly on the wall of your life.

Every Step They Take

I’ve learned my lessons about not being prepared when it comes to my camera.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve been at an event and went to take the money shot and nothing happens.  I check the screen only to read, “card is full” or “battery low”.  I have a temper and always want to just throw the camera across the room.  (It only takes about a second to realize I’d have to buy a new one so I would never actually throw it.  I just have a healthy hissy.)  It’s my way of deflecting the blame for out and out negligence on my part. 

I’m feeling quite proud of myself today, though.  The thought to make sure the camera is charged and both chips are fully unloaded occurred to me in plenty of time for tonight’s game.  I always love to open a chip and remind myself what’s on there.  I have 2 4GB chips that I have to unload frequently because I take so many pictures.  Just in looking through 2 chips tonight, I think it’s kind of awesome how well documented my children’s lives will be when they are older.  Every little mundane thing to every really huge thing they ever did is there.  Not just in pictures but also in my facebook page and blog.  If my facebook page and blog always remain, they will always be able to read and look back at their daily lives. 

We all know I talk a lot about my husband and my kids.  Occasionally if something makes me laugh, go “huh?”, or otherwise pisses me off, I’ll throw that in, but for the most part I talk about them.  They are my life so I have kind of documented their lives by documenting my own.  I know that’s a little deep but I think it kinda rules.  It’s like a play by play of the adventures in their childhood; the good, the bad and the down-right ugly.  I <3 that.

My mom always said she thought I was sweetest when I was sleeping.  (...I get what she meant now.)

I intended to capture a sweet shot of them coloring together.  Instead I captured a kurfuffle.  (Reid colored on her page.)  Don't worry, perfectly normal.

Must've had a rough day...

Always Dance Like No One Is Looking

I have recently become obsessed with Adele and have had her music playing on a loop for several days now.  A day or so ago, I posted to facebook how I was currently wearing “Rolling in the Deep” out.  I moved onto to everything else by her later that day and it has continued on into today.  My new girl crush is in full swing.  This morning I began my daily, morning ritual;  Get up, get Drew up, let dogs out, make coffee, check if I still have two other little ones still safe in their beds, etc.  After Drew is sent off to school, my other two are awake and I’m good and caffeinated, I start the cleaning routine.  It’s necessary in order to keep this circus under control, the clutter to a minimum and the sooner I find the unidentifiable, gelatinous blobs my children leave on any given surface at any time, the better.  It lessens my chances of having to break out the chisel later on.  Motherhood is gross; deal with it.  If you can’t hang with that, you’ll never survive my blog.  It’s only going to get worse as we go along.  I live in a world where the question, “Is it chocolate or is it poop!?!?” is a completely legitimate question and asked often.  For which, we are generally answered with big eyes, shrugs, finger pointing and “I’unno??”

So this morning I decide I’m still into Adele and I’m going to rock out and mop the kitchen.  My kids adore music and will dance around for hours while letting me get some work done as long as I keep those tunes coming.  Lily was pleased as punch to hear the line-up for today was still Adele.  I hear her singing along when she thinks I’m not listening.  She’s got the right stuff and that’s not just her mother’s bias talking.  Once their boogie is fully underway, I’m off to get some serious mopping done because I broke my mop a few days ago and Jason just got me a new one.  Nothing says true love like, “Hey baby, I got you a new mop”.  I’m not even close to kidding, either. 

At some point I realize I’m mopping while still in my pjs, wearing my fuzzy, mop slippers and glasses and all but singing into the mop handle while my kids dance around me.  I don’t want to brag, but it was the performance of a lifetime.  I think it’s fair to say there are certain housewife/stay-at-home mom clichés that are going to slap you in the face at some point if you stay home for any period of time.  All I needed was a green facial mask and pink spongy curlers, a velvet curtain to rise behind me and I had myself a musical.  It’s one of those moments you freeze-frame and go, “Whoa…”  Oh well…  The kids think I’m fantastic and they clap and dance around for me.   It’s just another day in Mommyville.  Today in our fantasy land, I am Adel accompanied by two munchkin back-up dancers.  Fortunately they’re still too young to have “ego” about being the “back-up”.  We’re rock stars.  It’s a shame more people don’t know it and miss our shows.  We’re something to see!  I suggest you listen to Adele’s “Chasing Pavements” today.  It did wonders for our morning!  Our next show is scheduled to coincide with laundry folding.

Three Hour Rolls

Yesterday I decided to make a southern fried spread and have some friends over to enjoy good food, good drinks, and good times.  I got my heart set on making my Granny’s Faye’s yeast rolls.  I love the recipes from Granny’s I have tucked away in my family cook book.  They are always hand written and some measurements are literally written as, “a little pinch a’this and little pinch a’that.  (Just to your likin’.)”  I got started on the shopping a little late and realized after I got all the ingredients to make the rolls that they take several hours to prepare and it was already 5:00.  I was determined to make these rolls so I figured I’d dazzle my guests with booze and my sparkling personality and hope they don’t notice we’re eating at 9:00.  Those rolls became one of those projects where I got 1/3 of the way into, my kitchen is covered in flour, I’m covered in flour, I can’t remember if I added the baking powder and I’m relieved I bought a back-up package of frozen rolls if things go to pot.  Well relieved, but also somewhat saddened that I plan for my failures.  Maybe that just makes me a realist and a survivor.  Who knows?  This is also the time I start debating if having a drink could only help or worsen the situation.  I guarantee you, I'd care a lot less.

There is a total of 10 minutes worth of kneading to be done to this dough, in 5 minute intervals after falling and rising.  At first getting out a little healthy rage while punching and pummeling that dough was fun but then it just got exhausting and everyone around me started looking less and less deserving of my Granny Faye’s homemade yeast rolls.  I toughed it out and the rolls turned out just as I’d hoped and they were as yummy as I remember.   I realize some people might ask, "Why not just use the store bought?"  I have a perfectly reasonable answer to that and it is this: there are some pretty decent heat n' eat dinner rolls out there but there's a certain level of pride that southern woman have when it comes to their pie crusts, biscuits, rolls and cobblers.  We want the glory, plain and simple.  Love us or starve.

I only had 5 adults for dinner so now I’m still left with mounds of yeast rolls.  My oldest and middle child are incredibly finicky and don’t really eat much of what I make unless it comes out of a box and has “Kraft” written on the front.  I learned to stop letting it bruise my ego a long time ago and only really “cook cooked” for Jason and I.  Over time though, my youngest has proved to be the eater of the family.  That little tank can put away serious amounts of food and always loves what I cook.  I don’t care if it has peppers and onions or some of the many other foods that kids usually turn their noses up at.  He will eat it up and say, “Mmm…  Good!!!”  All mothers secretly hope their sons will grow up to be strapping, capable men who can fend for themselves but will always need us desperately and call us and ask us to make those special things no one can or will ever make like us.  All other women must pale in comparison forever, grovel at our feet and ask for our recipes but never make them as well.  I speak truth, I assure you.

This morning Reid came downstairs and the first thing he set eyes on was the saran wrapped bowl of all those yeast rolls.  “Oh!  Oh!  Oh!”  He was pointing and dancing a little jig, so excited to see those rolls.  I immediately opened it up for him and realized I don’t have to worry about them going to waste.  He’ll have a few bites, say “Mmmm”, throw it across the room, watch some more cartoons and come back for it later.  So were the hours of work I put in to make Granny Faye’s yeast rolls worth it?  Oh yeah…  Someday he might call and say, “Hey Mom, will you make those rolls?"  If that's the case, I'll always make those rolls.

Thirty Something

So…  Here I am, about to be 31 --  18 days and counting.  It almost hurts me to write that down.   I guess the question at this moment in time would be, “In my 31 years, what have I learned?”  I’ve learned a butt-load and I guess I feel like putting some of it in black and white for all to see.  I guess it’s no secret by now that I’m an open book and what you see is what you get.  So here it is…

I’ve learned that marrying Jason was the best decision I ever made.  He’s a God.  I met a young, college-bound guy and have watched him mature into a full-fledged man, a very attentive husband and a truly amazing father.  I honestly feel that he was given to me to make up for all the male love and acceptance I lacked growing up.  He’s made up for that in immeasurable ways.  I can’t imagine it being easy to be married to a girl with severe daddy and abandonment issues but he’s stayed with it.  I don’t think many men would have jumped through the hoops he’s jumped through and maintained the patience he’s had with me.  I should say I don’t deserve him but the truth is; I think I do.  I deserve him for the greater good he’s created in me.  I deserve to see a man be loving and affectionate with his children.  I deserve to see a man work his tail off and come home every single night to his family.  I DESERVE IT.  I DESERVE HIM.  I had a lot to learn about what being a good wife meant in the beginning.  I’ve learned it and I’m all the better for it.  I’ve learned that a good marriage doesn’t just happen.  It needs constant maintenance and attention.  I’ve learned you’re going to fight.  I firmly believe couples who claim they don’t fight are full of crap and those who think a good husband and wife blow-out every now then isn’t completely normal are delusional.  Jason and I live hundreds of miles from family or any kind of support system.  When trouble arises, it’s just us.  It’s not always easy being on our own and there are some things that will inevitably be taken out on each other during tough times.  The good part is, we usually throw all our demons out on the table right off the bat and knock it out.  No silent and hidden, yet building animosity, in a sense.  We’re good that way.  We’ve always said, “it’s just you n’ me, kid”.  I vow to do everything in my power to make sure it always will be.  Men like him don’t come along twice.  So to my husband; thank you for everything and for choosing me.  It’s been a wonderful 15 years and I look forward to growing old with you.  I’m nothing without you.

I’ve learned that my children are my little mirrors.  They reflect back everything you do whether I like it or not.  Monkey see-monkey do and that’s one of the hardest parts of parenthood to overcome.  It doesn’t take but one good slip in front of your kids to see it come back tenfold.  Not long ago, Jason was watching a game on TV with Pootie-Man snuggled up right next to him eating Cheetos.  A bad play came about and Jason yelled out, “OH, What the hell?!?!”  For weeks afterward, Reid would respond with, “What the hell?!?!” to just about everything.   Jason spent half of that game trying to teach him to say ‘defense’.  The kid couldn’t say anything that even closely resembled ‘defense’ but, ‘what the hell’ comes out clear as a bell…  Go figure.  Of course you’re going to laugh but then begin immediate damage control.  The required growing up to be an effective parent is no joke!  Times like that you get a clear message it’s time to drink a tall glass of “act right” and get with the program.  I’ve learned that my children can make me laugh so hard I cry.  I’ve learned they can also make me so mad I cry.  I have also learned that there certain undeniable things children can just sense and will put a stop to immediately:  a peaceful slumber, you’ve just sat down to eat, you’ve reached the crescendo of a movie you’ve been dying to see, sex or a very important phone call.  But no matter how loud or rotten or what they’ve interrupted, they will always be my heart living outside my body.  Before I was a mother I would hear women talk about how you have no idea how much you can love until you become a mother.  I didn’t know what it meant to love someone so much it hurts.   I do now.  Their smiles and little faces heal wounds so deep within me I don’t think I could ever put it into words.  They love me just for me and I love them just for them.  It’s poetry.  Their hugs and kisses right every wrong in my life.  I love to watch them grow and I can’t wait to see who they’ll turn into and hope they’ll someday think we did a good job as parents.  They’re the light of my life and have made me grow up in the best sense possible.  I never knew I wanted three little boogers but as fate would have it, they’re just what I never knew I always wanted.  I need them as much as they need me.  They are my soul.

I’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff.  What I’ve come to discover is “small stuff” are things that don’t really having any bearing on my life.  As long as my husband still loves me, my kids are healthy and happy, the people who really mean anything to me are still there and I have a roof over my head then the rest is small stuff.  People’s opinions aren’t worth a rip.  Everyone’s a critic.  Everyone has something to say and we all know the old adage about opinions and a-holes.  I have learned that my time and focus would be better spent on those who love and cherish me.  Curling up with worry of someone’s opinion will only deepen the furrow in my brow and I really can’t afford the botox right now.  So why be wrinkled for someone else’s stupidity.  Opinions are small potatoes; wrinkles are real, far more disturbing and around for an eternity.

I’ve learned I will stand up for what I believe in and defend the ones I love but have learned to pick my battles.  If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything but not everything requires my involvement.  If I think it’s really wrong though, there’s just no shutting me up and that’s just never going to change.  Love me or leave me on that bit.  I’ve learned how to forgive but more importantly how to apologize.  I’m no saint but I’m working on being a better person and making the right choices.  At the end of the day, I can honestly say I like me just fine because I’m willing to grow, evolve and learn through everything that’s thrown my way.  I make mistakes and I stumble but it’s what I take away from these life lessons that really matters.  In 31 years I can say I have attained a wonderful husband, amazing children and a lot of wisdom I will take with me into the next 31.  I’m not perfect but I’m better than I was.