Happy (Burp) Holiday

I am stuffed. I have eaten non-stop since Friday morning on the last day of school. We celebrated the end of the school year.

Then Saturday we kicked off celebrating the holiday weekend with a cookout. We had burgers and all the sides you could imagine. I know I munched enough chips to sink a ship.

Today we continued the celebration with BBQ sandwiches and every starchy side imaginable at a family get-together.

Tomorrow we'll round out the weekend with more hamburgers and too much party food.

It's like Thanksgiving for four days straight. It's the American way.

But, why?

Why do family & friend get-togethers require a gross display of way too much food? Even if we go out to eat, the appetizers, main course and desserts are big enough to make you have to unbutton your pants.

I guess it doesn't sound very much fun to invite friends over for a fasting holiday. But is it necessary to have enough food to support an entire village in Haiti for a year at one family gathering?

I know traditionally Americans have used big feasts to celebrate holidays and special occasions. But that was in a time when we ate 85% less in general. A big feast was in order.

Today, our culture has made every meal have special foods available for our consumption. You can buy a wedding cake on a Thursday just because you want some. In times past, cakes of any kind were something eaten only several times a year. Tomorrow you could go to a restaurant and have any kind of cultural cuisine used previously on special high festival occasions. Originally, these delicacies were reserved only for for the occasion.

Nothing today is "special." We are continuously looking to "treat" ourselves. We've been told over and over again we "deserve" it. We are "entitled" to it.

I propose we start a new trend: 4th of July is the next big holiday. Why don't we all vow to serve less, eat less & visit with each other more. We don't need five kinds of chips. What's up with potato salad, pasta salad, green salad, green beans and deviled eggs? How about just two sides? If there are only going to be ten people, we probably don't need to cook 35 hotdogs. And after eating all that food, maybe popsicles would suffice, instead of pie, cake, cupcakes and ice cream.

Let's make desserts be occasional and small. Let's have simpler, smaller meals as a rule, and have feasts be special. Let's make our feasts be reasonable, and not so indulgent and over-the-top.

We are Americans: Home of the Free. But freedom doesn't mean gluttony. Freedom comes with the responsibility to be good stewards of our goods so that we can continue on. And it means helping others by sharing our resources.

This weekend, even as we have our cook outs, let's be especially appreciative of our food. And of our service men and women who fight for us to be free.

There is a Traitor in Our Midst

When I was in my twenties, I couldn't understand why people would spend so much money and time using all sorts of funky products trying to look young. My mother has beautiful salt and pepper colored hair, which is now more salt than pepper. My grandmothers both aged gracefully. I believed I would embrace my aging process as a beautiful part of my life.

When I was in my thirties, my pepper colored hair began to sprout some salt. My gray hair was not only an unattractive yellow-gray, but it was course and curly- in complete opposition to my otherwise dark straight hair. All my friends who had any gray readily jumped into a Miss Clairol box and made it go away. I finally conceded to peer pressure and darkened my gray hair.

Now, in my forties, my body has completely revolted. I am seriously considering putting it on trial for high treason. My hair has "salted" up considerably. Gravity has done a pretty serious number on everything. My muscle tone has turned to something resembling old mashed potatoes. My forehead has really deep lines running east to west across it. And crow's feet have sprouted at the corners of my eyes.

Those people whose judgement I questioned in my twenties are now on my speed dial for consultation on how to rid my body of these evil encroachments on my youth. A friend was telling me about her botox injections. My interest piqued. How bad was it? How much did it cost? Most importantly: did it work? (She looked a tiny bit offended that I asked that, since technically, I suppose I should have been able to tell. But cosmetic changes are delicate, much like weight. If you tell someone they've lost a ton of weight, or look so much better, it's sort of backhanded compliment. You've told them they look so great now, because they looked so bad before...)

Now, would I actually go through anything more drastic than hair coloring? Twenty years ago I would have said "NO WAY." Today, I say, "probably not." But I'm not ruling it out. By the time I hit my fifties, I may be looking for part time jobs to fund my cosmetic procedures. I would hope I would welcome some of my aging, as I had originally planned. But there's no denying that watching your body change and age in front of your eyes is at the very least terribly unsettling.

As I watched my next door neighbor's sixteen year old daughter walk around the pool in her cute little bikini this evening, I mourned the metabolism of my youth. I wished desperately for my flat belly and my curves that were where they were supposed to be, instead of sliding down my body. And I yearned for my young skin that smoothed across my face, instead of scrunching and wrinkling.

But I looked at her mother, who is about my age and faces some of the challenges everyone my age faces. It occurred to me that my three children also had been a product of my aging. And, I may not embrace my body's aging, but I do embrace my age. I am happy where I am and with who I am, even if I'm not happy with my treasonous body.

So, bring on the hair dye, and whatever else help with the body's appearance. But keep the memories, the experiences and the love!

Punch Buggy

The kids introduced the family to a game when we were in the car. Whoever spotted a yellow car would try to shout out, "yellow car" first. It became quite the challenge for me to beat the kids at finding the yellow cars.

Keith recently changed up the game. Now whenever someone sees a Ford, BMW, VolksWagon or Lexus, they are supposed to call it out and punch the person closest in the arm. He has upped the stakes quite a bit.

This morning on the way to school, we saw many cars- especially Fords. Keith sat in the front seat next to me and tried his best to catch me off guard. I tried to explain to him that this was not one of his better ideas, as I was driving. So if he was punching me, it made it difficult for me to steer and work the gas/brake pedals properly.

He laughed and punched me again, shouting gleefully, "Ford!"

I have a bit of a competitive streak, and I hate for my parenting to be questioned when I am certain I am right. So, his reaction did not set well with me. I bit my lip and grimaced. Then I saw another Ford.

I knew I was the adult. I knew I should be setting an example. But sometimes, especially with thirteen year old boys who think they are too old to listen to their mommas, the best lesson is to show instead of tell.

I pulled my arm back and punched, screaming, "Ford!"

As he rubbed his arm and looked at me like I had just shot his dog, I said, "Hurts, doesn't it?"

"I can't believe you did that!" he yelped.

"I can't believe you won't listen to me," I retorted. "Look, Keith, you are way too big to be hitting me. And I most certainly don't want to see you punching your sisters."

"You hit me!" he stated the obvious, disbelief all over his face.

I clenched my teeth together. "I think this is a bad game. And I think we are done playing it now. What do you think?"

"Fine," he muttered. "I still can't believe you hit me so hard."

"Me? What about you? I'm going to have bruises up and down this arm from where you've hit me like six times."

"I can't help it that I see the cars before you do."

"Keith," I said, feeling my tone creep up to death-con four warning level, "We are done with this conversation."

Later that night we were in the car with hubby. Keith, being a thirteen year old boy, couldn't resist picking up the morning's game. 

"Ford!" he sang out as he whopped Emma's arm.

Emma is a wispy little thing and shot across the car, wailing and holding her arm.

Hubby was not pleased. "Keith?" he bellowed. "What are you doing?"

"Playing a game," Keith replied gleefully and without any idea how thin the ice was on which he was treading. "Whenever you see a Ford, BMW, VW or Lexus, you call it and you get to hit the person next to you."

"Son," hubby said in his best redneck authority voice. "I am only going to say this once: Don't."

"But-" Keith tried.

"No!"

"But-"

"Keith, I said no," hubby said sternly.

"Geez. Okay. Fine," Keith grumbled.

I, being mature and his mother, turned around and looked Keith in the eye while raising my eyebrows at him. When hubby stopped the car, got out and was no longer looking, I continued with my mature, maternal behavior- well, almost.

I put my arm around Keith and taunted into his ear, "Ha, ha. You were busted."

He turned and looked at me with really wide eyes. "What?"

I feigned innocence. Then I got back by his ear. "You got in trouble by Daddy," I sang in a teasing voice.

"Mom!" Keith fumed, shrugging off my arm around his shoulder.

"Keith, be respectful of your mother!" hubby demanded.

"Honey, it's okay," I soothed. I felt a little bad getting Keith in trouble again. But just a little.

So, maybe hubby spared my arm a few bruises by calling an official truce. But in reality, he probably just delayed the inevitable.

Teenage boys are looking for ways to be affectionate without looking weak. While Keith is very good about sharing hugs and holding my hand in the car, when there are no eyes to witness, in public, he is still groping with how to express "cool affection".

I imagine for the next couple of years, at least, I'll be wrestling, punching, getting noogies, and being body checked. All in the name of love.

"Hee Haw" Happens

My children have never experienced "Hee Haw," which aired on television when I was younger. We watched it as a family and laughed. However, it was that country bumpkin stereotype that also pushed me out of the entire southern part of the United States when I was old enough to go.

I eventually returned, and was very glad to be here. I have even developed a bit of a fondness for the "Hee Haw" stereotype. Of course, it's easy to love now that there is no "Hee Haw" to perpetuate it.

One of the skits Glen Campbell and the gang would do regularly was a song that went "Doom, Despair and Agony on Me." Yesterday I could relate all too well.

I had a lot going on at work. Too much really. But it's the end of the month and a holiday weekend, so a couple of things turned into a lot of things fast!

We have also had my van in Murfreesboro (about 45 minutes away) for the last several days getting a tune up. A friend of hubby's brother works at Nissan and was able to get our car back to better-than-new. But it meant hubby and I had to share a car for the week.

After I got my work under some kind of control I went to go pick up my kids from school in hubby's car. As I sat in the Middle School/High School pick up line, my car stalled and wouldn't start back up.

I had to get out of the car and wave people around me while my kids slunk down far into their seats certain they would die of embarrassment. I tried calling hubby at work to get his take on what was going on with the car. I knew he couldn't really help or come get me; I had his car.

But I couldn't find hubby anywhere. Finally, I switched tactics and called my mom. She came out to rescue me. By this time there was no one left at school besides me and the kids.

Hubby had finally called back and suggested that my battery was dead. So Mom and I were going to jump start it from her battery. Only neither of us had ever actually done that.

My kids were beyond bored and hot by this time. And their whining earned them a snappy warning from me. I hate having to correct my kids in front of my parents. I know they understand more than anyone. But I still always feel like I'm not as good of a parent as they are, and surely they know some strategy or technique that can get the kids to do exactly as they want them to, and make it sound fun in the process.

Anyway, Mom and I gingerly put red on each positive sign on the batteries and black on each negative and started the car. A few moments later we had my car going. Whew! Now we just had to get it to Wal-Mart without it dying again. So I drove with no air, no radio, no anything that would pull from that battery.

The auto mechanic at Wal-Mart said my battery was completely past being able to be recharged. And he said they could change it. Of course, it was going to be another $100. Which we really didn't have. Since we were servicing our other car. And it's the end of the school year with teacher gifts. And we have eight birthday gifts to get. And I had to put a deposit down for the kids' camps for this summer.

But, we bit the bullet. And finally we had the car back.

Finally, I began to breathe.

I know there are much worse/more serious/more dangerous situations that people have every single minute of every single day. But all my little situations seemed to pile up all at once in the afternoon heat in the car rider line at school.

I wanted nothing more than to throw a great big temper tantrum followed immediately by a Texas-sized glass of red wine and then a pitcher of margaritas. Instead, I took deep breaths and tried to imagine myself on a beautiful, deserted beach with nothing but the sound of the ocean and the late afternoon sun.

As the day began to resolve itself, I found myself humming, "Doom, Despair and Agony on Me... If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all..."

"Hee Haw" might be gone, but it is not forgotten. It helped lighten my mood and even smile a little. I tried explaining it to the kids. But I guess it's really something that just has to be experienced.

But to all of you who remember, I send a warm "Hee Haw" sa-lute! And I wish ya'll a jim-dandy day! Now come on back, you hear?

This and That

The family & I drove out to Murfreesboro tonight to get my car repaired. The deal is that I needed it serviced: breaks, oil, belts, etc. This is a big 'ole expense. BUT, hubby's brother knows a guy who can do all that for a fraction of the cost. Woo Hoo! The catch was, we had to take it to him in Murfreesboro.

While we were out there, we visited with hubby's sister-in-law, and his sister and brother-in-law.  Then, we found a Bojangle's Chicken & Biscuits. Okay, I need to say that their sausage biscuits are something I would fight my momma for! So I was in southern culinary heaven. The kids agreed with my assessment, and we all petitioned the manager to build one in Hendersonville.

On the way home, the girls sang Michael Buble', Shania Twain, Owl City and Justin Beiber. Keith slumped in the back seat with his head phones on, trying very hard to ignore his sisters and their complete un-coolness. Of course, hubby and I had to pick at him a little bit, and encourage the girls just to make Keith crazy.

When we got home, we watched the American Idol we had recorded, and hubby and I gave our own critiques of the singers and the judges. The kiddos wanted to watch Glee, but we were completely done for the night, and made them take showers and go to bed.

All-in-all, a great night. We'll be shuffling around for the next several days with only one car. I missed book club tonight, which made me quite sad. And we have to go back out to Murfreesboro to retrieve our car when it is ready.

But it is all worth the blessing of being able to save some money. And the even bigger blessing of some quality family togetherness.  

That makes my mommy heart very, very happy! :)