Hometown Swap!

Some weeks back, I signed up for my very first swap with Shannon over at Welcome to the Nuthouse. The theme was Hometown Swap and gals (and I suppose guys) from all over the country were exchanging goodies that represent their area. I requested the Pacific Northwest and lucky for me, I got matched up with Eve of Tranquility and Turmoil, from the great state of Washington.
















According to Eve, Washington is the state of cherries, berries and rodeo. Who knew that the rodeo was so big there? Not me. My fabulous package included a variety of local sweet treats, three postcards (including one featuring The Gorge amphitheater which looks absolutely amazing!), a map and guide book for Grant County (Grant County was founded on my birthday, February 24 in 1909, is that fate or what?) and a fun HOWDY! sign.

First off, I LOVE cherries. They are my all time favorite fruit. As a kid, I only ever ate cherry pie. If you even think about forgetting the cherry on top of my sundae, there might be bloodshed. A well mixed Shirley Temple? Yes, please! And don't even get me started on my summertime bing cherry habit. So when I opened up my package and saw not one but two cherry treats, I was over the moon.

I am a confirmed dried cherry addict. There is almost always a bag of the goodies in my pantry, so I was super excited to sample some of Washington's finest. There was also a bag of cherry taffy. It took me all of about four seconds to rip that bag open and start chowing down. It is so very tasty.

















She also included a local treat, Aplets and Cotlets, a fruit confection made with apples or apricots and walnuts. I haven't dug into them yet, but they look delish!

Another treat was a huckleberry chocolate bar. Remember that line from Tombstone? "I'm your huckleberry." Well, it seems that the term huckleberry in olden slang meant the right guy for the job. Interestingly, huckleberries grow primarily in the Northwest. I haven't ever had one, so I am very interested to see how they are in a chocolate bar. I have to pace myself on the sweets, though. Don't want to undo all my hard work.

Thanks Eve for all of the wonderful goodies and thanks Shannon for getting this swap together!

To see what I sent to my partner, go here.

I've Got The Boredies

I am not a big fan of word verification. I mean, I appreciate its purpose, but it annoys the hell out of me. At least half the time, I type the "word" in wrong and have to do it again. Sometimes, though, the electronic brain that comes up with these little tests throws me some fun ones. These are actual words that I have gotten during my adventures in blogland:

Shated - The past tense of shit. Works best when said with a charming cockney accent.

Warshie - I wish my husband would warshie my car.

Impulsit - I think this might be a setting on my blender.

Mershin - An old Jewish man?

Menyo - As in: menyo fences.

Disista -I am disista of Briana.

Mintate - Gay guy with a lisp: Mintate kinda thalty.

Ampagual - A drag queen in South America.

Barclar - Where you go after a couple of drinks in your private train cabin.

Boredies - I am full of ennui, but saying it is pretentious, so from now on, it's full of boredies.

Snerick - Alas, poor Snerick, I knew him well.

Crone - I most certainly am NOT. Stupid word verification.

Puncest - Inappropriate acts between related words.

And on that note, I'm out.

Splish Splash

It's been sitting in it's box on the dining table for over a week now. The weather and our poor little darling's health conspired to keep us from it, but finally I was able to break it out of it's cardboard prison. The instructions were anything but helpful, not much in the way of how-to. After a couple of minutes, smart cookie that I am, I finally figured it out (Step 1: attach hose. Step 2: use pool. Yep, I'm a Mensa candidate.) and we were ready for an afternoon of splishing and splashing in the Sprinkle Pool.

She loved it and I loved watching her enjoy herself. Win-win.
















PS - Since I thought I might be getting wet, too, I put on a swimsuit for our water play. It was the first time this year. You know how I mentioned that I had lost about 10 pounds but most of my clothes were still fitting pretty much the same? Well, I figured out where I lost the weight. My swimsuit was snug on bottom and gappy on top. Exactly the look that hot moms everywhere are going for: weeble wobble.

Grits, Grits, Grits - The More Times I Say The Word, The Weirder It Sounds

A while back, further back than I want to say, I won a fabulous prize from the fabulous Lula. The package of goodies included fun springy dishtowels, piggy paint (that's toenail polish), a Hello Kitty clip board, adorable ribbon hair clips for Sophie, yummy peanut M & M's AND a $25 gift card for Target! How freaking awesome is all that?
















But wait, there's more! The best part was a Paula Deen Cookbook! I must confess a love for Miss Paula. I love her accent (which, btw, is how I imagine Lula sounds), I love that she cooks in full bling (the woman never wears less than 10 carats) and she never met a stick of butter she didn't like (a woman after my own butter-lovin' heart). So when I got the cookbook, I was very excited to delve into all of the tasty goodness.

One of the things I really like about Paula's recipes is that they are very accessible. I typically have most of the ingredients on hand, but if I don't they're not unusual stuff, so it's not the kind of thing where I have to buy a whole bunch, bottle or whatever only to use a pinch and the rest either goes bad or languishes in my spice cabinet never to be used again. I have made a number of recipes from the book and each time we have really enjoyed it. There was one recipe that I kept stopping on and then passing by, though, because I felt some trepidation at attempting.

Because I have a confession.

I have never made grits before. Now, I was born in Georgia, yes that's right folks, I'm a peach, but we left when I was four, so I wasn't raised on the stuff. In Kansas, where I grew up, you can get it, but it's not a staple. I guess that's probably true of Maryland, where I currently live, as well. Neil had never even tried them. I know, GASP!

So after months of looking at the tantalizing picture, temptation finally won out over fear and tonight, for the first time, I made grits. More specifically, I made Shrimp and Cheese Grits*. (Her website does not have this recipe listed, so I've linked to another site that shows it.)

Simple ingredients:
Grits
Shrimp
Butter**
Cheddar Cheese
Bacon
Garlic
Lemon Juice
Parsley
Salt and Pepper



Basically, you cook the grits (why was I so afraid of this, it was easy!) and then mix in the cheese and butter. Meanwhile, you fry up the bacon, remove it, and cook the shrimp in the bacon grease (um, YUM!). Throw the lemon juice, garlic and parsley into the shrimp. Scoop shrimp mixture over grits and garnish with crumbled bacon. Easy peasy, y'all.
















And let me tell you: it. was. so. good. At first, Neil said, "hmm, it's different." But after a couple of bites, he was won over by it's bacony, cheesy, buttery deliciousness. As he was wiping his plate clean, he said, "I would eat that again. And again! And again!"
















So a big, giant (and much belated) thank you to Lula for all of the wonderful stuff. A whole new, grits-making world has been opened up to me.

Have a great weekend, y'all!

*Thanks to this one dish, I will be spending the next three days on the elliptical. It is not for the faint at heart.

**I am so irritated that I didn't notice the butter was upside down when I was staging that picture. Now, it's ALL I can see.

The Road To Recovery

It looks like this round of antibiotics is working. We're not all the way there yet, but she only got up twice last night and her general demeanor has been much better. Which is a darn good thing because after a week of whining, crying, clinging baby, I was just about ready to commit ritualistic suicide. All I can say is that it is a bloggammed good thing I didn't have a colicky baby because I don't think we would have survived that.

Bring On The Big Guns

I took Sophie back to the doctor yesterday. She just didn't seem to be making the kind of improvement that you would expect after four days of antibiotics. Good thing, too. Turns out the ear infection that had been afflicting her right ear has now spread to her other ear as well. Guess that explains all of that crying. And here I thought she was doing it just to annoy me.

We decided to put her on the atomic bomb of antibiotics since the infection seems resistant to whatever girly-man antibiotics we were using before.

After a week of being cooped up in the house, I am sure she has cabin fever. I know I do. I've been trying to get her outdoors for at least a couple of minutes every day. I'm working on the theory that a little sunshine and fresh air can only be good for her. We've had some absolutely gorgeous weather around here lately, it's a shame to miss out on it altogether.

Now, if she could just get well so we can break out the cool sprinkler pool we got for her.

Funny How Things Go

We stood on the front porch of our house, the morning summer sun shining in our eyes. My grandmother was there to mark the occasion. It was my first day of kindergarten. The camera came out and pictures were taken to remember the "big girl's" first day of school. I was the happiest, proudest kid around.

I didn't know it then, but we were standing on a precipice.

In a matter of weeks, my parents would separate. My sister and I would leave with our mother for a new life in another town. I can't say that those days were easy for any of us. The transition to divorced is rarely smooth. Even the word is ugly in my mouth. It is bitter and grisly.

There is a long, unpleasant story that follows all of that. Fights and tears. Relationships that will never be what they might have been. There are wounds that will never heal. But much of that story is not mine to tell and I have no desire to draw blood in this way.

For a long time, it was just the three of us. My mom christened us The Butts Sisters, in part because of a familial tendency towards prominent posteriors, as yet unfulfilled in the younger members of the group,* and part because at night the three of us would snuggle into bed together, rubbing our little butts together.

Mostly, my sister and I would take turns sleeping with our mom. She didn't have a big bed and one young girl sleeping with her was likely as much as could be tolerated. But it was not unusual that the girl whose night it was to sleep alone somehow found her way into the big bed. Snuggling up with my sister and mother brought me a comfort and belonging that I can't describe.

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When she was a newborn, Sophie slept in a co-sleeper bassinet attached to our bed. Occasionally I would bring her in to our bed next to me, but I was generally too afraid of rolling onto her or smothering her, so she spent most nights in her own little space. We have tried a few times since those early days to have her sleep with us, but every time was a failure. She wriggled around like a fish out of water, all arms and legs in tender spots.

However, while she has been sick this past week, I have brought Sophie in to sleep with me almost every night. At first, it was awkward, we didn't know how to sleep around each other. She couldn't find just the right nook to curl into and I couldn't figure out how to cuddle her without putting at least one limb painfully to sleep. But after a few nights, a rhythm was established. She found her spot and I discovered an addiction to laying next to my sleeping daughter.

All these years, I thought my mom had allowed us to sleep with her. That she was just doing the motherly duty and comforting us when we were scared or lonely. It didn't really occur to me that there was happiness to be found on the other end. The tunnel vision of children, even grown ones, I suppose.

It's funny how your perceptions change when you become a parent. How the things that seemed one way were, in fact, very different. While these past days with my sick child have been rough, let there be no confusion on one fact. I get every bit as much out of our snuggle times as my daughter, maybe more.

*Don't worry, time would prove the nickname very appropriate in my case, far less so in my skinny sister.