she said

Dirty Santa and the Great Mystery

Posted on December 26, 2015December 18, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

The way I see it there are three good gift types:
1. Something you need that you can’t afford. (Furniture; new car tires; stainless steel cookware; etc.)
2. Something frivolous you love that you would not likely buy for yourself. ($100 hurricane lamp; rabbit-lined leather gloves; 600-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets)
3. Something fun that suits your personality and interests. (a massage; tickets to a concert; a first-edition book)

This leads me to question the “Dirty Santa” game we play with my husband’s family each Christmas. The girls bring a girl gift, the guys bring a guy gift. The girl stuff ranges from spa gift cards to jewelry to chocolate. No problem there. It is the guy stuff that perplexes me. This year the gifts were as follows: wire-ties4 Electrical tape; Duct tape; garden hose roll-up thingy; plastic rain gauge; wrench; box cutter; a dozen pairs of work gloves; and various colors of plastic cable ties. Seriously. And they grappled over these things like Hungry Hungry Hippos going after marbles.

Now, I gave this some thought. The girl gift equivalents would look something like: A travel sewing kit; box of safety pins; nail clippers; twelve pairs of yellow dishwashing gloves; spatula; a curling iron caddy; and an old lady clear-plastic rain bonnet.

Am I the only one who sees the humor in this? These are not gifts. These are the purchases of 5 men who do not have a clue how to shop and were equally relieved that none of the other guys knew how to shop either.

Gift cards make sense to me. Big boy toys I can appreciate. Electronic gadgets I understand. Game systems I even like myself. But plastic cable ties remain a mystery to me.

Family, Hippy-Dippy Stuff, Parenting

Visions of Sugar Plums…

Posted on December 17, 2015December 6, 2016 by stephanie2morrow

I did not feed my children anything sugary until they were 2. I figured, why give it to them when they don’t even know what they’re missing? Besides, no candy for them meant more for me. 🙂

Anyway, for Kevin’s first Christmas (he was 11 months old), his sister (7) wanted to decorate our tree with a candy-cane motif. So we hung candy canes, candy cane tree strung homemade peppermint garland, wove in red & white striped ribbon, and adorned the very top with our traditional Santa hat. It was super cute!

Now, because we were “family bed” people, Kevin didn’t have a nursery. For that matter, he didn’t even have a crib to confine him. He was, what I call, a “wandering baby”. You just never knew where he was going to be when you woke up.

One morning during the holiday season (pretty sure it was “7 Swans a Swimming” day), I woke to odd noises emanating from the living room. Remember that sound your great uncle made when he was trying to suck a piece of pork chop out from between his front teeth? Yeah, same sound.

A quick investigation revealed those wet, slurpy noises to be my barely-steady-on-his-feet baby boy, standing as high on tiptoes as footie pajamas would allow. His neck outstretched like a Serengeti giraffe as he nursed the end of a no-longer-decorative candy cane.

He had bitten off the plastic wrap, then sucked the peppermint to a dangerously sharp point. The slurps and groans grew increasingly louder as he neared the end of his height range in relation to the dwindling stick of candy.

He pivoted quickly when I asked, “Kevie…whatcha doing?”

Verbal communication was not exactly his strong point, but the cuteness factor told me everything I needed to know. He broke out in a 6-toothed grin, pointed at the candy stripes and enthusiastically implied, “Dearest mother, it’s not that I don’t appreciate your generous and abundant breastmilk, but woman…you’ve been holding out on me!”

Family, Parenting, Uncategorized

the calm before the storm

Posted on December 10, 2015December 17, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

We are entering the season: traveling, Christmas shopping, decorating, the early December “calm before the storm.” I love the holiday season. Really, I do. I just want it to last twice as long and be four times less hectic. And while I’m not generally a procrastinator, except when it comes to Christmas shopping. I haven’t even begun to think about it, much less actually do it. (sigh)

I love the cold, the dark, the white twinkle lights, humongous bows on packages, snow, boiled custard, holiday get-togethers, timers that automatically turn my trees on and off, Christmas music, my rabbit-lined leather gloves, appetizers, holiday movies, sweaters, and reminiscing about previous years as we hang each ornament on the tree . . .

aalights (2) I’m not so crazy about wrapping gifts, turkey in any form, pulling boxes out of the attic, property taxes, vacuming pine needles, “Santa Baby”, pumping gas when it’s 18 degrees, or, one of the great mysteries of life: untangling Christmas tree lights which were most definitely NOT tangled when we put them away 11 months ago…

Mostly I just love the whole “being together” thing – the dropping of everything else that clutters our lives every other day of the year to munch on maple bacon and boiled shrimp the size of your palm, play cards, and laugh at each other. That’s my favorite part of Christmas.

Well, that and “How the Grinch Stole Christmas.”

Family, Just Funny, Minimalism, Parenting, Uncategorized

Refined Taste

Posted on December 5, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

Standing here at the stove, making a big pot of chili (and wondering just exactly how much cumin is too much?), I realize I’m going to have to make a cracker run before the cowboy packs his lunch. Eating gluten-free has had so many benefits, but good crackers is not one of them. In fact, I have come to the conclusion that gluten-free crackers are not crackers at all, but merely packing material disguised with flaxseed.

cracker club I don’t know if you’re a fan of crackers or not, but they rank pretty high on my snack food list. Club crackers, much like eggs and toilet paper, are a staple at our house. Remember when they used to be in 2-packs in a basket on every table in every restaurant in North America, and how you would make a half-dozen sweet-&-sour cracker sandwiches waiting for your WonTon Soup to be served?

Anyway, one time the kids asked me if I would buy them some more “Good Crackers”. I assumed they were asking if I would replace the Club crackers, you know, since I had finished them off prematurely in a big bowl of milk as though they were corn flakes. So, next shopping day, I brought home a couple of the green boxes.

They never complained, but the next time I was Kroger-bound they asked again,“Please Mom, would you buy The Good Crackers THIS time?” Sure! Since Clubs weren’t “the good ones”, cracker goldfish I splurged on a sack of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish (which are price-equivalent to a 16-oz ribeye). This time I was met with enthusiasm! Yes! Score one for Mom! Goldfish crackers are practically CANDY to children. I mean, how do you not love the snack that smiles back? They enjoyed feasting on them for several days.

However, the question was soon asked a third time: “Mom, you keep promising to buy the Good Crackers. This time, please?” The Goldfish weren’t right either? What ARE the Good Crackers? crackers wheat thins The children couldn’t tell me by name. So, again I perused the Ritz and Cheese Nips and Triscuits, and decided they must want Wheat Thins. Once home, I waved the yellow box in front of them with a satisfied smile and asked, “Are theeeeese what you wanted?” Two disappointed little faces told me I had failed as a parent.

More weeks passed, and on this trip to the market, the kids were with me. As we strolled down the cookie/cracker aisle, they came to a screeching halt.

They stood, frozen in their tracks, staring at the floor. Heaven opened up. Beams of light illuminated the place at my children’s feet, and I heard the faint singing of the Hallelujah Chorus.

“Mom!!! The GOOD crackers! Please!?”

I looked, and there, at their feet, were the Saltines.

The good crackers.

Family, Just Funny, Quirks and Other Weirdness

traditionally untraditional part two. OR why Kevin wasn’t allowed to eat the rum cake.

Posted on November 28, 2015November 22, 2016 by stephanie2morrow

The most bizarre of the untraditional has to be the characters around our table and the conversation that ensued. Did we share all the things for which we are thankful? No. Did we discuss politics- Hillary, the Donald, immigration, or the economy? Thank heavens, no. Was there mention of deflated footballs, California wildfires or Syrian refugees? A discussion of the year’s best books or most disappointing movies? No. No. No. No. No.

Instead, Kevin nearly stabbed the cowboy in the face (accidentally?) with a steak knife, while Mom displayed a burn on her hand from a glue-gun mishap.

The 10-person, full-table Thanksgiving dinner discussion
went something like this:

“Three things you should never grab with your bare hands:a pan right out of the oven, a sharp knife, and a hot glue gun.”

“AND OH, THE ARK OF THE COVENANT!” the cowboy instantly interjected.

Kacey and I reenact the face-melting scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark.

“Yeah, that would be a bad way to die.”

“True. Speaking of bad ways to die: would you rather get chomped in half by a

shark or swallowed whole by a whale?”

“Shark…no, wait…whale.”

“Seriously?!?!”

“Yeah…I’m afraid that the lower half of me would be bitten off by a shark,
and the upper half would still be alert and know what was happening.”

“True, but if you were swallowed whole by a whale,
you might get in there and find out you aren’t alone.”

Kevin waved, pretending to be inside a whale, and said, “Hi Elvis!”

“Speaking of dead, how many squirrels have you killed at the bookstore this year, Dad?”

“342 of those glorified rats, all with a single shot 22!”

Wow. These potatoes are so creamy.

Of course none of those squirrels were shot when Nana was around!”

“Of course not! Nana would set them free, then cut down an oak tree so they can find food without endangering themselves.”

(Nana asks if anyone wants rum cake. We are all stuffed from pork tenderloin and potatoes, so the answer is a unanimous “no“).

The conversation continues with my sweet 90-year-old grandmother: “I used to catch mice and put them in the garbage disposal.”

I’m sorry…WHAT???????

She repeats with her delicate soprano voice, “I used to catch mice and put them in the garbage disposal.”

Shock and Awe. Oh, and Disgust.

Kacey turns three shades of green (chartreuse, pistachio and olive drab, to be exact) and begins to look like she is going to lose her just-eaten holiday meal.

Nana asks if anyone wants rum cake. It has been approximately 6 minutes since the last time she asked. The answer is a resounding, and again unanimous, “NO!”

Since Kacey is now feeling pukey, she shared the memories of a “Fear Factor” competition from her college days at Lipscomb when she finished drinking a pureed hamburger, peanut butter and DIRT milkshake and was the only remaining female competitor.

(Yes, yes. A proud moment INDEED in her $80,000 college career.)

Kacey tells her end of the table (mostly men): “After that I quit. The final contest involved eating bull balls.”

The mostly female end of the table didn’t quite hear her, so she repeated louder, “After that I quit. The final contest involved eating bull testicles.”

The cowboy then wanted to know why she felt comfortable using the term “balls” with him, but chose to say “testicles” to the matriarchs.

These potatoes are so creamy.

“I used to eat brains and eggs. I liked brains and eggs.”

“Gross. I can’t imagine eating brains, though I do like me some eggs.”

“Hyena eggs?”

“WHAT?”

“You said ‘hyena eggs’.”

“No I didn’t. I said ‘I do like me some eggs’.”

“Oh. Nevermind.”

“Speaking of balls, when is Nana going to pass on her Christmas ornaments to the girls?”

“HEY! Some of those decorations are MINE!” Kevin objected.

“Yes,” Kacey said, “But the Frosty Friends are all mine.”

“Fine. But I get all the Star Wars ornaments!”

Yes, because nothing says “Happy Birthday, Jesus

” quite like a Sith lord.

“Speaking of frosty, anybody want rum cake?”

“NO!!!”

“Well, what does everybody want for Christmas?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t even started thinking about Christmas yet,” says my mother.

“How can you not be thinking about Christmas when the entire house is decorated for it already!?!?”

“I had to start decorating early, we’re having a party here next weekend. I can’t relax till it’s done!”

“Speaking of relaxing, did I tell you I had a facial last Monday? It lasted for a full 90 minutes.”

“I got a pedicure for Christmas one year. It lasted for a full 9 months.”

“Nine months? The pedicure lasted for 9 months?”

“No, the polish on my toenails lasted for 9 months.”

Dad interjected, “Apparently they painted her toes with automotive enamel.”

“Really, ya’ll, does anybody want rum cake?”

We finally acquiesced and imbibed in a rum cake so strong it was illegal for Kevin to eat. Then we cleared the table, put away the wheat stalks and turkey rings and helped Nana redecorate the dining room with a trio of glittered Christmas trees.

Just Funny, Quirks and Other Weirdness

traditionally untraditional. part one.

Posted on November 26, 2015October 18, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

My family loves to be traditionally untraditional, especially when it comes to holiday food.

For years Mom would faithfully get up in the wee hours of the morning to baste the turkey – only for us all to admit years later that none of us even like turkey. We had a few years of trial-and-error options like fried turkey and Tofurkey and Turducken and othersuch critter combinations (just don’t say it incorrectly in front of the children!), but they all taste like they sound.

For the last few years, Dad has thrown caution to the wind and prepared either a prime rib or a pork tenderloin with a Jack Daniels marinade, glazed with a brown sugar/cranberry reduction, while Mom double-stuffed the potatoes and maple-glazed the bacon and over-soaked the rum cake. It is nothing short of A-mazing.

thanks26 Adding to the traditionally untraditional feel for our holidays is Mom’s flair for decorating. The dining room is completely harvest-festive, from the dramatic stalks of wheat reigning over the tablescape, to the subtle touches like leaf-shaped pats of butter, to the whimsical turkey-embossed napkin rings.

Why is that untraditional, you ask?

Because my mother callously engages in the practice of irreverent holiday jumping.

While the dining room is harvest-festive, you should understand that Thanksgiving is confined to that space, and that space only. If you venture out of the dining room, it’s like stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia, because sometime back in August she began completely Decking the Halls for Christmas…and the front porch and the den and the garden room and the foyer and all the bedrooms AND THE BATHROOMS.

516oO0W3S4L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_ I am so not kidding. Sometimes there are as many as EIGHT lighted trees, all with different themes and/or color schemes. The house rivals a the Southern Living Christmas edition.

I, on the other hand, am still contemplating whether or not I want to go to the effort of putting a pine wreath on my front door.

Uncategorized

You Bet Your Aspergillus OR It’s Not that Easy Bein’ Green

Posted on November 15, 2015November 15, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

Today is “National Clean Out Your Refrigerator” day.

Seriously. I don’t make this stuff up.

24c96-polls_grossfridge_2159_235036_answer_7_xlarge I fully intended to celebrate the holiday in style with green glitter, a Jell-0 salad, and possibly an old “Got Milk?” t-shirt from my breastfeeding days, but I got distracted by the final season of Downton Abbey, and, well, you know.

Better late than never, right? After all, if I wasn’t a procrastinator, my fridge would be all sparkly and organized and I wouldn’t have found myself donning the yellow rubber gloves to tackle this job, now would I?

I began with the top shelf, useful only for items under five inches tall. Spicy 3-pepper hummus, Manuka honey, cottage cheese, jams, jellies, and yogurt, because as much as I hate yogurt, I seem to be unable to not buy it. So, I checked the printed expiration date on the sides of each one, because yogurt tastes exactly the same before, after, and even WAY after it has “gone bad”.

The top shelf also contained seven – SEVEN jars of jalapenos. Why? Apparently to keep the 8 jars of salsa from getting lonely. I must have been planning a Cinco de Mayo party back in June when I discovered that Cinco de Mayo didn’t have anything to do with mayonnaise. Anyway…I combined the half-empty jars, the mostly empty jars, and the one that seemed to have been saved for the juice alone, reducing the jalapeno count to three, but all of the salsas had crusty residue under the lids, so they had to go.

I discovered something on the middle shelf that required a Haz-Mat Team.
I’m pretty certain, at one time, that toxic Tupperware actually contained a half-eaten block of sweetened Philadelphia Cream Cheese surrounded by blackberries. Today, all covered in enough fuzz to be this year’s Chia Pet, it looked more like The Walking Dead in a Snap-n-Seal.

An Italian take-out box dripping with butter had been shoved onto the bottom shelf, and had collided with a carton of eggs, cracking one and overturning some heavy cream and a container of grated parmesan. The result was a petrified Alfredo Sauce strong enough to cement styrofoam containers to plexiglass.

Finally, in the crisper drawers, I discovered my first UFO (the “F” is for Fermenting), which appeared to be both a solid and a liquid in one gelatinous blob, and something that could, quite possibly, be a shrunken head from the Huambisa tribe in the Amazon Basin.

Or an old plum. Hard to tell.

After utilizing an entire bottle of vinegar (because I’m trying to be “green”), an entire roll of Brawny (because I’m not THAT “green”), the shop-vac and the air compressor, the job was complete.

I’m relieved “National Clean Out Your Fridge Day” only comes around once a year.

I’d hate to have to do this every week.

Just Funny

It’s got character

Posted on November 7, 2015November 15, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

In my younger years I was a television junkie. I turned the TV on during the Today Show and turned it off during Letterman. I didn’t sit and watch it all day, mind you, but it was ON. Omnipresent in the background, you might say.

And I paid attention. I could rock the pink category in Trivial Pursuit like nobody’s business. (For you children, Trivial Pursuit is the “hard copy” forerunner of last year’s wildly inferior Trivia Crack. You had to actually use your arms to roll dice and move game pieces. It was a gruelling process.)

Television is not high on my priority list these days. I mean, I don’t have a clue why The Walking Dead killed off Glenn or why Kurt Weller’s name is tattooed on Jane Doe’s back.

Often I go days without ever flipping on the 42” screen that dominates my cozy little den. When I do, it’s to catch two-thirds of a day-old Jimmy Fallon on Hulu, or fawn over a composite of Jeremy Renner clips on YouTube. That, however, is a confessional blog for another day.

Three or four times a year I binge-watch shows that comes highly recommended, like two of my favorites, House of Cards or Newsroom.

So I know I’m five years behind the curve, but lately I’ve been on a Downton Abbey spree. Fabulous wardrobes; historical references; wonderfully, Britishly understated melodrama.

My husband, however, refuses to watch along, mentally placing Downton Abbey in the same category as monogrammed handbags, ostentatious gift-wrapping, and herbal tea lattes.

Yes, the show’s language, clothing, and notions of class-distinction are antiquated. Okay, so Lady Mary isn’t a cowgirl. And Lord Grantham doesn’t grunt, but rather makes eye contact and speaks in grammatically proper sentences. And Carson, the butler, wouldn’t be caught dead discussing a fart. Ever.

Compared to Django or The Hangover, Downton could almost appear, well, educational.

Still, I contend that Downton’s cast mimics the characters of every other tv show, albeit better dressed. Like Mad Men or Grey’s Anatomy or whatever drama you prefer, ee45b75b6013715ce76b729e8c2e86144f4e2e992fd6d7139932ce1b2927ec41 there’s the schemer, the snob, the liar, the gossip, the rebel, the clueless, the pot-stirrer, the goody-two-shoes, the scandalous, and the pitiful, all interacting for the purpose of amusement.

Come to think of it, Downton mimics the characters I know in real life as well, all of whom interact for the purpose of amusement, they just don’t realize it. Without them, my life would far less interesting. Also without them, I would have no reason to don my tiara and feel superior. (I do hope you detect the tongue in my cheek.)

So here’s to the characters, fictional and real, who make the plot lines of my own little drama infinitely more entertaining.

Family, Just Funny, Parenting

Cool Hand Kevin

Posted on November 2, 2015November 5, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

To preface this story, I almost never wear sunglasses – they’re oppressive, like socks. But I bought a blingy diva pair anyway, for a 14-hour Texas trip, and I tucked them away in my purse.

260575528409591555Tgmf1bB0c A few hours into the drive, somewhere around west Memphis, Kevin wanted to stretch out a bit. He started rearranging all the bags and snacks and speakers and road trip stuff in an attempt to build his nest.

“Hey, before you get too comfortable,” I said, “we’re about to head west so I’m going to need my glasses out of my purse.”

“Huh?” he responded eloquently.

I repeated myself, speaking slowly this time, “We’re…about…to…head…west…so… I’m…going…to…need…my…glasses…out…of…my…purse.”

“WHY do you need your glasses when we turn west????” he quizzed with a look of irritation.

“Well, Kevin, let’s use our brain and find the answer to that question. Why do YOU think I need my glasses?”

“I dunno.”

“What happens when we turn westward?”

“Um…the letters on the signs get smaller???”

What we’ve got here is failure to communicate.

Let’s try this again. “Kev, before you get too comfortable, we’re about to head west so I’m going to need my SUNglasses out of my purse, not my EYEglasses.”

Family, Just Funny, Parenting

Dissecting Frogs in the Car

Posted on October 30, 2015October 19, 2015 by stephanie2morrow

Did you know the word “gullible” is not in the dictionary?

1526092_766739986239_1681683817_n My kids love to pick on each other. I mean, they SAY they love each other, but they agitate until they are exasperated.

Once, not so awfully long ago, Kevin convinced Kacey he was left-handed. (Kacey was 23, Kevin, 16) She was so befuddled by his insistence, she marched into the den with her hands on her hips and proclaimed, “He is NOT left-handed………… IS HE?????” Of course, he is not, and she KNEW that, he is just such a stinking convincing liar that she began to doubt herself.

A few nights later, before Kevin and I took a road trip to Texas, he and Kacey were talking on the phone. He was moaning about all the school work he was going to have to do on our car trip. 1917367_198145571800_4446435_n (2) She told him to “suck it up” and “do the work like a man” when he said something like, “Well that’s easy for you to say…you don’t have to dissect a frog in the car!”

“Neither do you, goofball.”

“YES I DO!”

“Kevin, you cannot possibly dissect a frog in the car. Why don’t you just do it when you come back on Monday?”

“Because I have to make a diagram, label all the parts, and have it turned in by Friday night!”

“Kevin, you are such a liar!”

“Kacey, I’m serious. I’ve got to dissect this stupid frog in the car on the way to Texas!”

“Seriously???”

1917367_207857431800_3306124_n “Um, yeah. And by the way, I’m left-handed.”

Kacey gave him a verbal long-distance lashing for making her feel gullible yet again, while he and I fought back tears of laughter.

Is it okay that I’m strangely proud of my kid for being a great ~~actor~~ liar?