Driving 101 For Preteens

Two conversations I had with the boy last week...

Conversation #1 happened while we were driving to church. The speed limit in the area is 55 mph. I may or may not have been running a teensy bit late.
As we went around a corner, he said,
"I can feel the G-Forces."

Conversation #2 happened on the way to school. The speed limit in this area is 35 mph and 20 mph (school zone). I may or may not have had a few cars behind me.
As we rounded a curve, he said,
"Gosh. You have, like, 50 cars lined up behind you."

Not too long ago, I asked him who he wanted to teach him to drive when the time came... me or Dan/Daddy?
His response?

"Well... when it comes to rules and laws, I want you to teach me."
(smile.) (I won.)

But then he said,
"I want Daddy to teach me how to get out of a spin."

Great. Because all teen drivers need to know how to get out of a spin.
I need to remember to ask Mario Andretti (I mean, Dan/Daddy) how many "spins" he's actually had to get out of.

I am also accepting applications for a personal Driver's Ed teacher. We will be filling the position in 3 - 4 years. It seems as if his parents are unqualified.

It's The Most Anxious Time Of The Year

Why do the "happy" times in our lives cause stress?
I'm okay with the stressful times causing stress, but I am against the happy times causing stress. It's just wrong.
Confused yet?

I can think of more than a few occasions which are inherently good that make people act all crazy.
Like.... remodeling a house or a room. You are getting a brand new space! But, not before somebody nails their shirt to the floor and gets an ulcer about paint color.
Or.... a wedding. A beautiful happy event! But, somebody will be in knots about the drippy candles or the bride's best friend's haircut.
Or... vacation. Finally a chance to relax! But, somebody will lose their mind over what didn't get packed or whether or not the coffee pot was left on.

I am not, by the way, speaking from experience.
Yeah, right.

Dan/Daddy and I hung the Christmas lights outside the other day, and I threatened to pull the ladder out from under him.

Almost every Christmas, I am solely responsible for the decorating. Inside and out. I get help from my people when it comes to the tree if I provide hot chocolate and music. They will say it's because I'm a perfectionist.
They are partially right.

This past Sunday afternoon, Dan/Daddy tried to get off Santa's "not helpful" list and offered his assistance with the outside lights.
If you recall my Halloween lighting fiasco, you can figure out where this is headed.
When we moved this summer, we threw away our old ladder... it was falling apart. We haven't replaced it yet, so the short kitchen step-stool had to work.
It didn't.

Dan/Daddy is a very tall guy, but the place where I wanted the lights and garland to hang is a very very tall place.
He was standing on the step-stool, stretching as far as he could, hammering little hooks into the door frame, and asking me to hand him the cord.
I obviously did not hand him the cord in the manner he thought best.
He took that moment to let me know how unhappy he was that we hadn't taken the time to get our sad cheap pathetic selves to Lowe's to buy a new ladder.

That's when I considered yanking that short little ladder out from under him.
Kidding, people. Kidding.
I love my husband and would never consider bodily harming him.
I did, however, tell him exactly where he could put the light strand. And it wasn't anywhere near the door frame.



It's the hap-happiest season of all.

The Angel Went To GoodWill And Now I Am Confused

I am asking the approximately 7.5 of you who read this blog to answer a question.
I am puzzled , but that's not unusual. I am puzzled by something that's never entered my mind before, and it's all about Christmas decorations.
Blame Pinterest (again) if you want to.

I realize that home decorating styles change ALLTHETIME. What was popular last month is out of style today. It happens with wall colors and window treatments and furniture styles and Heaven help you if you have a piece of furniture from 1998... you better paint it fast to look like it came from Pottery Barn or Anthropologie.
A girl would have to knock off the local bank to keep up with the decorating times.

Is it the same for Christmas decorations? Are we all supposed to toss last year's classic red and green ribbon for this year's hottest blue garland?

I made the mistake of looking at HGTV's website.
They listed 12 different "styles" of Christmas decor. You just thought it was all about the red and green. They also listed White, Snowy White, Warm Green and White, Pink, Simple, Over the Top, and Gold.
And 4 more.

By the way, there wasn't one single giant inflatable yard Frosty on that list.
Nor any homemade angel clothespin ornaments made by a toddler.

So how do you all decorate for Christmas?
Do you stick to a theme? Do you use all the same colors? Do you have any collections? (Is that even ok anymore?)
I want to know if you change your decor with the trends. (I may want to borrow some money from you, too.)

Every year when we haul out the holly, I go through our ornaments and lights and other stuff to see what's broken. I glued the feet back onto 3 Rudolph characters yesterday. The Nutcrackers had a makeshift hospital on my kitchen counter. Poor guys.... moving all the time does not agree with them.

The saddest discovery I made was that our tree angel doesn't work anymore. We were trying to get her to light up when I realized... she is old. OLD. Older than my child. Maybe older than some of you. We bought her one of the first Christmases after we got married. That makes her somewhere between 15 and 18. That is old in tree angel years.
I'm amazed she lasted this long.
I put her in a bag of outgrown clothes I was taking to donate. Poor old girl.

So now I'm on the hunt for a new tree topper. Not because my style changed, but because I had to.
That's what I'm talking about.... Is it just me? Or are all of you hopping onto the latest Christmas trends?
And what do you do with all the stuff that's "out of style" now? Is it going to join my angel?

Help me out here, folks.
Do you have any giant yard inflatables?
What do you do with your children's precious handmade collections?
What is your Christmas decorating philosophy?

I may need to draw on all your knowledge in my quest for a new angel.

PS.... Here's the link for the HGTV article if you're interested:
http://www.bhg.com/christmas/indoor-decorating/christmas-decorating-styles/

PSS... If anyone has a pink tree, I want to see a picture.

Hark! The Angel's Name Is Not Harold

The angel's name is either Steve or Chelsea. Just ask my son.

We spent an unhealthy amount of time in the car over the Thanksgiving weekend, and we tried listening to Christmas music to brighten the mood.
In case you were wondering, listening to Christmas music turns a long car ride into a long car ride with Christmas music.
One of our choices was Josh Groban's Christmas CD. Have mercy can that man sing.
I have a friend who forbids her children from singing along when Groban is on. She calls it sacrilege. I think she's onto something.

In the chorus of Angels we Have Heard on High, I hear this from the backseat:

"Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria, Steve and Chelsea say-o!
Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria, Steve and Chelsea say-o!"

Now the boy is a smart little cookie. Very smart. He also knows lots of songs and lyrics, so I turned around and laughed.... thinking he was joking.
He wasn't.

My argument was futile.
I said,
"That is NOT what he's singing. He's saying in excelsis Deo."
The boy said,
"He is saying STEVE AND CHELSEA, MOM."

So he kept singing about Steve and Chelsea. He even asked me if it was "Steve and Chelsea say-o" or "Steve and Chelsea hey-o"
He is, apparently, concerned about getting it right.
He gets that from me.
My mom loves to tell the story about how I SWORE the old Crystal Gayle song "Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue?" was actually "Don't It Make My Brownies Good?"

A song about brownies must have made more sense to me than a song about eye color.
(Still does.)

So if you hear angels singing on high, it just may be Steve and Chelsea.

I Suppose That's Why They're Called "Slippers"

I took an unofficial poll of our families over Thanksgiving, and I asked them how they all felt about the crazy Target lady. I got mixed reviews. She is, apparently, very polarizing. Either you love her or hate her.
Me? I want to be her.
Those commercials crack me up. My favorite is the one where she's "training" for Black Friday... in her red workout suit and high heels. Cracks me up.
I think she's onto something with those shoes, because I discovered that "comfortable" shoes may not the best option for me.

My Facebook status from last night:

"A house isn't a home until momma falls down the stairs."

We spent our long Thanksgiving weekend with both families, eating until we could eat no more, and we drove home yesterday. 8 hours in pouring rain. I was happy to get some laundry started and to put on my bedroom slippers. The boy and I ate dinner in front of the TV; Dan/Daddy needed to go into work for a bit.

When he returned home, I heard the garage go up. My phone rang, and it was him... calling me from the garage. I answered the phone, but he didn't reply. I heard the garage go down. Then my phone rang again... and again it was him. I answered again and got no response.

At this point, I'm thinking several things:
1. My husband's sitting on his phone and it's calling me.
2. The downstairs door is locked and he can't get in.
3. The neighborhood cat has wandered into our garage again, and I need to help get him out.
4. My husband better not be prank calling me from the garage.

So I got up from my cozy spot and hurried to see what was going on.
The "hurrying" and the "slippers" did not make a good combination.
I made the first flight just fine, but then I rounded the corner and hit the top step of the 2nd flight.
The top step was all I ever saw. My feet - in their cozy slippers - flew right out in front of me, and I bounced the rest of the way down on my backside.
Every time I hit a step and bounced up again, I said a not-so-nice word.
3 or 4 bounces and bad words later, I landed at the bottom, Dan/Daddy came running in from the garage and the boy came down right behind me on the stairs.

I mumbled something about being ok, and the boy asked if he could laugh.
Dan/Daddy started fussing at me about being more careful and not wearing ratty bedroom slippers.
Can't you just feel the love?

They really were worried about me, but once they knew I was somewhat ok, they relaxed. Even I laughed. The boy reenacted the whole thing about 21 times.

In case you were wondering, it was #1. I rushed down the stairs and bruised my elbow, my left calf, my right butt cheek and my tailbone (again)...
All because my husband was sitting on his phone.

I may never answer his phone calls again, and he better buy me new slippers for Christmas.
I'll bet the crazy Target lady never falls down her steps.

Happy Food Memories To All

I was composing this post in my head as I grated 12 cups of cheddar cheese.
OK, it was more like 3 cups, but my arm felt like it was 12.
I'm not cooking a turkey, and I am not hosting 23 people, but I am providing an important part of the meal... an appetizer. You know, because we won't have enough food at lunch.
A cheese ball with crackers to be specific. A homemade cheese ball. Don't get all impressed... it's so simple.
Which got me to thinking.
A younger cousin of Dan/Daddy requested the cheese ball. Requested that I make it. I love her to pieces, and I am happy to oblige, but anyone could have made it. Her mom has the recipe; her aunt (my mom-in-law) makes them, too. But she requested mine.
I know for a fact, that my cream cheese/cheddar cheese/spices concoction tastes no better than theirs would.
There's something about a person contributing part of the meal that makes a memory.

I have vivid associations of food with certain people. And I know I'm not alone.

My mom makes the very same cheese ball at Christmas, and it doesn't feel like Christmas without it.
My Mamaw's macaroni and cheese... no family meal is complete without it.
I remember my cousins requesting my mom's hot Velveeta dip every New Year's Eve.
I remember craving my aunt's layered Mexican dip.
No one can make a hash brown casserole taste as good as my Granny could.
Any one of us can make those things, but there's something special about the same person making it.

I have always known food and memory were connected, but I never really thought about how certain foods tie us to memories of certain people.

Now I understand why my cousins begged for my mom to make the same dip.
So, Rachel, the cheese ball is in the fridge.
I'm honored you ask me to make it.

I hope you are all with the people you love over the next few days.

Have a blessed Thanksgiving.

Roll Tide and Rainy Headaches

Two very important things happened over the weekend:
1. The boy went to his first Alabama football game.



2. I'm getting a job at the Weather Channel predicting (with 82% accuracy) when rain is coming.

Just kidding. I'm not getting a job at the Weather Channel. I can, however, predict the rain. Actually, it's my head that predicts it. Actually it's my raging headache that predicts it.
It started Saturday afternoon, but I blamed it on the screaming and cheering at the game. By 4:00 a.m.-ish Sunday morning, I was ready to chop off my noggin to relieve the pain. By midnight-ish last night, I was hearing thunder and rain. I had an "ah ha" moment lying there in my bed. The headache always comes before the rain.
That sounds like something you could put on a t-shirt. Or a mug.

Anywho...
The football game was a roaring good time. Dan's parents were able to get the tickets for us all, so we met them there. I believe, at one point, the boy leaned in and said, "This is better than Christmas."

This boy LOVES Alabama football.



We lived in Alabama for about 12 years, but we never swore any allegiance to either of the two big rivals.... Alabama or Auburn.
We had church members who insisted we make a choice (Alabama or Auburn) or we couldn't partake in Communion. Well, it wasn't quite that bad. But, it's not far from it.
We were always able to take the neutral road. Dan/Daddy was a Florida State fan, and I was a Clemson fan. Easy.
When the boy came along, another football fanatic was born, but he didn't really have a favorite team.
Until... while we were living in California, he said,
"If I was born in Alabama, that will be my favorite team."
So the logical love of all things Crimson Tide began. When they won the National Championship a few years after that, he was a goner.
It also gives Dan/Daddy and me a chance to join forces, and we all root for the team that represents the state we love so much.
The boy would have filled out an application on Saturday if we had allowed it.



PS... I made sure he saw the soccer fields while we were there.