There are not enough poems about geraniums.

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Scroll through comments for some very clever and lovely poems newly penned by my very clever and lovely readers!

PHOTOS TEMPORARILY UNAVAILABLE

I’m only going along with this picturing taking stuff because I know you have candy in your purse.

Ah-ah-ah… choooo!

Sneezing is universally funny.

I made my mom laugh!

Now go away crazy camera lady.

I did not have a lot of toys growing up.  I know. Break out the tiny violin.

I had a hand me down Chatty Cathy.  I had some of the lesser Barbies – Midge? The redhead with the questionable reputation whom no one talked about.  Nothing was proven, mostly rumors.  I did have a Chrissy doll that I loved.  I had a Lite Brite that I loved.  My brother had the Spirograph which I coveted.  But among the three of us kids, we didn’t have a lot.

Sean on the other hand.

Like most families in America, our toy box runneth over.

And here is the great irony. Sean plays with about 1^% of the toys he owns. However, he would wail and fuss were I to relocate the other 99^% toys.

The toys that Sean loves most are ones that we have picked up at garage sales or were passed down to us. They are the least complicated, least expensive, require no batteries and have held his interest from ages 2-6 and I expect, into a few more years.  And they are toys that his mommy and daddy love to play with too.

They are:

1) Tinker Toys

2) Leggos

3) Wooden Blocks

4) Plastic toy tools

5) Plastic animals

6) Matchbox cars

7) Play-Doh

Now there is another category of toys that Sean loves, that are not really toys and they are:

1) 6-ft step ladder

2) sheets

3) empty boxes of any size

* * * * *

I’m sure everyone’s Top 10 Toys list looks a little different. If you were going to recommend the top three or four best toys to a new mom,  what would be on your list?

Earlier in the month, we loaded up my car and drove to the Midwest to see my parents.  I love my car. It is 10 years old and it is paid for and I can eat all the French fries I want in my car. And I know what all the buttons do. My car, it is not complicated. It is old and simple,  much like myself.

AD has a newer fancy car that I do not care for.  Besides the fact that it is some sort of inner sanctum where no French fry shall pass, it has all kinds of buttons and dials and thingys on it that do stuff that frighten me. Screens pop up and people talk to me, people I do not know and cannot see.  And I can never figure out how to get any of the buttons to do what they are supposed to do.  It is a hateful car.

One time I had to drive this car to a gathering at someone’s house, after dark. And as soon as I get in the car, I sense the car thinking, “Oh. It’s you. I suppose you will be wanting some fries.”

After I got to my destination and parked, I could not get the headlights to turn off. Or the door to lock. Every time I would take three steps away from the car, it would unlock itself just to be spiteful.  So I couldn’t go into the house.  I just stood outside the house locking and unlocking the car and turning the lights off and on and off and on and waving to the normal people going in.

Another time I had to take Sean and his little friend to school in this car and I could not unlock the back doors. I pushed every button I could find, but those doors would not open.  You know, I already have a reputation at this school as “that” mom, the one who can’t operate a calendar.  Now I’m “that”
mom who can’t figure out how to unlock the car door.

The people in the car pool line behind me were getting a little antsy, so finally I crawled into the backseat, unstrapped the children and then had them crawl into the front seat and out the door. Just like at the circus.

Shortly thereafter, my brother sent me the link to Blonde Star. Very funny John.

A few weeks ago, we went berry picking with some friends. Between three families, we picked 31 pounds of blueberries and blackberries.  Consequently, I have been making a lot of cobbler lately.  I’ve discovered that people are lot happier to see you at their door when you’ve got a fresh baked blueberry cobbler in hand.

Cobbler is fine with canned fruit, but nothing compares to a cobbler made of fresh picked fruit.  Here’s my recipe – and anyone can make it.

Filling

1 quart sized bag of frozen (or fresh) berries

½ cup of sugar

3-4 tablespoons of grape juice (cranberry juice or whatever you have on hand is fine)

2-3 tablespoons of flour

¼ stick of butter, sliced (margarine doesn’t work as well)

Mix all of the above and then pop into the oven in an 8×8 glass baking dish. Bake at 350 until slightly bubbly, probably about 20 minutes.

Crust

In the meantime, mix:

1 cup of buttermilk baking mix (I like Pioneer)

½ cup of sugar

½ stick of butter, diced (don’t use margarine, not as good)

¼ cup of Half and Half  (regular milk is fine)

1 teaspoon of vanilla

Mix all the above. The mixture will be sort of sticky. Put it in the freezer to set up until you take the fruit mixture out of the oven. Let the hot fruit mixture cool for a minute or two and then pull off pieces of the dough and piece together over the fruit.  If you are really industrious, you can roll it out, but I don’t.

When the fruit is more or less covered, sprinkle with a bit of sugar and pop back into the oven until it’s brown, probably about 25 or 30 minutes.

Serve warm with Blue Bell ice cream!

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Start with about a quart or more of frozen or fresh berries.

Toss with sugar, butter, flour and a little fruit juice, then toss in the oven till bubbly.

For the crust, mix up a little buttermilk baking mix, sugar, butter, milk and vanilla. Put in the freezer to firm up while fruit is baking.

When the fruit is hot, pull the dough out of the freezer and piece together over the top. At this point it will look ugly.  If you don’t eat too much of the dough, you will be able to cover the entire cobbler. Not too worry though, it expands and puffs together.

Here’s the finished product. Sprinkle a little sugar on top for pretty.

Serve with or without ice cream.

And now I salute food photographers everywhere who know how to photograph food in such a way that you might actually like to eat it.

As I was driving Sean to day camp yesterday, we got to talking about the upcoming school year.  I was hoping to stir up some enthusiasm for kindergarten.

In his dream world, he does not go to kindergarten but stays home and builds forts in the den with me all day. And eats popsicles for breakfast.  In my dream world, he trots happily off to kindergarten for a few hours while I get a few things done.  And then comes home and builds forts with me in the den. And then later we watch Deadliest Catch re-runs and eat Ritz crackers on the sofa.

I am always convinced that something fabulous is waiting for me just around the corner.  It is just my nature.  It always knocks me for a loop when my rose colored glasses fog over, yet still, I just can’t wait to see what’s next.  I look ahead and expect good things.

My child is unlike me in this regard.

In this regard, slap some whiskers on that boy and he is his father.

Instead of being excited about all the new friends he will make, about enjoying all the privileges of being the oldest kids in the school, about the awesome smell of new school supplies — he was dour.  He does not care for the forward motion of the universe.

In his defense, I will say that his pre-K class was a golden little tribe. They were all especially bright and a uniquely cohesive little group – a dozen good eggs.

“I don’t want new friends,” he said, looking out the window.  “I want my same group.”

“Well, I know,” I said.  “Those kids will still be your friends, but you are going to get even more friends! Isn’t that great?!”

“No.”

“Make new friends, but keee-eep the-uh oh-weld! One is silv…”

“Mom stop it.”

“Why do things have to change?” he asked. “I like things the way they were.”

“Well Sean, that’s just how it is.  Get used to it.  The world and life and circumstances are always changing. Things never stay the same for very long.  The world moves forward and never back.”

Silence.

“Sometimes you say you wish I was a baby again.”

“You know what? That’s true. Every day I wish that. Just a little bit. I look at you and can’t believe you are my four-pound baby. But at the same time, I love the boy that you are now!  And I am excited to see what God has in store for you, how you will grow and what you will become.  I’m convinced that something wonderful is waiting for you in kindergarten – more friends, more fun, more challenges. You just have no idea how awesome it will be.”

“What if you never moved on before you went into Pre-K? You’d have never been part of the Blue Group. Wouldn’t that be sad?”

“I’m just not ready to move on.”

“Yup. I know.  But there is good stuff ahead. Trust me.”

* * *

“No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no mind has conceived what God has prepared for those who love him”  1 Corinthians 2:9

I am assuming that every family has some weird little games they play that when described to others fall into the category of evidence for the state.

We have many of these games, but the one that Sean loves most right now is called The Run Away Game.

The Run Away Game erupts. It is never planned and usually happens when we are all just standing around the kitchen grazing and looking through mail and that kind of thing.  The first parent to faint from exhaustion loses.

One of the parents picks up the child and says to the other parent, “No! You may not have my baby!”  And then runs like crazy through the house, carrying said child, while the other parent gives chase.  Eventually the run away duo is captured in a group hug. And then the capturing parent steals the child saying, “No! You may not have my baby!”  Another chase ensues all while the little boy squeals and shouts, “Run! Run faster!”

Great fun.  And a good bit of exercise running through the house with a five-year-old.

Yesterday, after a rousing round of Run Away, I set Sean down and clutched my chest and tried to catch my breath.  And I wished that either a) I was about 10 years younger or b) that I worked out more often.

As I sat on the floor panting, I thought about all the different little made up games we have played along the way, most of which he probably doesn’t even remember and I wouldn’t either if I didn’t write stuff down.

I wondered if he would remember the Run Away game and play with his own little boy some day.

I hope so.

Does your family have any made up, unexplainable, weird games/things?

Saturday was Scott Kelby’s 2nd Annual World Wide Photo Walk.  People from all over the world in every major city, and some minor ones, met with other photographers and walked around taking pictures. I think there were over 32,000 people from 900 cities. Kinda cool, yes?

We had about 30 people in our group – amateurs and professionals, old and young, and in-between.  There was a father-daughter duo which I thought was really cool. I would love to do this with Sean next year.  Some people had incredible equipment and tripods and gadgets and others traveled light with just pocket point and shoot models.

The most challenging aspect of the photo walk was trying to get a shot without another photographer’s leg or head in the picture.  But, at the same time, I didn’t have to explain to anyone why I was taking a picture of industrial hardware or standing there staring at something waiting for the wind to blow just right or lying in the middle of the sidewalk.  Artsy photography people understand.

Here are some of my shots.

A dog improves almost any party.

I think the single most thing I love about blogging is its serendipitous nature.  Oft times I’ll click on a link on a blogroll and then another and another and like a beagle, I’ll end up somewhere far from where I started and have no idea how I got there.   Using that approach to the internet and life, I’ve met a lot of nice people, made some new friends and discovered some really incredible writers.

And that’s exactly how I found The QC Report written by Quinn Cummings.  Which is to say, I have no idea how I found her.  Quinn is the author of the new book Notes from the Underwire and if you haven’t read her work before, I recommend you start by reading this post on Christmas, which I loved.  Then go here for something poignant and thoughtful and then here for something funny to top it off. Think of it as the Quinn Sampler Platter.

Following is my interview with Quinn which I promised last week.  At the end, leave a comment telling me the title of your would-be autobiography for a chance to win an autographed copy of her book.

Mine?  “Confessions of a Neat Freak ~ I Straightened Up Your Medicine Cabinet When I Used Your Bathroom”

* * * *

AM: Okay Quinn, I know that you were a child star in Hollywood back in the day, but based on what I know of you and what you write about, that fact seems to be more a less just a footnote to your life.  It doesn’t really seem to define you all that much.  Is that how you view your experience as a child star, or has it shaped you more than comes through in your writing? That’s my way of saying, you seem so normal.  Just like me. Only with more normal thrown in.

QC: You see normal, I see the state about to get involved.

Last week, I took my daughter to a water park, which is basically like swimming in the urine of a middle-school. And then we were starving and the pizza line moved not one person in twenty minutes and we were hanging on each other from low-blood sugar, so I bought us a funnel cake to eat for lunch. I ask you, is that normal? By the way, the average American is FAR more tattooed then I suspected. Things you learn at a water park.

Anyway.

Acting took up no more than about six years of my life. They were six rather public years, but even during those years I wasn’t an actress every second. Mostly, I was a ten year old roller-skating, or a eight year-old weaseling out of math homework or an eleven year-old washing the dog.  The part where I was acting was such a fraction of my life even then that I think I’d be a pretty pathetic figure to define myself by that. It would be like introducing myself to people as the second-fastest runner in the third grade.

AM: Actually Quinn, I WAS the second-fastest runner in the 3rd grade.   It’s really a shame how few occasions there are to drop that in conversation.

So then, if not Hollywood, what people or events of your life shaped you and your world view?

QC: In case you wondered if I was really geeky and weird when I was a kid, try this one for size; I never saw an episode an episode of “Charlie’s Angels” and I ate dinner in front of “60 Minutes” every week. I saw my mother and father working hard every day of their lives, which certainly informed my idea of what real responsible adults looked like. I think the person who most deeply affected me was this internal vision I had of what being an adult was. I was to be well-read, hard-working, crusading for the afflicted, all that. I’m rarely her, but when I become disappointed with myself, that’s the image I see, the one I’m not living up to.

AM: I absolutely loved the story where you tried to help this stray dog, but ultimately it doesn’t end well. It was funny and tragic all at the same time.  At the root of your stories is this sort of average girl who just wants to be helpful to people and animals and sometimes things go awry.  Is that true?  If not, what two or three words would you use to describe yourself?

QC: That’s it.  Perfect. I’m weird and asocial, but I want to be the good person, doing the right thing, helping those who need help. And if only my need to be of service could be put into another body, much would be accomplished. But, sadly, that part of me is stuck with the inappropriate and graceless part of me.

AM: I am a huge fan of the short story, which is one of the reasons I love this book and your blog, because right now, with a 5-year-old, it’s all I have time for.  I love the sort of randomness of the stories, I love that all together they are just the right mix of funny and charming to sweet and tender.  Did you set out to write a collection of short stories or have you been writing these all along?

QC: The blog format suited me, because after about fifteen hundred words, my fingers and my brain goes numb. I have a friend who is working on a historic epic. She’s been doing the background work for years. It’s going to be such a page-turner you won’t be able to breathe! I’m in awe of her and could no more do that than take out my pancreas. When I write my stories, in my mind I’m walking through Target with my friend Veronica telling her about my newest ghastly exploit. The nicest thing I’m hearing from readers is that reading a story is just like having a friend with them.

AM: What I love about your writing is how precisely you use language. As a reader, it feels as though the words just laid down on the paper for you.  There is no evidence of the struggle of writing and for me that what makes it a pleasure to read.  Does writing come easily to you?

QC: Thank you for your kind words. I steal from Patrick Dennis when he had Auntie Mame say, “Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death.” I feel that way about language. I think about what I’m going to write for a long time before it goes on to the page. When I find the right word to describe something, I giggle in delight. But also, my brain works in metaphors anyway. I can’t rest until I’ve decided how something I’ve just seen is like something I already know. Ask Consort about how nice I am until I can find the missing metaphor.

AM: Is blogging a help or hindrance to writing a book?

QC: They’re not dissimilar, but thanks to an editor who said very firmly, “Blogs are what happens every day; books have to take on bigger topics,” I sort of instinctively shift some stories from “Ooh, book!” to “Oh, you’re a blog.”

AM: I know you did some screen writing a number of years ago. What other types of things might you like to write? Do you aspire to write a novel?

QC: I know better than to say never, if for no other reason than the universe tends to throw you the “Never” thing, just to see you explain it to your friends. I will say this; I write a fine little miniature about my life, but I don’t make up stories. It’s not my inclination and it’s not my talent. I cannot imagine  the circumstances under which I’d write a novel. I think I’ll stay with my miniatures.

AM: I think all moms who blog have to decide at some point if and how much they are going to write about their children.  What does your daughter think of the book and having her life put to words?   What do you hope she will say of this book 10 or 20 years from now?

QC: Her strongest feeling is being miffed that others get to read it and she doesn’t. She’s read a couple of chapters and laughed in delight, but not everything is for kids. Especially not the kid who is in the book; I chill at the thought of her doing something cute someday and turning to me and trilling, “You should put that in a BLOG!”

I hope she reads this ten years from now, twenty years from now and a year after I’m dead and thinks, “My mother was a lunatic but she adored me.”

AM: When the reader has turned the last page and closed the cover, what idea or concept or feeling do you hope they take away?

QC: I got a phone call from a friend with nice things to say about the book. She said, “I had no idea how much we were alike.” You have to believe me when I say that there’s no way we’re alike. She’s sort of glowy and runs a fabulous house and her stationary is flawless and she was raised right. And she still saw herself in my cracked and finger-printed mirror of a book. I want every reader who sees herself in some way in my careening well-meaning, that we’re mostly all a little lost, running late, with every intention of helping with the school fund-raiser this year just as soon as we can determine the source of the weird smell coming off the dog. I started off this book thinking I was incredibly weird. And while I still think I’m a couple of bubbles off plumb, I think a lot of people need to be reminded that we’re all doing the best we can.

AM: What’s next for Quinn?

QC: Tonight?  Sleep. After that, some writing and a little parenting. And it’s safe to say that I’ll accidentally insult someone. If it’s you, please accept my apology in advance.

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That’s actually Quinn on the cover in one of her “going to the grocery store” outfits.  What a fashionista!

Don’t forget to leave a comment for a chance to win an autographed copy of Quinn’s book!

I noticed the other day that Quinn has been talking a lot about toast lately over on her blog.  And that makes sense. She doesn’t have a food blog but she did just publish a book. Having used up all the good stuff and gray matter on the book, it has come to toast.

I happen to think that toast is a worthy topic and merits much more discussion than it gets, a higher place on the list of topics.  Why talk about the economy and world events and the meaning of life and motherhood when we could be talking about the crunchy goodness that is toast?

I, for one, am a big fan of toast.  I never get tired of toast and am happy to eat a piece any time of the day or night. So when someone says, “You’re toast!” I take that as a compliment. Toast is yummy, warm and everyone likes it.

But beware.  Not all toast is created equal.

Croutons for example, are not toast.  Yes they are bread and they are toasted, but they are uppity little bits of stale bread which delight in mocking you from your salad plate.  Crouton is French for not toast not even close ha ha you fool.

Toast points — another example of “not really toast”.  Probably also brought to you by the French whose idea of bread is my idea of a putter.

Crostini.  Oh it’s toast alright.  It’s yesterday’s toast. Put a few diced tomatoes on it, give it a fancy Italian name, call it an appetizer and charge $12.

And then there are those weird little packages of toast they sell in the fancy crackers department; I’ll blame the British for those.  Toast is not named Melba and should never come to you wrapped in cellophane.

Now Texas toast – that is toast!  What other state has its very own toast!?  Cover it in butter and put it on a hot griddle till it’s good and brown and then flip it over and do it again. That there will cure a broken heart my friends.  Well, it might take the whole loaf, but it works, trust me.

Quinn will be here on Monday to answer a few questions not related to toast and to give away an autographed copy of her fabulously funny new book Notes from the Underwire. So meet us back here then for a rollicking good time.  Okay, there probably won’t be any rollicking.

This concludes my treatise on toast and possibly my imaginary blogging career.

Back to your regular programming.