Dog Vs Girls

Some days it's a dog-eat-girl world...

I think the girls won this battle. 

Westward HO!

We rounded up our two lasses and heading west. 

West to the yonder side of the mighty Mississippi River. 

To the bustling town of Hannibal, Missouri. 

Where they heard tales of a man with a bushy mustache who had extraordinary storytelling gifts. 

Where they entered a cave that was only 52 degrees. 

A cave full of bats, history (we heard a story about a dead body that was super creepy), mysterious passages, and wonder. 

They thought the Mark Twain Cave was the COOLEST thing they had ever seen and done. 

I would have to agree. 

Super neato!

They did some sluicing for gems. 

Something they love to do!

And we found the Ingalls sisters when we were there!  

Besides seeing the Ingalls girls, I was also blown over by the awesome salad I had for lunch. 

We found a cute coffe shop/cafe, Java Jive. 

My salad of wild greens (Gigi yelled out "Mom, you're eating grass!") was topped with blueberries, carrots, cukes, and almonds. With the most marvelous poppyseed dressing. 

My fellow travelers/diners told me the sandwiches they ordered were spectacular, too. 

And our meals were served in hand made earthen pottery vessels that you could also buy at the pottery shop connected to the cafe. 

I love finding a jewel of a town.

A town full of caves, history, and awesome food. 

Oh, and the gelato we had...Creme Brûlée, lemon, strawberry/kiwi. 

The Ingalls girls were beside themselves!

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

Part two in the series "Music Mondays in May" from my

blog group Homesteaders & Homeschoolers.

I have been going to major league baseball games since I can remember.

My dad is a huge St. Louis Cardinals fan.

I don't know how that happened really since his mother (whose home I live in) was an even bigger Chicago Cubs fan.

I guess he wanted to root for a team that didn't have it's fans in tears at the end of September, every year.

So, because of my dad's unwavering love for the redbirds of Missouri, I spent many days and nights at Busch stadium.

Eating cotton candy from a bag and scouring the seats looking for Fredbird.

Doing the wave and then begging my dad to leave "because it's the 11th inning and this tie is never going to end!"

And always singing from the top of my lungs during the 7th inning stretch to Take Me Out To The Ballgame.

The quintessential "Baseball in America" song.

I moved to Chicago in 1994.

I started going to Cub games.

It's what everyone does.

Wrigley Field.

It's a passage of sorts.

To sit in the confines of the ivy covered walls.

To get a seat behind a pole so you can't see a thing.

To get a SRO ticket (Standing Room Only).

But it didn't matter when the 7th inning stretch came up.

After the visitor's at bat and before the home team had their turn to bat in the 7th inning, he appeared.

Harry Carey.

It was a momentous thing to sing along to Take Me Out To The Ballgame with this true American symbol of baseball.

I thought of my grandma every time.

He would hang out of the booth and was such a huge presence and it's a memory I won't forget.

But, we too got tired of losing.

Of hanging out with a group of people who didn't really seem to care too much about the game before them.

Who instead were more interested in taking pictures of themselves with their friends, talking on their phones, and of being obnoxious under the beer stupor they were in...mind you, this was not everyone at Wrigley field. But it seemed to be that way everytime we went.

We then moved our allegiance to the south side of Chicago.

To the White Sox.

I think it was in 2002.

Zoe was born in February of 2005 and her first baseball game was in May of 2005.

It was dog day at the park, so we took our two kids...Zoe and our dog Madison.

The Chicago White Sox won the World Series that year and we took in the ticker tape parade the city threw for them downtown.

We had made the right decision to move.

We also made sure that Zoe knew every word to Take Me Out To The Ballgame by the age of two.

Both girls have been to numerous major league baseball games.

Gigi went to her first game at the age of 6 1/2 months.

It was in Cardinal territory, though.

We do go with grandpa to St. Louis.

He's tried brainwashing them to become St. Louis fans, but it's not working.

They have both Chicago and St. Louis apparel and banners in their rooms.

Baseball is a big deal in our house.

And as long as they love the game and love singing at the top of their lungs during the middle of the 7th inning while their faces are covered in ice cream and cotton candy, I know we have done something right with these girls.

Lets Go White Sox!

Texting Dirty

Scenario:
Couch.
In front of fireplace.
Seating positions are (left to right) Chad, me, Zoe
End table holding numerous magazines and my iPhone at right end of couch, nearest Zoe.
Nighttime.
7:15pm.
Tuesday.

Conversation:
Chad -"hey, I heard Sid's wife died.  Sandy said it was in the newspaper."
Me- "let me grab my phone to check the H&R app and the obituaries."
Leaning over Zoe to get the phone.  She's really into RuPaul's Drag Race and not into Chad and I's conversation. 
Zoe- "are you going to text dirty?"
Me- "WHAT?!"
Zoe- "are you going to text dirty now?"
Me- "Who told you about that?!  What are you learning at that school playground after lunch?!"
This last phrase was screeched out in a high pitched warble sounding similar to an oId woman yelling at the busboy because she thought he was the waiter ignoring her.
I  was beyond words.
I also kept thinking, but didn't say so, "why would I be texting dirty if your father was right next to me?  I can just talk dirty in his ear."

Then Chad said the answer to the riddle I was under attack by.
"Mark.  She wants to know if you are going to text Mark." 

Sequel:
Dirty equals my friend from high school Mark.
It's his nickname. 
She was asking if I was going to text him.
If I was going to text Dirty.
We were meeting up with him in Springfield the following day.
Whew.
Me- "No!"
Chad and I had tears flowing from the laughter of my stupidity.
Me- "I thought you were talking about sexting!"
Zoe- "What's that?"
Never.
You.
Mind.
Kid.

Blue Minivans Are Everywhere!

When I was younger, as in when I began driving a car on the real road and not just in the driveway and I thought I was the cat's meow and began driving over 25 miles per hour, I wanted a Jeep.
A Jeep with big ass tires and no windows.
A free-wheelin', life to be loved, hair blowin' in my face and getting stuck in my lip-glossed kisser, kind of Jeep.
In black please.
My dad said no.
I would flip it he chimed in.
Had he noticed my careless carefree driving after all?
I, instead, drove a red Mazda.
Not nearly as exciting.
Sigh.

Ooooh!
A Jaguar!
I wanted to drive a sleek, polished till I could see the workins of my own brain on it's shiny exterior, look what I have accomplished in my college-educated life, Jaguar.
In black please.
I bought a burgundy 4-door Honda.
Not as sleek, but it sure was dependable.
Dependable is so dull, though.
Dependable is way cheaper, though.
Sigh.

A wagon.
I wanted a wagon, as in look what a hipster I am, with my made in the good ol' U S of A, gas friendly, luggage rack on the roof because I'm a traveler damn it, Subaru.
In black please.
I have a blue Toyota minivan.
It's roomy, sure.
There's room for all four of us, plus grandma, grandpa, and the dogs.
Sometimes the minivan holds goats.
Classy.
There are so many of these blue minivans in town that I've had to outfit mine in stickers just so I can find it in the Target parking lot.
Sigh.

Zoe recently told me that when she grows up and starts to drive that she wants a minivan.
WHAT?!
A MINIVAN?!
Are you drunk again, kid?!
NO!
What about that Mini-Cooper we just passed?
Oh, look at that cool little Italian Fiat!
Isn't that awesome?!
You won't be driving anyone else around but your sister.
You don't need a large, full of garbage, smells like a dog fart, minivan.
That's what old ladies like your mother drive!

I hope she gets over that idea and learns to dream in more exciting and out of the box ways.
I do totally appreciate her sensibilities toward space and comfort and for the ability to haul large amounts of crap around town.
And there's the fact that she has an affinity to be like her mom.
I know that that won't last forever.
But I want her to dream of a life that's more shiny, fast, glossy, and just out of reach.
Something to aspire to be.
To live a life full of Maseratis and Volvos.
In black please.

Side note:
Zoe saw me writing this and stated that she would first like to have a scooter (like her "aunt" Laura) and would use a Volkswagon Bug when it's cold out to drive to school.
The minivan would be when she's graduated from school.
I sense a tinge of boldness there.
Sigh...

Hermit Crab Joy

Hermit crabs.

They are boring.

Those are Zoe's words.

And I would have to agree.

They burrow into the dirt in their tank and we don't see them for days.

They don't eat.

They don't drink.

Are they pooping?

Who knows.

The only way we know if they are still alive and breathing their little crab breaths is to dig them out and put them on mom's kitchen table.

Nice.

Then they are all like "here we are!"  

They are rather gross to look at up close.

And I like gross, but it's almost too alien for me. 

This is Gigi's hermit crab.

Her name is Jesse.

And this is how she usually stays when she's on the table.

She even stayed like this when she pinched the crap out of Gigi's hand a few weeks ago.

Do you know how hard it is to get a hermit crab to release it's pinch from a four year old's hand?

Hard.

All Gigi cared about was this..."why doesn't Jesse like me?"

Gigi was wearing a hooded sweatshirt at the time and I told her that Jesse just didn't recognize her with her hood on.

She bought it.

And doesn't wear a hood around the crabs anymore.

Jesse did eventually come out of her shell when we had them on the table the other day.

Took her about 35 minutes, though.

   

Hermit crabs.
They are so interesting.
Not.
Really, we should have gotten a guinea pig.

Spurs and Crabs at Christmas

Well, we have made it through another holiday.

Christmas is over and my gut has expanded.

Again.

My tolerance and patience have been extended to the max.

One word for that...Gigi

But, we have two healthy kids at home and we want it to stay that way.

Santa did not bring any snow along with him.

Dang it, I say!

A white Christmas makes for a cheerier Christmas.

But we made do with barbie heads to "make up". 

We have enough Legos to last Zoe through Easter.

Spurs for her boots and a huge jar of pickles for Gigi (her nickname in utero was Pickles, by the way.  She comes by her addiction to vinegary cucumbers naturally.)

Lots of games, both electronic and those old fashion regular type games like Bingo, Shark Diner, a Gardening board game, and Headbandz.

And, then because we are gluttons for more punishment as parents, we let the girls spend their Christmas money on hermit crabs. 

Here's hoping 2013 leaves us with no really stressful events, lots of good health for Zoe, and no more pets.

Candy Mice

Saturday my family held our annual candy making and cookie decorating party.
We had extra cousins this year since my cousin was in town from Dallas, so my mom's side of the family was at the party this year.
We made cracker candy and turtles.
We had chocolate covered pretzels, marshmallows, peppermints.
Really, if it was standing still it was covered in white or chocolate almond bark.
And it was delicious.

We decorated cookies.
We decorated mallows.

We made some mice.
And...shhh...even had a real mouse at the party.
It was seen pre and post party, but not during party.
I bet it's little mouth was just watering looking at all of the crumbs on the floor.
Really, our cats are jerks.
A house full of them and a mouse is scurrying around.

Yesterday I made these chocolate crackle cookies.

Today I made these two brownie pecan pies.

I want to marry that one in the back.

For.
Real.

And I just finished baking some cheddar buttermilk biscuits for breakfast tomorrow morning.
Put one on a plate with a slice of leftover Christmas ham.
Drool.
I'm sure Chad will make some sort of eggy sauce to go over it all.
Drool some more.

Hug the kids extra hard tomorrow.
I didn't spoil mine this year with stuff.
Just enough toys and they will get lots of kisses tomorrow.
And every day after.
That's what they really want.
Merry Christmas folks.

  

A Gap

Zoe has been fighting with a loose tooth for a while now.

I was finally reluctantly allowed to pull it yesterday.

It was hanging by a thread.

Like a weird, boney, gummy thread.

She was starting to look like Nanny McPhee when she

first arrived at the home of Cedric Brown.  

And let me tell you, there's NOTHING cuter than a kid

with her hole in her smile.

Nothing, except maybe baby pandas.

Losing baby teeth were a part and parcel

of one's life - a symbol of growing up,

and it is the tooth-fairy that makes this otherwise

dreaded and painful process an

exciting one - something to look forward to.

~Mansi Maheshwari

Saturday Shopping

My family is more apt to partake in Small Business Saturday shopping than Black Friday shopping.
So, today that's what Zoe and I did with Grandma.
We hit the toy store at Striglos, Del's Popcorn Shop, a store called Giggles, a great French store Tournesol, lunch at the Downtown Cafe, and Embroidered Expressions.
That last store is so cute...purses and shirts and many other things to buy and then they will put your name or your school or your dog's name or whatever you want on it in whatever font and color you want.
Zoe had money to spend so she found an owl purse and she bought it and we can pick it up in a few weeks after they get her name put on it.
My mission today was to buy stocking stuffers for the girls.
And some chocolate covered espresso beans for moi to eat right now (which I am as I'm typing this!)
Lots of sales downtown today.
It's nice to go to our sweet downtown area for holiday shopping.
We will go back soon to see Santa in his little red house by the park. 
Small Business Saturday shopping...supporting small business owners with my purchase of pickle flavored candy canes and owl socks.

Turkeys and Presidents

The second graders put on a fine Thanksgiving program at school today.
We saw a skit with a farmer, Zoe's friend Roy, and 83 turkeys...also known as the rest of the kids.    
The students hid turkeys that they had made under their shirts so Farmer McNugget (Roy) wouldn't kill them and they waddled out of the gym with their cohorts.

Zoe was one of 16 students who had the honor of stating what she was thankful for at the microphone.
She said she was thankful to herself for being a good student and always paying attention in class. 

One kid said he was thankful for the new sneakers he had.
Another for her health.

We then had a scrumptious turkey dinner in the cramped cafeteria.
Always fun to shove your long legs and large butt into the kid sized tables.  
Very good meal, though.
Those ladies in the cafeteria know how to cook!

As we were going down the hallway to Zoe's locker, we stopped at the Presidential Board.
Some of the kids had made a "bobble head" of the candidates in this year's election.
We saw Zoe's Barack Obama...

and her Mitt Romney...

and some kid who thought Bush was running again...

The Thrills And The Spills

I was recently telling Zoe and her friend about my experiences in grade school PE class.
The days of dodgeball, tall and scorching hot metal slides placed on top of concrete, football games using a tennis ball conducted on asphalt.
There were no safety mats covered in recycled rubber tire shavings, no care if you tore a hole in your jeans for the third time in a week, no worries that you chipped four teeth crashing your face into the asphalt, no problem at all if you got your skull rattled by a line drive half-deflated dodge ball thrown by the biggest kid in fourth grade.

In those times a kid could bring a cigar to school and no one found out.
Everyone was amazed by the thing.
You going to smoke that later?!
There were no narcs back then.

The days when we went to the local swimming pool and dared each other to jump off of the high dive.
That thing seemed to be a hundred feet in the air.
The platform hiding in the clouds.
Our family belonged to a local swim club, members only.
Rumor had it that some kid had slipped off of the high dive once.
Cracked his skull on the concrete.
His head was the cause of the splintered square below.
But we kept climbing up there.
Hoping we didn't crash off of the side in a slippery run to the end of the springy green board.
And then hoping you didn't lose your swim bottoms in the diving well when the force of the water against your body pummeled you.

There were no car seats.
We all walked or rode our bikes to school even if we lived a half mile or more away.
We rode our bikes down winding, blind cornered roads to the get to the swim club.
We had carefree days and thought nothing of it when we went walking through the woods with our water raft, sailed down the wide creek until it reached the lake.
Then we walked home on the railroad tracks.
Not a care in the world.

That was before the Internet and cable television for all.
Before there were hoards of strangers telling us what we should be afraid of.
Scaring us to be safe or else.
I certainly don't miss the days of dodgeball.
I was pretty good at hiding behind others so that they could deflect the bombardment, though.
But I do miss that high dive and the thrill of the unknown.
The climb, the run, then the hurtling descent into the cold welcoming water below.
The thrill of childhood.
If my own kids decided to do it, though, I would be hiding my eyes behind my beach towel the whole time.
Or persuading them not to do it in the first place.

If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.

~Tom Stoppard