Now We're Talking Resolutions

Resolution time again. Didn't we just do this like a year ago?

I know resolutions are the thing to do so I sat down and really gave it some thought. Then, the voice of my mother rang through my head saying, "If it's not broke, don't fix it." Plus, "Leave well enough alone." And that classic, "Don't mess with perfection."

What's a girl to do? I did the only thing I could do under those circumstances. I accepted the fact that I was not going to make any resolutions for myself this year.

Then I made some for other people. I'm just giving like that. It's a wonder to me I don't always win those altruism awards.

Without further ado, I present my resolutions for everyone else for 2010.

Susan Boyle is resolving to learn another song. Yes, we were all blown away the first 30 times we heard her belt that bad boy out. But even Milli Vanilli knew two or three songsKanye West is resolving to pick on someone his own age and size. However, other stars are quite disappointed in this resolution. Coincidence or not, one can't help noticing that after he acted like a spoiled preschooler and grabbed that award out of Taylor's hand, she hasn't lost. These next two are just resolving to go away. And hopefully to remember that there were eight other people in that family. Just a trivial fact they seem to have forgotten long ago.

Speaking of families, this next resolution is being made by the bulk of a family. Michael Jackson's family is finally going to let the man be put to rest. Yes, that means even the brothers who forgot to develop careers or talents of their own.
Keith Urban resolves to choose only one of the following: shag, mullet, high-contrast highlights, or extreme straightening. Oh, and to get a razor.
These people have already had to resolve through the court system not to profit from their admitted balloon hoax for five years. In 2010, they are going to do the right thing and resolve to never profit from that. And to take some parenting classes.
Adrien Brody resolves to give his mom back her cardigan and feather scarf, get a professional to do his hair, and give those shorts back to the retiree he stole them from on a Florida golf course.
And this gentleman resolves to give a large chunk of his fortune to his wife as well as become very well-acquainted with the return address of the local STD testing clinic.
Whew, I'm exhausted. It is terribly hard work helping other people live better lives. Maybe I should have just stuck to myself after all.

But what fun is that?

Just Little Old Super Me

I've been driving quite a bit these last few months since the college kids don't have their own cars. Over the week that included Thanksgiving, I made so many trips back and forth, I can't even begin to tell you how many miles I put on the car or me. I do know the car looks better than I do. Maybe it is time I went in for a little rotation and alignment work for myself.After all that traveling, I had a dream on Thanksgiving. I dream where I started running and found out I could leap for incredible distances in the air. Almost like flying. And my first thought in my dream was how much time this would save me on those college trips.It was my first brush with a super-power and I have to admit that I was more than a little disappointed to wake up and realize that I couldn't almost fly. Well, I don't think I can. Remember that in my dream I found out I could almost fly when I was running. And in my waking life I don't run. So, I guess anything is still possible.

I was surprised flying was the super power I was lusting after. I always thought I'd want to be invisible. Admittedly, I am one nosy person. I assumed that being invisible and being able to snoop around on anyone and anything would be the pinnacle of super power coolness. I have been jealous of Harry Potter's invisibility cloak since it mysteriously appeared on his bed the first time. What a rush - to be able to make yourself invisible but still be able to hear and see what everyone is doing. I have to tell you, that is quite appealing to me.I also loved the movie The Incredibles. I was quite attracted to the idea of being able to stretch myself to any length anytime I wanted. What woman hasn't felt like she is being torn in several directions at the same time? Couple that with the super power of being able to reach your arm into the laundry room to move the clothes from the washer to the dryer while the rest of your body stays in the kitchen stirring the soup. Oh, and your leg is able to stretch over to the back door at the same time to push it open and let the dog out. It probably isn't a coincidence that both Mrs. Incredible and Mr. Fantastic have the same super power. Yes, that stretching one would be nice.Faced with the dilemma of choosing only one super power for life would be a difficult choice. I know, because obviously I have given quite a bit of thought to this. I don't play the lottery so I don't have the luxury of plotting what I will do with those millions if I win. No, the super power jackpot is the prize I lust after.

I'm going with the flying. No wait, maybe just teleportation. Then again, I still like that invisibility thing.
Bummer. Is there a decisiveness super power?

Oh Christmas Tree, How Sappy Are Your Branches

Here we are, just two days before Christmas. Like so many of you, I was a little late in getting the Christmas spirit this year. It really didn't fully arrive until my college kids came home. But, I am happy to report that it is here now with a vengeance and we are having a great time.

Except for the present situation. And no, I don't mean the fact that the gifts are a little leaner than some years.

I have a thing about my presents. I like the wrapper to match my den. Now try to keep in mind that I am a decorating failure. My idea of decorating is that if it fits into a frame, it is suitable for hanging. Wherever. And if a kid made it, display it with pride for the rest of your days. There is no style here. There is happiness though.

So why do I get my granny panties in a wad over the wrapping? Because my den is the best shade of pear green I've ever seen and I love red accents. Which is just screaming "Christmas paper". And this year, unlike years in the past where I take a sharpie marker and write who the gift is to directly on the paper (oh yes I do), I made little gift tags with holes punched in them and tied them onto my packages with cute red or green yarn. (All while humming "brown paper packages tied up with string" on a daily basis. I love that movie.) If I tell you my gifts looked great under my tree, it would not be bragging. It would just be the truth.

Until the tree sapped them.

We always cut a live tree from the best tree farm and have a great time doing so. Live trees bring such a beauty to a home. They smell great. They are always a little different in shape and size and fullness. And they bring that best aspect - the unexpected.

This year, my unexpected was that I looked down and my packages were drenched with sap. I'm not talking about a little drop or two. Oh no. My tree has been oozing sap like crazy. On almost every gift under there.

Since many of the gifts for my kids are books, I panicked just a little. It's one thing to get a shoe box covered in sap and quite another for a paperback book. So, all the packages have been lovingly moved out from under the tree and placed in the corner of the room. So sad. Gifts in time out.

As annoying as this is, it isn't as bad as the year we had a freakishly warm December and actually wore shorts to cut our tree. We hauled it home, placed it in its stand, and covered it with the (homemade) ornaments we treasure and love. I wrapped the gifts and piled them under the tree. Ah, Christmas.

Three days later I noticed something weird going on over there. Closer examination revealed that that tree cut in such warm weather had brought in some rather live additions which were now crawling all over my packages and even up onto the ceiling. I had to take the gifts out from under the tree to kill the bugs.

I believe I may have just single-handedly caused the sell of artificial trees to rise by double digits.

I like a little unexpected in my holidays. And I like to flaunt convention. I enjoy rather creative packaging for our gifts as well. Such as the year I wrapped every single gift in a shoe box.

Oh yes I did.

Shirts, coats, toys - it didn't matter to me. I had been saving those boxes for years for all of those times you get a note home from school to send in a shoe box. My kids still talk about that year. Drove them nuts since they couldn't figure out what anything was ahead of time.

I hope there is some fun and unexpected surprises in store for each of you this year. Really, life is more fun when it's unpredictable.

Merry Christmas.

*On an exciting note, at least for me, I now have a companion blog, Suburb Sanity Reviews and Giveaways, which will contain reviews and giveaways (the title probably confused you. So ambiguous.) If you'll pop over there in the next week or so, you can comment to win a great cookbook. A little belated Christmas gift for yourself.

How to Insult

I've decided it is time to teach you all a lesson in southern manners. Specifically, how to insult someone. Oh sure, I know many of you already think you know how to do this, bless your hearts. I'm here to make sure all of you that weren't born and bred south of the Mason Dixon truly understand the fine art of insults.

Southerners are famous for their ability to insult someone and coat it with some sugar so the recipient isn't quite sure what they've received. It's just one of those things we do well. Like deep frying absolutely anything, having a certain fondness for our kinfolk, and making really good iced tea.

As I did my research for this topic (lying in my bed awake at 4 a.m.), I decided that there are three successful ways to insult someone.

The first way, and really the easiest to accomplish, is to say whatever you want, and then finish your sentence with a sweet "bless her heart". For instance, you might say, "Those cookies she made could break every tooth out of your head, bless her heart". The blessing negates the insult. See how simple that is? Even a child can do it. Additionally, don't be afraid to mix it up as in the sentence, "Bless your heart honey, that is the ugliest sweater I've ever seen". Which I might add is a perfectly fine way to greet your relatives over the holidays. Many a southern door will be opened with that or a very similar greeting springing forth from the lips of the hostess. Then, a perfect glass of iced tea will be pressed into the ugly sweater wearer's hands and there will be smiles all around.

Secondly, we have a technique I like to call the one down - one up. The basic premise of this technique is that you let your zinger flow freely, then follow it up with a genuine nicety. My children were even taught this in their elementary school (I promise you my children have received wonderful educations. There are just a few quirks along the way that I have pointed out to you.) When some child gave another child an insult or "put-down", the offending child then had to tell them two "put-ups". No, this did not teach the children to be nice. But, that is beside the point.

The point is, in the south it is perfectly fine to say "Aunt Ester, your new husband isn't a bit better than any of your previous six", as long as you then say, "Your new hair color is fabulous". It's the same theory as the one I heard long ago about how you can serve the worst food in the world for a dinner party as long as you end it with a great dessert. I recommend pie.

The final option for insults in the south is the more complicated "sandwich method". It takes a practiced southerner to accomplish this and I believe it is more commonly executed by the gentile southern lady rather than the gentlemen. Here's the recipe: one zinger, one sweet one, one final zinger. I'll demonstrate. "Carrie Elizabeth Margaret sure has been putting on the weight. Of course, her face is still as pretty as an angel's. But don't let her near your all-you-can-eat buffet."

Simple? Yes. But not always easy to master put into practice. I recommend you start this method when talking about someone and only with experience try it when talking to him or her. Many a southern feud has been started by a badly practiced sandwich insult.

So, there you have it. Just in time for your holiday gatherings. I truly believe that even you non-southerners can master these techniques. Bless your hearts.

Thinly Veiled Attacks

We are a thin family.

Both my husband and I are thin people. We've always been thin. Back when we were dating, my best friend (and future maid of honor) stated in her most country voice that if we ever got married and had kids, we'd "just have twigs".

Now, the beauty of middle age has given my husband and me a little cushion we didn't quite have in the prior 45 years.

But my kids? Twigs. Just little sticks. Actually tall sticks. They also got the tall gene.

Why am I telling you this? Because although I know people can be very cruel to overweight individuals, there is also a bias in our culture against skinny people. Yes, I do believe that. Anyone and everyone feels like they have a right to walk up to my kids and comment on how thin they are. To ask if they have an eating disorder. To tell them how lucky they are. Or to ask me if they eat well.

And that's wrong. And harmful. Very harmful to my kids. I know people think it is harmless, that we are lucky to be thin, that being thin is such a great thing that calling undue attention to it can't possibly be bad.

But it can.

Each and every year in their health classes they become the focus of attention when the topic turns to eating disorders. Which my kids do not have. My kids have tall, skinny genes. And tall, skinny jeans.

Other kids are allowed to say things to my kids about their size. Things I don't think would be allowed if my kids were obese.

In our school system, we now have a paid position that is solely for student, family, and community health. It was created as a response to the obesity problem that is plaguing our nation. As one of the initiatives, each child is weighed and their height measured annually. In a class. Where other children are present.

My kids weigh what most of their classmates weighed 5 or more years ago. That's fine with me. And fine with my children's doctors who say my kids are extremely healthy.

Yet, when we allowed our first child to participate in this program, we received a letter at home telling us our child was critically underweight and that we should consider feeding him a balanced diet.

The balanced diet he has been offered all of his life is one of the contributing factors to his lack of obesity. It is hard to pack on the pounds eating fresh fruits, veggies, and lean meat. With the occasional trip to Chick-fil-A because after all, all things in moderation.

So now I send a letter each year saying my kids are not allowed to be weighed. I'll keep up with their health and the school can teach them algebra.

It's difficult to raise kids with the constant onslaught of media and lifestyles that so many of us do not think are healthy for our kids. I want my children to have a healthy acceptance of their body type.

Even if they are skinny.

What Goes on in the Middle of the Night

The burning question on my mind today is: Why in the world can middle-aged women not sleep through the night?Take heed you younger gals. Again, my job is to sound the alarm bell so you can be better prepared when you arrive at that fun time. And you will. And we older women will be there to support you, answer your questions, and laugh about you behind your back.But enough about you. Let's get back to me. I thought I had solved all of my nighttime worries when we installed the programmable thermostats and I was able to plummet the temperature in the room enough to house some migrating penguins while my husband slept blissfully unaware under 34 pounds of flannel and down. And keeping the temperature cool at night did work for several months.

Until the midlife hormone gods said, "Now let's have some more fun and not let her sleep more than four hours a night". And you can hear them chortling and clinking wine glasses together because my midlife hormone gods know how to party. They also know how to keep me too sleep deprived to party.Four hours it is. Doesn't matter if I wait until I'm exhausted to go to bed or go early. Getting exercise during the day doesn't seem to make a bit of difference over the days I just sit with this laptop holding me down in my favorite chair. Ditto for foods or drinks. Doesn't impact it at all. After four hours I am wide awake.

Which could explain why on Thanksgiving Day, when I had gotten dressed and applied my makeup, done my hair and gotten ready for the festivities, my father-in-law looked across the room and announced, "Debbie, you must not have slept well. You look awful." Well, the lack of sleep explains some of that statement and his personality explains the other.I come up with the best blog posts ever written during the night while I am trying to go back to sleep. Do I remember any of them? Of course not. The hormones have also taken away most of my memory. Why don't I get up and write those great ideas down? Because I am trying to go back to sleep.Plus, some fool has made it too cold to get out of my bed in the middle of the night.

Southern Criminals

It's time for another installment of what the wacko people have been up to lately. For a nice little spin, I thought this time we would focus on my southern brethren. Seems like in the past the crazy news stories have been centered primarily in California or Canada. Now, I'm not going to draw any conclusions from that fact. After thinking about it, I just realized I didn't feel comfortable with Canada and California having all the crazy people. So, I dug around and found several closer to my home.

I'll start with a fellow Tennessean. A lovely woman in Shelbyville, Tennessee was arrested after that town's annual Christmas parade. It seems she was in violation of the town's public intoxication law by riding in the parade while under the influence of a little too much Christmas spirits. How did they know? Well, for starters, they found her outside a hotel slumped over the back of the white horse she rode in the parade. Then, officers had to catch her twice to keep her from falling. I tell you, I'm not sure what our world is coming too if you can't tie one on prior to a Christmas parade. I just know the kids would be disappointed if they couldn't bet on which drunk would fall off their horse first.Another fine southern lady, this time from Louisiana, found an interesting way to deal with a boyfriend who was threatening to leave her. The 44 year old man came home, announced to his girlfriend, Carolyn Brown, that he was leaving her, then he went to bed. Yes, that is where he made his tragic mistake. We've already established in prior posts that southern women are always cooking and have plenty of food at their disposal. So what did Carolyn do? She simply picked up a handy pot of grits and poured them over her beloved. Hot grits. The man has second degree burns over his face and hands. No word yet on whether he is still planning to leave Carolyn or not.Just a little to the east, a Florida woman was serving dinner to her live-in boyfriend. She offered him a slice of bread which he refused stating he wanted a dinner roll. Apparently, 53 year old Elsie Egan was not in the mood for multiple bread offerings that night because she picked up a raw steak and repeatedly hit the man in the face with it. She has since been released on bond. And there you have it. Yes, we have our weird crimes in the south. Oddly, they seem to revolve completely around food and drink. So if you are traveling down south over the holidays at any time, I'd just give you a friendly reminder to be on your best behavior, don't break up with anyone unexpectedly, take whatever bread is offered, and watch out for crazy drunks on horses. I think if you remember those tips, you'll have a memorable time.

The Perfect Gifts for My College Kids

With the two older kids in college this Christmas, gift giving is a bit more complicated. What do I buy for these young adults who are almost out on their own but still not, almost mature adults but still not, yet always cash-strapped individuals? Since I've never been in this position before, I did what anyone would do. I consulted Google.

Right away, I found a wonderfully helpful site called Best Gifts and Ideas of 2009 Gift Shop with a special section called College Gifts. Just knowing I had landed in a place where all my questions would be answered, I settled back to do a little shopping.

First, they recommended I buy my college kids the Interactive Toy Concepts Radio Controlled Cooler. For $79.99. Yes, that is what I was hoping to find for my underage kids. A device that will let them sit undisturbed and have the cool brews roll over to them. The perfect combination of toy and alcohol. Of course, like all of you, my personal pick for what I want to spend my money on for my college kids is the Port-O-Pong Portable Beer Pong Table for $49.95. I have worried myself sick about the fact that my kids have been tied down to one spot while tossing back several. With this thoughtful gift, they can continue to drink wherever and whenever. Talk about a gift that practically screams "Momma loves you".If the economy wasn't in such a terrible mess, you could bet I'd be buying the Cruzin Cooler Electric Cooler for $526.94. Now again, I want to assure you this is found on the page for College Gifts. But you would have guessed that once I told you that this is a motorized rideable cooler with a 24 can capacity and it holds up to 350 pounds of person to ride around. That will accommodate the freshman 15 and then some. What a gift.

I finally have all the gift ideas I need for my kids. I'm going to go put this credit card to good use. Won't I feel like a great mom when they tear into these wonderful gifts on Christmas morning?

Cooking with Debbie

When I read the news that some students at a cooking school in Bogota created a dessert with passion fruit and Viagra, I realized once again the opportunities that await us if we are only smart enough to jump on them. In case you want more specifics on the new dessert, it is a pudding made with passion fruit, chocolate, whipped cream and those ubiquitous blue pills in a dissolved form. Of course, they can't actually sell it since Viagra is a controlled substance but apparently in Spain, gastronomic delights such as this can go before the food and drug institute and gain approval. I'm not sure who exactly tests the desserts to decide if they can be sold but I did manage to snap this photo in the lobby of the food and drug institute immediately after the announcement.
But, enough about Viagra. My thoughts after reading this news blurb centered around the fact that I have apparently not utilized my love of cooking to its fullest potential all these years. I cook. A lot. I cook all the meals for my immediate family and it seems to me that I never hardly leave this house without a dish of something in my hand. Which got me to thinking...

Next time we travel to the in laws, how about a nice Ambien Appetizer? Just something light they can nibble on and by the end of the meal, they'll be face down at the table. Think of the benefits to the whole holiday get-togethers that this little recipe would bring. No more dreading schlepping you and the kids half-way around the country to see the family. It would almost be like a trip to the spa - quiet and relaxing.Speaking of the kids, let's think about the opportunities there. I'd say that starting at around 12 1/2, suddenly all of their food has a little happy pill tucked in there somewhere. Just a little something to completely eliminate any risk of teenage angst. Maybe we could add it to the peanut butter. A sandwich every day for lunch should do the trick.And for myself, what wife and mother couldn't use a little something in the daily bread to give her a little more energy, a little more pep? Something to help me get all the work done around here and still have the energy to whip up that special dessert for you-know-who.Ah yes. I think my pharmacist and my grocer need to become much better acquainted.

Southern Remedies

I often get the feeling that my life has been quite different from so many of you just because I grew up in the south. It is fascinating to me that we have as many cultural differences as we do just going from one part of the US to another. I know I grew up surrounded by some interesting home remedies. I'm anxious to know if any of you had similar experiences in other places or if this is just another example of our lovely southern quirkiness.
Most of the remedies inflicted upon me came with a big dose of love from my father. As I have told you, he grew up in a huge family in abject poverty. I'm not sure what influenced the remedies more - their lack of income and inability to see a doctor, or lack of education. Either way, he sure did get lots of opportunities to practice his forms of medicine on me.

As a child, I frequently had colds, sore throats and strep throat. That was back in the era where doctors felt like a child should keep their tonsils, no matter what. It wasn't until I was a married woman in my 20s that I finally found a doctor to remove those pits of disease. If I hadn't already been married, I would have married that miracle worker.So how did my father treat my throat? Let's just say I had my own little bottle of Southern Comfort on my dresser from the time I was old enough to remember. Nothing could eat through a sore throat like that stuff. My dad was a practical man. He certainly wasn't going to pussyfoot around putting lemon and honey in good Southern Comfort. Oh no. I had to take a tablespoon of that liquid fire straight. Let's just say I am not a bourbon or whiskey drinker to this day.
One time I got some skin rash all over me. I can still remember the pain and agony of that. Dad told me to put vinegar on it and it would get better. First and only time I ever jumped into a shower fully clothed. Again with the burning. Seems like a theme.Of course, Dad also practiced on himself. Still does. When he is working in the garden or yard and gets a cut, do you think he runs inside, washes it off and applies antibacterial ointment? No. He picks up a good handful of dirt and rubs it into the cut.There are others I never tried. Lots of cures involve kerosene and that never seemed right to me. Bleach factors heavily too. Dad uses bleach on everything. It's a wonder he has any skin pigmentation left.

When my children were born, Dad was always willing to give me helpful tips on how to get them to sleep, cry less, etc. Fortunately, by that point I was old enough and wise enough to smile, thank him, and tell him I'd sure try that - later. Of course, later never came.

It's a wonder any of us ever survived to climb down out of those mountains. I guess that's just another reason we turn out to be such tough old broads.

Another Milestone

And the middle child turns 16.
Do you remember as a child how slowly life moved? How one day in school could last for weeks and weeks. What happened to that joy? How did life speed up this fast? I blame technology. Especially any kind I don't understand.

Now this little nugget of joy that we are celebrating today came into the world while we were still attached to the Navy. He was born in a Navy hospital where Family Physicians did all of the prenatal care unless it was high risk. I liked that. Less interference. More willingness to let the woman's body do what it was designed to do.
Which with this child was to be in labor forever. I went into labor on November 30. He was born December 2. In the afternoon. For years I got confused and thought his birthday was December 1st. I was in labor so long that my primary doctor left to go on vacation. While I was pushing. I am not exaggerating. He tried to stay. Stayed until his plane was taxiing down the runway I think. Of course by that time, I didn't care who came in the room to catch that baby. I was just furious I wasn't leaving to go on vacation too.

After three short hours of pushing, out came my little angel who has done very few things the easy way from that day forward. I asked my husband to order a pizza while they were still tending to me in the delivery room. That was probably the hardest I have ever worked in my life.
Then I did something brilliant. Something wonderful. I made my husband spend the night in the hospital room with us. Oh sure, I think that is commonplace now. It wasn't back then. Plus, we had two 2 year olds at home. But, his mom was there with them and I knew where he was needed.

About the 15th time they came in that night to wake us all up to see if we were OK, words came out of my sweet husband's mouth that I had never heard from him before or since. Must be the genesis of that "cuss like a sailor" saying. First light of day, we were packing it up and heading home with our little December baby.
Who is now 16. Tell me again how that is possible.

*On a little sidenote, a wonderful fellow blogger and friend, Joanna Jenkins, has interviewed me over at The Fifty Factor. And, she's even giving away $25 to a lucky reader who comments over there and over here. So, since you're here anyway, you might as well go there, comment, and maybe win a little holiday cash. Good luck!