Call Me Layla: Momma Lioness

I am in such a gross place today.  Jason received an e-mail and a phone call from the teacher/coach we’ve been having issues with.  The coach did apologize profusely and made it seem as though the “ribbing” was done in a much more light hearted manner than Drew made it out to be.  Just because it was light hearted to him, doesn’t mean it was to Drew.  Grown man vs. 13 year old boy just somehow doesn’t seem fair to me.  After the call, Jason and I had a moment of asking ourselves the question:  “Did we go for the jugular too fast?”  In my head, it almost seems like because he was nice about it and apologized, we were the mean ones.   I have to remember he was nice because we threatened further action if it didn’t stop and made it clear we’re not playing.  I hate to second guess myself.  I’m no shrinking violet and one should never poke me with a stick because you’ll draw back a bloody stump but I often lash out first and feel bad for it later; I’m like a sour patch kid that way.  But I did let this one breathe for a while and gave it a chance to dissipate.  It didn’t, so here we are.

Our instinct as parents is to protect our children from being hurt at all costs.  I watched the most amazing Disney Documentary on HBO called “African Cats” with the kids a few weeks ago.  It takes you on the most beautiful journey of momma cats in the wild having to fiercely protect their young and sometimes paying with their lives.   Layla the lioness paid with her life.  It made me tear up a few times.  It makes the quote:  “There is no stronger bond than that of a momma lion and her cub”.  It was amazing to me how that instinct carries over into human mommies, too. Yes, I am a momma lioness.  Mess with my cub and I’ll come for you.  But did momma lioness get too mad too fast here?  I still say no…  Let’s backtrack….

After I spoke with Jason, I was left feeling really uneasy so I called Drew down to make sure I had all my facts straight.  The teacher claimed there was no one else in the room when he pulled up the images and that he pulled up those particular characters because when he was “ribbing” Drew about his hair being too long Drew said:  “Well at least I’m not as bad as Joe Dirt or Pony Boy Curtis”.  So the coach later pulled up these images to “rib” him and point out he wasn’t far from it.  He’s using the fact that Drew brought up these particular characters to try and deflect the real issue.  Luckily, I don’t get distracted easily.  You’re not going to dangle something shiny in front of my face and think I’ll lose the scent I’m trailing.  In the immortal words of Judge Judy, “Don’t pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining.”  The issue is, no matter who brought up the characters, he still embarrassed and harassed my son.  No amount of tap dancing is going to get me to see it otherwise.  He embarrassed him over something as harmless as esthetics and what he deems an inappropriate length of hair for a boy.  Also, Drew said:  “Mom, he’s lying.  My whole class was in the room and a girl I have a crush on was just a few seats down and she heard it.”  He said:  “I laughed it off at the time because I didn’t want it to become more of a scene than it already was.  What was I supposed to do?”  My heart broke for him.  I said:  “Drew you did exactly what I would expect you to do.  You were respectful, you didn’t talk back to an authority figure who was belittling you and for that I am so proud of you”.  You behaved how I raised you.”  He went on to say that when kids get ahold of things like this, they will now spread it like wildfire around the school and pretty soon Joe Dirt will be his new nickname; a nickname that was started at the hands of a teacher.  He tells me how mean kids are now; one wrong move and you’re toast.  I haven’t forgotten the hell that was school and it's only gotten worse.  I hated every minute of it and hit the ground running on my last day of senior year.  I can’t tell Drew that but I sure do remember.  He does better in school than I did but he seems to have just as hard a time with the politics as I did.  I knew I was in there somewhere….

I do admit that kids today have gotten a little overprotected and teachers often have to be overly P.C.   My mom tells me horror stories about how one innocent comment from a teacher can have a swarm of parents up to the school in a raging fit.  Jason often talks about the wussification of America and how the entitlement that is so instilled in this generation should scare the hell out of us.  I do however, think that where kids have gotten a little bit of extra cushion, they’ve had to make up for it with the dog eat dog situation that’s so prevalent in today’s school system.  Not to mention, the social networking that can continue to badger them long after the last school bell rang.  But I do feel confident that I know the difference between one off color comment that could be easily shrugged off and an ongoing case of bullying from a teacher, no less.  I’m not what I would consider an overbearing mother, (Jason would argue), but I feel that I have a good sense for when it’s time to step in for my kid.  I refuse to let myself feel bad or think I overstepped my bounds.  I think what the coach did was wrong and I’m not going feel guilty for doing something about it.  In the e-mail I sent to the coach I made the statement:  “My son is a kind, well-mannered kid who’s never once had to be reprimanded for his behavior so if you’re biggest issue with him is about the length of his hair; I think that speaks volumes”.  Drew and I have talked and hugged it out.  I’ve praised him for being the good kid that he is, tried to insert the steel rod in his back he’ll need sometimes in life to keep his head up, slapped him on the butt and will now send him on his merry way.  However I did make sure to remind him of the old adage his dad always tells him about the mean kids who tease you for making good grades: “They may call you a nerd now but someday they’ll be calling you sir.”  Go forth, my boy.  Momma Lioness will be watching from here...

Road Rage and Gold Suburban Mom

There are times when stone cold reminders slap me in the face that I’m a grown up now and have three children and have to watch my tongue and actions.  One of my biggest flaws that I have to acknowledge is that I am a serious road rage sufferer.  It became apparent this morning when I was stuck behind a car to get into Lily’s school.  There are 2 lanes – the lane I needed was wide open but the car in front of me didn’t seem to think she had enough room to pull in to the lane she needed, (I assure you, she did; two car lengths to be exact).  I know that because I had far too much time to stare at how much space she had and slowly came to hate her guts.  She just sat in the road allowing traffic to build up for miles.  I’ll admit I was clutching the steering wheel pretty hard but I hadn’t said a word.  From the back seat I hear Reid yell, “JUST GO, LADY!”  The record skipped.  I’ll get to how I’m going to work on that and better myself only so you won’t think I’m a monster because I’m learning from my mistakes and all that jazz so just sit tight.

I first have to get my rant out of the way; there’s just no way around it.  See the problem here is that everyone behind the wheel of a car is an idiot except for me.  It boggles my mind that I literally only drive a few miles back and forth each day and the number of idiot moves I witness on a daily basis has me tempted to duck tape my car in mattress foam or just finally achieve the hermit/shut-in status I’ve been working towards for the past 6 years so I don’t have to deal with it and can avoid eventual blood pressure meds.  Right of way, how 4-way stops work, you can turn right on red, GET OFF YOUR PHONE and please for the love of Pete just GO!!!!!!!!!  These are my daily struggles but one thing in particular that doesn’t involve any of these things has started to crawl under my skin to epic proportions.   There is a situation in the carpool lane at Drew’s school and my anger towards the situation has started to become unnerving and unnatural.  There is only one lane that you can use to pick up and drop off your kids.  There are 3 lanes total  --  one to pull in, one to pick up, one to exit.  You CANNOT pick up your child unless you have reached the pick up lane by the sidewalk where they are to wait until you’ve gotten there.  They CANNOT cross lanes to get to your car sooner because that’s obviously dangerous.  Every parent has to wait their turn except for one mother who drives a gold suburban who every single day, bypasses the entire line by using the lane you are only to use after you’ve picked up your kid, (the exit lane), and allow other parents to pull up.  She pulls up beside the line and has her daughter walk through the cars because I guess she’s superior and doesn’t have to wait in the line like everyone else.  Now the reason this is getting to me sooooo much is because the principal at Drew’s school is hardcore.  She carries a walky-talky and has a scowl on her face that makes a person suspect she’s just sucked on a bag of lemons and talks like she’s chewing her face.  I have lovingly dubbed her “Robo Principal” for my own amusement.  She goes out there every day and struts up and down that carpool line in a full-on battle stance – *march, march *hands on hips.  She’s just lookin’ for trouble.  She brings the hammer down on a different parent every single day.  If you didn’t pull up fast enough, if you left too much space in between you and the car in front of you, if you picked your kid up a moment before you reached that sidewalk she will approach your car, have you roll down the window and chew you out in front of the entire line.  Every parent knows who’s about to get it because she makes a beeline for them and it’s on like donkey kong.  If there were background music it would be something along the lines of Darth Vader’s “Imperial March”.  I’ve fully expected her to rip parents from their vehicles and beat them about the head and neck with that walky-talky before.  We’ve all had our turns getting our butt-chewings from her so the shame isn’t as harsh as it was in the beginning.  Well of course, everyone except gold suburban mom.  Like I said, she does this daily and has never once been made to face to wrath of Robo Principal.  She’s never gotten caught, not once.  Either she’s luckiest broad I’ve ever encountered or she has the timing down to an art form.  She’s always made it back out onto the main road by the time Robo Principal has stormed out of the side doors – walky-talky in hand, scowl on face, hands on hips.  It’s a running joke because even Drew is aware of gold suburban mom and aware of my utter distain because clearly I can’t keep my mouth shut.  I sit there in that damn carpool lane and just think about getting out of my car and walking up and knocking on her window and just screaming:  “YOU’RE A CHEATER!  CHEATER MOM!  CHEATER MOM!  DOES EVERYBODY SEE THE CHEATER MOM!?!?!”  Then I’d point at her, get all my glory when the parents shake their heads in judgment and then I’d feel incredibly proud of myself.   (……………………………….Don’t worry, I’m considering therapy.)

But after hearing Reid mimicking my lack of tolerance and short temper, I’m going to make great efforts and strides to take it down a notch and do my best not to be the woman seething with rage behind the wheel of my big black SUV..  Today I will watch gold suburban mom cheat and I won’t let it ruffle my feathers in the least.  Today when I get pulled out in front of, (and I will), instead of flipping the bird I will smile and wave.  I will stop being in such a hurry and stop plotting the death of the person in front of me who can’t find their gas pedal.  But before I grow up entirely, I will pull out one last childish antic and show you a picture of the gold suburban.  I couldn’t catch her in the actual act of cheating because with my luck Robo Principal would have pummeled me with her walky-talky for having my phone out in a school zone.  Just do me this one favor…  Look at this vehicle, have a look of disgust and mutter “bitch” under your breath.  Love you, mean it.

Catering To My Kids

I’m willing to go pretty far to please my kids but we have a food issue among this family that is going to force me into a “Mommy Dearest” moment much like when Joan and Christina wage war over the rare steak.  I think my results would be much the same as Joan’s, though.  My kids are willful to a fault; I can’t imagine where they got that from.   When I was a kid, you either ate what my mother served or you didn’t eat.   A particular dish comes to mind:  hobo dinners.  Ugh, makes me snarl even thinking about them.  I hated hobo dinners and I still do.  They are basically a patty of meat seasoned with a lot of Worcestershire and other stuff I’m not sure about because I can assure you, I never asked mom for THAT recipe.  The meat was smothered with peppers and onions, wrapped in foil and cooked in the oven.  I knew that smell and would cringe as soon as my nose had deciphered hobo dinners were on tonight’s menu.  To clarify, I’m not throwing my mom under the bus, because my mom did make other things I liked.  I just had a particularly strong aversion to hobo dinners.   I still hate Worcestershire.  I would begrudgingly choke it down because I knew there would be no debate on whether or not I had other options. 

Lily is by far that most finicky eater I’ve ever encountered.  The only foods she’s consistently eaten since she began solid foods has been cheese sticks, macaroni, chocolate of any kind, cereal, cake, biscuits n’ gravy and chips.  Just because she ate it this week, doesn’t mean she’ll eat it again next week.  When she’s around other kids and sees them eating something she typically wouldn’t eat, I’ve watched her follow the crowd and try new things.   She loves her cousin, Hannah, very much.  At a family gathering, I saw her eat pizza which she’d always refused in the past but I guess what was okay for Hannah, was okay for her, too.  I thought:  “Awesome!  We’ve conquered a new food!!!  Yay for pizza!!”  I tried to serve it to her again a week later; no dice. 

Drew’s open to a few more things but not by much.  Drew dislikes things he’s never even tried or anything he presumes to be a fruit, vegetable or anything that could potentially be healthy in any way.  If it didn’t come out of a box, chances are he’ll pass.  I’m a pretty bomb cook and it’s completely wasted on my kiddos; they barely eat half of what I cook.  I could work all day to prepare a five star meal and Drew would ask, “Do we have any hamburger helper, Mom?”  This is the moment where I hope the kids will someday realize the error of their ways and go in on a joint gift of a round of botox for me when they’re older to make up for the amount of facial scrunching and tugging they’ve caused me over the years.  I digress…  There are a few things I cook that Drew likes but are secretly loaded with items he “dislikes” because he can’t see them.  There’s been many a Mexican standoff at the dinner table where I’ve revealed the true ingredients in that dish he likes so much.  It doesn’t phase him and he will continue to believe he doesn’t like those particular foods while scarfing down the spaghetti that’s loaded with onions, bell peppers and basil which all make his “dislike” list.

So like I said before, I go to great lengths to keep them happy and am guilty of cooking a meal for Jason and myself and then making as many as two other meals out of a box for the kids.  I’ve slowly been transformed into a short order cook.  However, I’ve hit a wall this morning when I found myself arguing with Reid over him requesting krabby patties for breakfast and then acting like a brat about my refusal.  He’s my only kid that will pretty much eat anything so seeing him show signs of being finicky, is going to crack me.  Even if I made him a burger that looked like a krabby patty, he wouldn’t eat all those onions, tomatoes, etc.  I served him waffles and before I knew it I was googling sweet confections that resemble krabby patties.  I’m not sure in this moment, if I’m pleasing my kids or just making them downright rotten.  I just can’t bring myself to go the “eat it or starve” route but I’m getting tired of cooking enough for three families just to please everyone in my family.  I’m having a moment of questioning whether me being a complete pushover when it comes to my kids is good for them or slowly turning them rotten.  In this moment, I’m seriously leaning towards rotten but I’d bet you money I’ll probably make those damn krabby patties anyway.

Cousin Cuisine

I’m getting more and more excited as my cousin, Emily, and I delve deeper into the prospects of doing a family recipe inspired cookbook.  We’ve tossed around ideas for names and it came down to one inevitable agreement -- the title must include the word Ozark in some shape or form.  It is such a huge part of our history, our culture, the way we cook, how we feel about cooking and why most recipes are going to contain mass amounts of butter and a southern woman’s true secret weapon – BACON GREASE.  I have a dear friend who’s more like an aunt to me by the name of, Sharmin.  She wrote a very witty blog of the true tale of southern women and their trusty mason jar of bacon grease.  I enjoyed reading it and found it to be very true and well written.

As, my cousin puts it: “We come from a long line of good cooks and smart alecks”.  No truer words were ever spoken.  We’ve decided to indulge in the humor that is so prevalent in our family and use it to our advantage by writing a brief synopsis of our family history and small bios of a family member if we use, (and we will), one of their particular recipes.  There were always many laughs shared around the Thanksgiving and Christmas holiday table and certain dishes are very representative of us as a family and should be shared.  Let me set the scene:  Granny had always been up since dawn cooking.  She was worn out, had no makeup on, wearing her coolots and house shoes.  I don’t think she ever ate and if she did, she did it standing up.  Southern holiday hostess rule #1. Look tired and pissed off and everyone’s a lot more grateful for the meal and will more than likely volunteer to do the dishes.  We’re a smart breed.  There were always funny stories being told, usually at the expense of someone else in the room.  My family is full of characters; half of them I couldn’t make up on my best day.  There was laughter and more food than you could shake a stick at.  There were tried and true recipes that were always there.  Granny’s dressing, turkey and all the fixins and God forbid Aunt Judith not make the tortilla roll-ups.  I’ve heard in the north they put fruit in their dressing - WOULDN’T DREAM OF IT.  But there were always new treats we’d never had before so we were constantly evolving and trying new things.  There are worse problems to have than an overabundance of women who can cook well and having more food than counter space.  Everyone went home with 25 tupperware containers to be reopened after your first food coma wore off. 

Every single woman in my family can cook and cook well; it’s just in our DNA.  So what do we know?  Food and funny.  Yeah, I’ll capitalize on that.  There’s already a funny story that comes to mind of the time my Ma Ma, (pronounced Maw Maw – 2 words), made the same pie as mom one Thanksgiving.  She sat hers near moms and came back later and mentioned how shabby her pie crust was…………..  Only problem is the pie she was referring to was mom’s.  In reading through Paula Deen’s cookbook she has funny little excerpts of how each recipe was born, where it came from or the story of the first time she made it.  As I was reading it, I thought, “I can absolutely do this!”  So stay tuned for Cousin Ciusine - A Taste of Ozark Southern Comfort.  Oh and speaking of Ma Ma – I will be requiring her snowball cake recipe from someone.  I never much cared for coconut so it was never my favorite but she was so I ate it anyway. 

Transition Through Tears

Well here it is…  Today is the last day of week one of Lily starting school.  I’m so glad.  I really just want the weekend to spend time with my kids.  This week has really been a struggle; mostly for me.  Lily’s teacher is great and has kept me very informed of her progress.  She said the first day was tough and Lily did say “I miss my mommy” a few times throughout the day but it has gotten less and less so as the week has gone on.  I didn’t tell her I went home and whimpered and watched the clock until time to pick her up that first day.  I really didn’t anticipate the neurotic meltdown I’ve been experiencing but I guess what happens, happens. 

I began staying home fulltime after Lily was born.  When Drew was born, I stayed home with him until he was about 4 and then he went into daycare so I could work.  We started him off being there in small doses and worked our way up so there was an adjustment period before he stared school so I was a little more prepared for that one.  With Lily, I had intended to go back to work after she was born and had worked up until a few weeks before she was born.  I was waiting tables at a privately owned restaurant by male owners who were less than pregnant woman friendly but the money was great so I took their crap.  I was informed by the owners they were concerned that customers would find my belly offensive and/or be afraid to ask for me for things.  Then they pulled out the doozy of all excuses of why they didn’t want me working while pregnant.  They actually told me they feared my water could break in the kitchen and that would violate health codes.  Never mind the mold and cockroaches running rampant in the kitchen of a place you’re paying $35 for a steak violating health codes.  The day I quit, I was scheduled to close lunch but I had to pick up Drew from school at 3:00.  I traded hours with another waiter who really needed the money so it worked out for everyone involved.  One of the owners caught wind of this, (even though this was commonly done but he was gunning for me), so he said:  “If you just can’t keep up anymore, maybe you shouldn’t be on the schedule until after the baby’s born”.  My pregnancy had nothing to do with my reasons for needing to leave but he was more interested in getting me and my unsightly baby bump off his staff for the next month or so.  I was a good waiter, showed up my on time, left my personal life at home and ran circles around the losers they hired who showed up late and pronounced ceviche as “ce-vetch-e”.  I quit right then and there.  I later went back to visit former coworkers and show them my new baby girl and was offered my job back.  I told them that unless hell had frozen over and I missed the memo I wouldn’t be returning.

After quitting, I went home and waited for the arrival of my little girl.  On November 21, 2005 there she was; screaming, fire engine red and perfect.  As time passed Jason and I discussed if me staying at home fulltime was a possibility.  He agreed it was something we’d both be more comfortable with and it would make life easier not to have to adjust two schedules to get Drew to and from school and school functions and have to juggle daycare.  It felt wonderful to be able to take Drew to school and to be there to pick him up and stay there after he got home.  These past five years I’ve missed nothing.  I’ve been there for everything and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.  This is a truly a blessing because I know not all mothers are this fortunate and I am thankful for this every single day.  Lily has been by my side every single day for five years.  There’s been one or two nights she and her brothers have stayed with my mom while Jason and I ran off for a weekend alone but that’s the about the extent of it.  I got so busy buying her school supplies, clothes and dealing with her eye drama that I hadn’t taken the time to think about how this would affect me emotionally.  Her first day, I had a total breakdown.  If I were to be perfectly honest, it’s winding down but I have cried every single day this week after dropping her off.  It’s tapering off and now it’s just a few streaming tears in the car on my way back home.  No longer is it the full-on ugly cry and throwing myself into the fetal position that went on the first day.  Yesterday I thought I was safe because I stood outside the cafeteria to watch her take her place in her “line” and wait for her teacher and saw a little girl in her class come sit next to her and they started talking.  Turns out it made me cry anyway because I was proud for her making new friends.  Yes, I’m pathetic but you’re just going to have to accept me in all my overbearing, clingy motherly glory.  These kids are all I know….

I’m not just bawling constantly because I miss her.  Yes, that’s a HUGE part of it but all I can think is; as fast as these five years went, Pootie will be starting kindergarten in no time.  We’ve agreed once Pootie starts school we will not only have stopped calling him Pootie and will have finally gotten him to answer to his actual name but that I will also be starting school.  We’ve begun our transition phase and it’s both exciting and scary.  If I’m not a 24/7 mommy, who am I?  I’m not so sure I know anymore.  I’ll be starting a new adventure right along with my kids.  I think I’m more afraid than they are.  As a stay-at-homer, I can attest that we become almost hermit-like and lose most of our social skills and begin to live solely for our children if you stay home for any length of time.  Hopefully it’s like riding a bike and I will re-enter society and it’ll be a breath of fresh air.  It’s so funny how in the past I would beg for silence but now the silence is making me insane.  The old adage is true:  “Be careful what you wish for….”  I’m learning to let go and look to the future even though it scares me.  Maybe when the time comes for me to start school Lily will make me a snack, hold my hand and make sure I make it to my classroom okay.  I think one little, “It’ll be okay, mommy”, will surely go a long way.

"The minute you give birth you’re gripped by an inexplicable fear; the fear of loss.  You start the journey in fear and spend every day trying to keep that unknown threat at bay.”  --  Author Unkown.

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.