Playin' in da Hood

It's so nice that we take our children to such reputable, pleasant playgrounds to spend time. The embroidered pants and Children's Place fleece go perfectly with the grafitti. I guess my old 'hood is going downhill. At least neither the children, nor we, have any idea what it says.
Sensing the danger that only 16 month olds can, Tradd tried to make a break for it. The whole scene made Benny's hair stand on end. The older children, the ones who are supposed to protect our growing brood, they were content to make dinosaur nests and toss the youngsters to the maddening crowd. You just can't get good help anymore. I suppose we have to continue keeping our eyes out for them still.
Seriously, though, I just don't understand this kind of grafitti. What's the point. Oooo. Yay, you! You staked your claim on a preschool playground. Good job. No one knows what the heck it says except for your junkie friends, but I'm sure they're all thouroughly impressed because that soggy bit of ground over where you left your mark? Yeah, that's prime real estate. Thanks for spending my tax dollars to pay some government employee to cover up your bout of spray paint diarreah. Times aren't tight enough.

Random Wednesday Morning Thoughts

* Why is it that the one day that you don't shower and your hair is as greasy as the fry station at McDonald's and your clothes are horrible and your younger child is still in his footless pajamas even though it's probably too chilly outside for that but that's OK because you're not even getting out of the car.... Why is it that on that morning your older child's school closes down the carpool line 10 minutes early so that you have to parade your white trash momma butt and upcountry shoeless pajama-clad baby through the school?

* Sometimes, when I'm driving around town, particularly leaving James Island on the Connector, looking over at the city, I can't believe that Poppa isn't somewhere out there doing the same thing - driving through this city that he loved, this city that helped make him the man we all loved, this city that was so reflected in his speech and mannerisms and temperament. Sometimes when I see an old man in a car, memories of Poppa come rushing back to me and I'm overwhelmed that he is gone. I find that odd - that I only achingly miss him when I'm in traffic, and not at home, in the quiet, reflective times I would expect to grieve over his loss.

* I need to start making lists. I think I will be much more productive if I do. All the time, I think of things I need to do, but then, during naps when I have the time, I am often at a loss as to what I should accomplish during those precious few hours.

Look! My Keyboard Works!

It's a good thing we have a wonderful network of blogger friends who do their best to keep us on our toes and keep us up to date with our blogging. I don't know why, but I have found it difficult to blog recently. It's not for a lack of things to blog about. There are always funny and important things to jot down with two growing boys in the house. I think what I need to do is put a "Blogging Appointment" on my calendar at least twice a week. It's so easy to get on the computer during naptime and although I do it nearly everyday, I find myself reading and not writing. So, from here on out, I will make a concerted effort to update more regularly, even if it's just to note something silly or momentous one of the boys has done.
In the meantime, I did find this great site where you can upload your pictures and make a short slideshow with music. As long as you only do the quick "movies", it's free. I spent (wasted) an hour or so playing with the other day. I can't figure out how to get it on this blog. It keeps going to my photo blog, so I've just embedded it as a gadget here. Hope it works.

And So It Begins

It's going to be a long autumn. The Democratic National Convention started tonight and so did Bryant's yelling at the television. Great. I can't wait for the back to back political ads to start. Time to turn of the tv. At least I agree with him.

Why have all the recent presidential elections all been about choosing the lesser of two evils? When are we going to get someone decent to make it all the way to the White House?

In a Handbasket

What is happening to our society? While some may blame Colonel Sanders (before him, the only thing to eat food out of a bucket was a hog [J.G.]), my vote is currently for Wal-Mart. I don't know whether it's the "always low prices" or the fact that you can buy a car battery, underwear, and blue cheese all in the same place that makes people forget any semblance of courtesy, or the fact that no matter what time of day or night, the place is packed with droves of people. Personally, I believe it is because, even though there are at least 25 registers possible, the brain trust that run that place only open about 5 of them. Even the self-checkout lanes only have 2 of 4 open. Really!? Would it require that much more work from your crack team of employees to let us check ourselves out by opening those two other self-checkouts? I would rather you just get rid of the unused registers because seeing them sitting there, an untapped resource of efficiency, makes me more frustrated than just waithing in your neverending line. It doesn't matter that each line is backed up past the main aisle of the store. It doesn't matter that half of the employees seem to be aimlessly wandering the store looking for something to do (or probably trying to hide from having to do anything). For some reason, customer satisfaction no longer exists when it comes to actually paying for your things and leaving the store. Trust me, if this is some sort of corporate mind game to make me stay in the store longer and buy more things, you've only accomplished the exact opposite. It makes me never want to enter the store again.
Anyway, my most recent encounter with the dregs of society was on Monday. After naptime, I took the boys to pick up a couple of things. Unfortunately, there was some sort of accident between me and the other nearest grocery store, and traffic was backed up and not moving, so I headed to Wally World. I actually got a decent parking place, picked up 5 items in all of 8 minutes, and went to check out. Welcome to 30 minutes you'll never get back. I was paying cash. I got into the 1 of 2 open self-checkout lanes, behind approximately 10 people. Prepared to settle in for the subsequent whining and fidgetyness, I started counting the minutes. But then! What's this? A cashier is opening up in the lane next to me. I, my two children, my five items, and my cash make our way over. Suddenly we are nearly hit by a teeny bopper sorority chick with a cart full of things. Technically, it was a tie, but, being southern, I said, "Oh, may I just go ahead?", fully expecting freedom from this hellhole in a matter of minutes now. She said, "No!" I was dumbfounded. Are you kidding me. What a bitch! Furious and knowing that if I opened my mouth it would surely make it onto the six o'clock news, I went back to my previous lane, luckily, there was a very nice woman who let me back in. I think she was a shocked as I was. How rude!
I regret not saying anything. I had thought that if I bumped into them on the way out, I would say, "This will come back to you." and leave it at that. Luckily, there was no such encounter. I was still fuming and probably couldn't have kept my cool like that. At home that night, B actually gave me what would have been the perfect thing to say. I should have looked her straight in the eye and said, "This will be you someday, two children, the witching hour, a few items in your cart. I hope you bump into someone just as rude and inconsiderate as you are and remember this day." Why didn't I say that!?!? I feel like George Costanza coming up with his "Jerkstore" comeback later in the day. UUGGGHHHH! The only saving grace to the whole thing was that, even with her obnoxious behavior, I still made it out before her.
But wait, there's more. Later that night, at the movies with my peeps, we noticed a man speaking very loudly during the previews. No big deal, we were sure as soon as the movie started he would stop. Only he didn't. Although I'm sure he was constantly talking, I only occasionally noticed it, probably due to all the songs in the movie. Anyway, the last time I noticed it, about three quarters through the movie, it was incessant and loud. We took it for a while, then, bolstered by my reticence at my earlier encounter with rudeness, I finally got up and said something to him. I wasn't rude or loud, I just went up to them and whispered that they were being a little loud. Shortly after I sat down, they got up and left. I didn't feel bad about it or sorry for them. If they had wanted to get together for a chat, they should have gone to a restaurant. I mean really, this was a middle aged couple. Shouldn't they know better?
I think it's time we all stood up to rude and obnoxious behavior. I'm tired of sitting by and letting jacklegs ruin what should be enjoyable times for the rest of us. It's hard to always come up with something to say spur of the moment, but remember, if all else fails, you can always hit them with, "Yeah! Well, the Jerkstore called, and they said they're all out of you!"

The Boy Box

And you thought there wasn't anything better than a box full of toys! See what happens when you finally clean out all the old toys.

10 Things

1. Despite the appearance of my house, I am, at heart, a neat freak. I like a place for everything and everything in its place. I'm trying, but there is a powerful force in my household that is working against me. (And it ain't the children.)
2. I love, love, love Mel Brooks and Monty Python movies.
3. I have found in life that the things that are the hardest are always worth doing, and they generally turn out to be easier than I originally thought. Particularly when it comes to undertaking milestones in raising your children.
4. Ever since I had children, I find myself much more prone to tears. Sappy commercials and shows can get me every time, and I would just as soon not talk about, read about, or see any situation where children are irreparably hurt. No need for that, thanks.
5. I stopped working outside the home after Benny Boy was born. I love it and wouldn't trade a single day of being a SAHM, but every once in a while, I miss the people I used to work with. They were such a great group of people, and we always had wonderful, stimulating conversations. We laughed all the time.
6. I know almost every word to every song that I like, but I can't carry a tune in a bucket. The sad thing is that when I'm alone, I think I actually sound pretty good. It's a curse.
7. I have a very stringent protocol when it comes to drinking beverages. I love real Coke, but it must be consumed as follows: straight from a can or glass bottle. If it is poured over ice, it must be into a glass, not a plastic cup, unless it comes from a fountain, then it can go into a vessel of any make. I like it best from a glass bottle or can straight from the cooler. It gets colder than the fridge can make it (and usually, when it is pulled from a cooler, it means we are in the boat, and that makes everything better.) I'm not crazy about Diet Coke, but I can drink that in anything - cup, glass, styrofoam, can, but I will not drink fountain Diet Coke. Milk must be in a glass - period.
8. It drives me crazy when people use improper English. I'm convinced people think that if they can add more syllables to what they are saying, it will make them seem smarter. Using "myself" when it should be "me" only makes you seem smarter to idiots. And don't get me started on using "I" instead of "me".
9. I built shelves in my garage - big shelves, and I did it all by myself. I asked a few people for advice when I was trying to plan how I was going to do it because I had to attach them to a cinderblock wall. I couldn't get my head around it or come up with a design until I actually started building them. Then it all just fell into place. I'm really proud of these shelves. They ain't pretty, but they're solid, and they work.
10. I'm 32, and I still look at cadets and college football/basketball players as being older than I am. I wonder when that will ever change. Hopefully not for a long, long time.

I tag Jodie, Gwen, and Anne.

Bringing the Politics Home

You might not have noticed it the first time you looked (I missed it too), but that is my godson right above John McCain. Reason enough to vote for him? Not so sure, but it's still pretty neat. And yes, Miller, I would like to know why you ended up on that stage with him!

There's a Special Place For People Like Me

I took the boys yesterday to meet Daddy for lunch. We went to the playground behind his office. It is this massive complex with soccer fields, baseball fields, two playgrounds, walking trails, and a picnic area. It must cover about 20 acres. Because we arrived before Daddy (go figure), I drove all around to see everything. There were maybe three other cars there. All were occupied by people sitting in the driver's seats, eating their lunches. There were so few people there that when I got back to the first playground, I decided to park in the handicapped space right next to the entrance to the playground. I figured I would be there a while by myself with the boys, and I would probably have to go back to the car for something, and since the only regular spots were a good distance away, and I wouldn't leave Reeves on the playground if I went that far, and no one was there, I would be OK to park there. Even though we were so obviously alone, I still had a little twinge of guilt, but I was able to convince myself that I was justified in my decision, given the remoteness and solitude of the playground and the fact that I was manageing two children by myself.
No sooner had we settled in to heavy playground play than a big blue van pulled into the parking lot. At first I was a nervous due to the aforementioned remoteness and solitude, but it was quickly apparent that this was a van full of disabled people. Relief...no wait! They had been brought to the park to eat lunch at the nearby picnic area. I felt terrible! Of all days to have taken a handicapped spot! Then I saw that there was still a spot even closer to where they were going, so my guilt diminished a bit. They probably wouldn't have chosen the spot I had taken anyway. I had caused no undue stress on them or required any extra effort. Then...the second van pulled in. This one had to park on the other side of my car. Granted, it was only an extra ten feet or so, but I was crushed. What are the odds?
I have always been appalled by people who pull out a handicapped tag and hang it on their mirror in order to take the spots at the stores and then don't even have the care to at least limp to the door. I really think that is so inconsiderate and rude. Yet here I was, assuming that because I was the only person there and likely to remain so, that the handicap spots would not be used. I'm still pretty shocked that the only other vehicles that came to the park were two handicapped vans, but, I'll never take a spot agan.

Christmas Colors This Year - White and Baby Blue

Is it still inappropriate to wear seersucker after Labor Day when it's 80 degrees in December? I hope not because that is what my child has sported for the last two days. So far, the only positive thing I can find in this unseasonably warm weather is that many of Reeves' summertime clothes I thought Bennett would not be able to wear are getting a lot of playing time. And I mean it, that's the ONLY positive thing about this.

Is it making it hard for anyone else to really get into the holiday spirit when your A/C is drowning out the sound of the Christmas carols coming from your stereo? I love this weather for spring or fall, but this is getting ridiculous!

So Much To Post, But In The Meantime...

What is happening to our world? As Doro and I were driving home this afternoon, down a jam-packed, stand-still, traffic-laden Meeting Street, we got to experience something we were both glad our children weren't there to see. We were tailgating Aileen who was blazing a trail before us, marveling at how slowly things were moving. We had had a lovely morning with the girls - a decorating class at Pottery Barn and a delicious meal at Mellow Mushroom. We were in high spirits, chatting away, and, although we noticed the traffic, we weren't bothered by it because we had each other for company and were screaming-child-free. As a joke, I honked at Aileen, just to see what she'd do. Haha. No sooner had my hand released the pressure on the horn than a man in a car heading the other direction on Meeting (ergo, we obviously weren't honking at him) leaned across his wife, who was driving (probably because he was still lit from the night before), and shouted, "What the F---!?!" Excuse me!? I politely let him know that this was my friend ahead of us and was about to leave it at that, but then I thought of my children. Doro and I had just been having a discussion about how horribly inappropriate some things are on television, particularly at the hours when children could quite possibly be watching. We had also just seen a sign hanging from a rearview mirror that said, "I 'heart' my penis." How classy. I kinda hope the kids don't start reading till they're 16. So, needless to say, the "what is this world coming to?" thoughts were already alive and well in our heads. Luckily, traffic was moving slowly enough that I was able to lean my head out the window and say to the jerk, "Good thing I don't have children in this car!" I know it is very unkind and unchristian of me, but I really hope that jerk thinks about what he did and how potentially harmful what he said could have been and has a horrible rest of the day. Parenting is hard enough. We don't need jacklegs like him complicating things even more. Oh, and by the way, their plates were SC. How unsouthern they are! Obviously com'hyeas!

Autumn?

I'm moving. It's October and it's supposd to be 86 degrees on Monday. This is ridiculous! I'm ready for fall! This happens every year. You'd think after 32 of them, I'd be used to it by now and accept it with some sort of impotent southern grace, but I don't. Every year I curse the humidity and elevated temperatures that accompany us long into October. If anyone needs me, I'll be amuck in the Pacific northwest, probably somewhere in Canada. I'm thinking Reeves will do great as a lumberjack, and Bennett will make a great hockey player.

One of Those Days

And what makes it so much worse is that it is absolutely gorgeous outside!
Reeves woke up at 6:30 this morning with 101 fever. Guess what? No school yet again for the boy! This then seriously throws a wrench into my plans for the day. My errands are whittled down to a couple of necessary things.
First, go to pick up color cartridge from free refill at Walgreens. Guess what? My cartridge failed! I am so disappointed. I think I have the one cartridge that must be ordered from Dell. Neither Mom nor I can find this stupid thing anywhere! I'll keep searching.
Second, stop by Neal's to pick up Reeves' crocs we left there. Guess what? No crocs on the porch. Not terribly disappointing, just one more thing I have to remember to do.
Third, go to grocery store to pick ingredients for Morgan's birthday dinner. (BTW, Happy 30th Birthday, Morgan!) Guess what? Purchase all ingredients for casserole, forget all ingredients for salad. Typical!
And finally, I feel like my throat is getting sore. Hopefully it will go away, but it would be just my luck if it didn't.
But, as bad as a mom's day may be, there is always that silver lining. Bennett gave me a solid 5 or 10 minutes of good, sweet smiles. If he had teeth, they would have beel shining. I got the dimple and all, and Reeves has been a super trooper all day and is at the tail end of at least a 3 hour nap, so I guess that makes up for it!

I'm Up

It's 5:45 in the morning, and I am wide awake. And it's not Bennett's fault. I fed him at 3:00. He is sleeping soundly. Bryant is sleeping. Reeves is sleeping. Not me. I want to sleep, but each time I close my eyes, I just toss and turn. I haven't slept since I fed Bennett, and now I'm afraid to go to sleep because it is almost time to feed him again. I have done laundry, gotten the coffee ready, straightened up. If it weren't for having to be quiet, this could be one of my most productive mornings. If the sun were up, I could be getting things done in the yard. But no, here I am updating the blog. I'll try to knock out a couple of thank you notes also.
I can't stand not being able to sleep, particularly right now, when sleep at our house is at such a premium. Luckily, Reeves has school tomorrow (today-in 3 hours), so I should be able to squeeze in a decent nap in the late morning while Bennett sleeps. But what to do between now and when the rest of the house awakens?

Cabana Moms

Let me preface this by saying that if you're one of these moms, I won't even apologise for offending you because you deserve it. Yesterday, Caroline and I, for at least the second time, had our relaxing time at the pool interrupted by other people's children. I don't understand this - on so many levels. First of all, it is just common courtesy to notice that, if your children are clearly bothering people, you should remove them from the situation. I know, I know, big words coming from the mother of the Dining Room Screamer, but we're getting there. Regardless, I'm talking about other people in this post, not me! Anyway, here we are, in the pool, trying to play with our boys when this, admittedly precious, 3 or 4 year old, comes over to play. OK. No problem. We'd love for you to play with us for a little bit. Then his older sister comes over. Then they start kicking and splashing right in the middle of us. Then they start interrupting us to talk to us as we are trying to get some good girl talk in. Then they start fighting with each other! I whisper to Caroline, "Where is the mother?" She points her out, lounging in a chair, sunglasses on and reading her book. Well great! I'm glad we could come to the pool today to babysit your children while you enjoy some down time! And don't tell me you didn't notice it because we both saw you look at us, and you couldn't have not seen the exasperated looks on our faces. Yes, we were exasperated with YOUR children!
Finally, they left, and we relaxed, only to be joined within 30 seconds by another adorable 4 year old on a noodle. I don't know what it is about us. Maybe we're just glowing, or maybe these kids see us and want to be near us, or maybe, and I think this is the real reason, maybe their mothers are too lazy to actually get in the pool with them, and the children just want a little grown up contact with them in this pool because maybe, although they can technically "swim", maybe they just don't feel SO confident and want Mommy there just in case something bad happens. Particularly the last girl, who was there all by herself save for her mother, who had on an "interesting" bikini and Daisy Dukes with the button undone. Classy. Come to think of it, maybe this girl was just testing out new mothers because, even at 4 her mother was an embarassment to her. I must point out that, like the other mother, this one was in a lounge chair, reading. This led Caroline to point out that neither one of us are sure at what age we will be able to go to the "No Lifeguard on Duty" pool, toss our children in, then obliviously read for the rest of the afternoon. Maybe around 7 or 8, but certainly not at 4. It doesn't take but a blink for a child to disappear beneath the surface, and I can't imagine losing a child because I just had to finish that last chapter.
It really ticks me off that not only were we responsible for our own children, but yesterday, because of the laissez faire parenting of these two, we felt responsible for the welfare of their children as well. Now, I understand wanting to sit by the pool and read, particularly in light of this final Harry Potter release, but when you've got kids, some things just have to be put on the back burner. It's lovely to be a Cabana Mom, but unless your kids are bringing you fruity drinks with umbrellas in them and not bothering anyone other than the bartender, get in the pool and spend some time with them, and let the other mothers who are trying to do that, play in peace with their own children.

Leaves! Seriously!

Well, believe it or not, I have discovered foliage that I despise more than the dreadful water oak leaf and acorn. It is the magnolia leaf. This beast is nearly impossible to tame. While oak leaves blow or rake neatly into piles which can then easily be bagged or vacuumed, the magnolia leaf defies almost every attempt at corralling it. Trying to blow them is frustrating as some of them have the ability to cling to the concrete and laugh at you when you try to move them. Raking them into a pile is initially encouraging as you can be quite successful at this, but your happiness will end there. You cannot vacuum these tablets of fauna because they are too big and clog and burn up the motor. Using your rake and hand to bag is a possibility, but when you're 7 months pregnant, the thought of bending over that many times is enough to make you give up before you even begin. So you pull out the pitchfork. Why not? It works great with everything else, and it actually works OK with the magnolia leaves, but you spend half your time sweeping the leaves off of the forks because you pierce them and you then can't pick up any other leaves like that with the pitchfork full of pierced leaves. So nearly every other time, you are pushing those leaves off, and invariably, it is not the fresh leaves that get stuck, but the nasty, moist ones that have been sitting at the bottom of the pile, and, of course, you have most likely forgotten to put on your gloves, so you have to touch this stuff. And then you think there must be a dead animal in there or something because the smell is just wretched, but then you realize that you're standing beside your garbage can, and that dead animal smells remarkably similar to your son's poopy diaper, and you relax just a bit after that. But you continue silently cussing the damn magnolia leaves because you just hate them that much. And then, when the bag you are filling comes off the frame just as you are about to drop a big pitchforkful of leaves into it, you actually scream, "Damnit!" out loud because you can no longer control the anger inside you, and you convince yourself that it's OK if the neighbors know because they have magnolia trees in their yards, so surely they will understand, even though they are all very old. But you perservere. You get your bags filled, and your yard looks great. Despite your anal retentiveness, you are able to look past the five or ten leaves left on the driveway because you have removed 99.99% of the rest, and sometimes that just has to be good enough. You feel good about yourself. You have accomplished something and can rest well that evening.

Then you come home from work less than 24 hours later and, despite the void inside you, you can't even tell that you lost a piece of your soul yesterday bagging those damn leaves because there are just as many damn leaves on the driveway now!! You contemplate purchasing a chain saw because certainly the fine for cutting down a 60" diameter tree in the middle of the city cannot be as great as the cost of spending time in a mental hospital due to the psychiatric break you're about to go through!

But ooohhh! Look at the pretty flowers!

Wow!

This is from the show, Britain's Got Talent, same as the one here in the US. This guy, Paul Potts, seems like the most unqualified, untalented dolt to have entered the contest. It is apparent from the beginning of the video that the judges feel this way as well. Then he opens his mouth. I know I'm emotional and all, what with the pregnancy and the fire fighters and other things, but wow! I watched it at work and got goose bumps and tears welling up. He is unbelievable. Hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.

The Name Game

This is a pretty cool link - particularly for those of us trying to come up with a name for a new baby. You just type in the name and it gives you the name's rank per million babies since the 1880's. Needless to say, many of our group have not made it into the top 1,000 names in any decade. Guerin - nope. DuBose - nope. Reeves - nope. Legare - nope. Fordham, Pinckney - nope. I just don't get it! I thought these were pretty common names. I'm sure Idaho and Minnesota are loaded with them.

Saving the Environment, One Mommy at a Time

I'm giving up. I no longer wish to be a member of the car driving elite. I'm not meant to be. Don't get me wrong. I love it. It's just that it doesn't love me. Or at least the cars I drive don't love me. Maybe I'm too aggressive, but I believe assertive is the correct term. Maybe I don't give them enough maintenance, but that can't be the case as they keep asking (demanding) that I take them to the shop. Maybe they don't like the perpetual coat of dirt that is on them, but I like to think of it as a reinforced safety cage, further protecting me and my family. Whatever the reason, I have come to the realization that I am not meant to use a combustible engine for my personal means of transportation.
We got the Volvo last April. It has, so far, won the Lemon Award for the Bair family. We have had to put nearly as much as we paid for it into it in the past year. It's never anything major, just a little oil leak, which happens to be located in the exact center of the engine, and of course everything needs to be removed to get to it. So frustrating. We got all new tires for the car, and the ceiling fabric fell down. It's just been that kind of relationship. You give and give and give, and it just keeps taking.
So we decided to move on to greener and bigger pastures. I'm not a fan of getting a new (to us) car at least once a year, but that seems to be the path we are on right now. With Duece on the way, we went the route of the minivan, much to the dismay of some of our single friends. Whatever! I love it! The doors are automatic. With the push of a button, I can begin cooling the car off before we even walk out the door. Reeves can climb in all by himself - all the way into his seat. And he actually enjoys this. There is no bending over to latch him in. It is truly a life saver for me. Let's just say this pregnancy is not as comfortable as the first one was.
I love my minivan. I hope it is learning to love me. But I don't think so. Not long into our relationship, the MAINT REQD light came on. It's a lovely shade of orange, but I'm not inherently a Clemson fan, so it doesn't warm my heart every time I see it. (For the record, I still need to take it to the shop, just trying to find the time.) Then two weeks ago, as I approached the car from the passenger side, which I apparently rarely do, I noticed that the rear passenger tire had about 3 PSI in it. Great! So I limped to a gas station to put air in it. No probs. Took it to Hay (which is where the tires had previously been serviced). It had a screw in it. They plugged it - for $17 dollars! (Gerald's generally does this for free. Not going back to Hay.) But it was fixed, and all was well - for a few days.
Sunday, I headed out to find Gerbera Daisies. None at HD, none at Lowe's, none at that place in the parking lot on Wappoo, none at Kmart. I figured I'd stop by the Super Wally. Of course, they had them. Frustrated that they were at my last stop and at the place that happened to be closest to my house, but nonetheless excited that I had actually found them, I loaded up and headed home. Here I was, no baby, feeling so good I could have easily forgotten I was pregnant, beautiful day, windows down, radio on. Suddenly, a noise that did not come from the radio. And then, the tell-tale sound of a totally deflated tire thumping down the road. Pulled over. The tire, for which I had just paid $17 to plug, had just been sliced by something in the road, less than a mile from my house. Typical. Bryant and Reeves came to rescue me. Benjamin, who was selling veggies out of the back of his truck lent me his tire iron. (He also sold the best boiled peanuts I have had in a long time. We will definitely be visiting him again.) The outcome was fine, but it was just one more thing. And it totally threw off the productivity we had going in the yard at home. Off to Gerald's first thing Monday morning. $96 later, my minivan, which I have had for about a month, now has a brand new tire.
I'm seriously thinking about just getting a couple of horses and a carriage. I think it's a win/win situation. No need to buy two more carseats as I'm pretty certain they are not a requirement on a buggy. No more yard mowing. We'll just let the horses take care of that, along with the fertilizing. Toys for the kids? Saddles! Crops! Gas prices? Who cares, as long as hay doesn't go up, I'm fine! And I can sleep well at night, knowing my own personal carbon footprint is much smaller than it would have been. I think Al Gore would be proud of me.

First Taste of Summer

So, I made a tomato pie last night. I had some cheese that needed to get eaten. I had bought tomatoes from Costco last week, and I had just two weeks ago thrown away rotten tomatoes from my last Costco run. Determined to learn from my mistakes and make better use of household finances, I decided not to let these go to waste. So anyway, since all I needed to buy was a pie crust, I thought a tomato pie would be a great idea. (Those of you who are right now pointing out that I probably did have flour and eggs and butter in the house, and most likely a pie plate, so why not just make the crust myself? Well, I may be good, but I ain't THAT good!) It is almost summer, and fresh tomatoes are one of the best things about summer.
I got home, got all my ingredients together, prepped everything, and assembled my pie. Just the sight of the unbaked pie was making my mouth water. When Bryant got home, he put it in the oven. Oh my, how delicious it made the house smell! We had our time with Reeves, put him down, and pulled out the pie. It looked even better than before. We were so excited! And then I cut (read: tried to cut) into it. I might have gone just a bit overboad with the cheese and mayo mixture. It was more like we were having tomato and cheese chowder, but WAY thicker. Luckily, neither B nor I are sticklers for a food's appearance, as long as we know what went into it. So we spooned out tomato mixture onto our plates. I chopped up some more tomatoes just to compensate for the massive amount of cheesy goodness.
In the end, it all worked out fine, but I am a bit disappointed in myself. I have never been a big "by the recipe" follower in the kitchen, but today, after looking over some tomato pie recipes, I realize that although my ingredients were spot on, my proportions were hopelessly out of whack. Well, that, and I now realize I was supposed to bake the pie crust before filling it. But I know now, and I'll just have to keep practicing. Shouldn't be hard as long as my tomato plants start producing soon. (Fingers crossed.)
One thing this did make me think of was, of course, Reeves. (Funny how almost anything can make you think of your children.) Bryant asked me if there was a way to make it so that Reeves could have it. I suppose I could try. I would have to use soy mayo and soy cheese, and it could work. But then aren't you taking away two of the three things that make this pie so delicious? If I were Reeves, I think I would rather just have a fresh tomato, thanks. I hope he grows out of this allergy thing. I can't imagine that he will go through his life without ever knowing the goodness that is tomato pie - even if his mother can't make a pie that actually cuts into pieces.