Fall Days at the Corn Maize

Don’t be jealous of my mad poetry skills.

The opening of the Corn Maize (for all of you spelling and grammar police; I AM spelling that correctly. This particular “maze” is cut from a cornfield; hence the play on words) here in Lubbock marks the beginning of my favorite time of year. The crisp air, the spices, the warm food, the snuggly blankets and nights spent at home with family; it’s the mark of fall.

A couple of weekends ago we gathered the darlings for our annual trip to the maize and per usual, a good time was had by all.

As the “cow train” pulled off I noticed a hint of panic in Allen’s eyes. “You’re afraid Kenly’s going to jump ship and get lost in the cornfield, aren’t you?” I asked. And he didn’t have to answer; because the truth is we both know. If anyone is going to climb out of a moving barrel and take off to hide in the field; it will be that precious child. We’ve got a lot of sleepless nights in our future.

Ashlyn LOVES this trampoline bungee thingamajig; and I cannot blame her. If they made one that would support me and all this backside I carry around I’d be harnessed up and bouncing before you could say milkshake

While Ashlyn was bouncing Allen and Kenly took off to play hide and seek in the trees and Kenly found a field of dirt. Right up her alley.

Sidenote: My delightful husband and I took a giant step on our journey to forever at this little corn maize 7 years ago; as this is where he proposed. A little bit redneck, you say? Indeed it was; but that’s us – sweet with a pinch of country hick.

My love affair with colons. (those of the "semi" variety at least)

I’m a huge fan of the semi-colon. I adore this little mark of punctuation; so much so that I tend to throw one in my writing at times when one is most definitely not needed. I’m beginning to think that my brain has a “haven’t used a semi-colon in a while” trigger that goes off and forces the pressing of that precious key beside the L. Perhaps in an effort to re-train my brain I’ll throw in random slashes for a month.

And now; before I face the wrath of a pregnant woman, here are a couple of pictures from Sara'a fabulous "Baby Q" shower.

The gorgeous Mommy-to-be. I happen to think she has the most adorable baby bump I've ever seen.

Two Lovely Ladies:

Two lovely ladies and a decidedly unfortunate-looking one:

Cheers!

Highway driving or the Fountain of Youth?

My dear friend Sara moved to Austin last year and a few months later got herself knocked up. So when we got word that she was having a baby shower in Roswell (her hometown) Cheyanna and I jumped at the chance to make the short trip and surprise her.

As we set out on the 3 hour drive I noticed that there was something a little different about this road trip than those of my past.


When did we cross the line from “young and carefree” to “old and dependent on medication?”


I was very unsettled at the thought of having left my carefree youth behind and in an attempt to stir some adolescent mischief I announced that I was going to- wait for it - take pictures of all of the passing cars. Yes. That was my idea of gettin’ a little crazy; snapping pictures of oncoming highway traffic with a camera. Cheyanna; on the other hand, has a wilder side and as soon as the words “take pictures of passing cars” left my mouth she was ready to up the ante.

With a glance upward at her sunroof she offered “Why don’t you hang out of the top of the car to take the picture.”

I hesitated.

After all, this was a pretty precarious endeavor. Raising myself outside of a vehicle travelling 70 miles an hour? With a pricey electronic device in hand? What if the force of motion was too strong; plucking the camera out of my grasp and slamming it to its’ death on the pavement? What if, at the sight of a hefty mad-woman acting all “papparrazzi” from the top of a car, the driver of another vehicle crashes in a panic? What if a UFO descended upon us and beamed me into outerspace?

I decided to myself “well, that’s that. It’s simply too hazardous.” Just then I saw the medicine bottles from the corner of my eye; taunting me; reminding me that my formative years were long gone and I was a pair of bifocals away from middle aged. An impish grin slowly crept upon my face and a new resolution was made.

I threw caution to the wind, waited until I saw an 18 wheeler barreling down the pavement, grabbed my camera and hoisted myself out of the car. The wind blew my hair (and apparently my saliva) mercilessly as I snapped the picture; I then turned the camera on myself to document my brazen act of silliness. I collapsed, laughing hysterically into the passenger seat a new woman. A woman who had shown those medications who was boss and defeated old age

This is the victim:

Me at 70 mph = SCARY as hell:


Look closely and you'll see the slobber.. cute huh? (I apologize for the closeness of this picture; it's pretty gruesome..)

The wind had forced tears from my eyes and there wasn’t a tissue in sight; so I did what every resourceful woman would do:

Sara, darling – don’t send yourself into early labor. I will post the pics from the shower in a day or two; promise! Also in an effort to prevent the ever sweet Sara from delivering this child before he's done baking; let me clarify that Sara has been married for a few years - I use the term "knocked up" for dramatic effect only.

Indeed, I am 2 legit.

It is utterly impossible for me to remain still in my office chair when Billie Jean is playing in my ears. Im.Poss.Ible. From the time that awesome hubby of mine presented me with my very own Ipod (which was only a couple of months ago..we’re a little behind technologically around here) my work days have been exceedingly more fun. Not that work has ever been bad; it’s just so much nicer when I have John Mayer telling me that My Body is a Wonderland, or Shakira reminding me that my Hips Don’t Lie. And if I’m having a truly bad day all I have to do is crank Michael Buble followed with a Fall Out Boy medley and life is right again.

The problem is that I am continually having to act aloof when a coworker walks by my office door in the middle of a serious head –bobbing; toe-tapping mini- jam session. I think my efforts have worked thus far and I’ve remained stealthy in my dance-capades.

What are some of your favorite tunes for jamming out? I’m always looking to expand my arsenal…

Cheers!

Is someone paying him large sums of money?

(To stay married to me; that is)

In no way, shape or form do I deserve to have Allen as a husband. It's a fact. I'm a whole hot mess and that man is still hangin' around. Later this month we'll celebrate our 6th anniversary; so I think I should devote a blog post or two entirely to the fabulousness of my man.

It's no secret that I'm a hard pill to swallow. Hell, I'm a hard pill to be in the same zip code with most days. I am high-strung, much too passionate about miniscule things, an over-reactor extraordinaire, and my OCD tendencies would drive a sane person mad. Yet Allen takes it all in stride. He handles my stress better than anyone and never seems to mind. He digs my quirks; he makes fun of them, yes - but he digs them nonetheless. I believe my family counts Allen as a saint. Had he not taken me off of their hands they would be the ones left to deal with all this insanity.

Allen is also one of the most selfLESS people I've ever encountered. He thinks of others before himself at every turn; he gives every ounce of his being to better the lives of his family and friends and he succeeds with flying colors.

I know its sickeningly cliche, but I love the way he loves me. I love that he knows me better than I know myself. I love that he takes so much time and puts so much effort in to making me happy. I love that he holds me when I need his stength, pushes me when I'm holding back, and lets me dream freely with no judgement. I love HIM. His infectious laugh, his ridiculous jokes, his giving soul and huge heart, and let us not discount that deliciously cute deriere.

Oh, and the man can grill a MEAN steak. This is absolutely key when married to a big girl..

Cheers!

Today was the perfect day. (minus a few boogers)

I adore family time. The girls are at wonderful ages; old enough to have some independence and hilarious personality and still young enough to believe Mom and Dad are the two coolest humans ever. They are so very much fun right now and while I relish every moment, my heart simultaneously aches -knowing that all too soon this childhood bliss will pass and be replaced with teenage angst.

Today is one of the days I am burning into my memory; storing it away for a time when my opinions, comforts, thoughts and very presence are repulsed and replaced with those of adolescent peers.

We started with a shopping trip to Academy so we could outfit the entire family in brand new Tech gear for football season... Then we had lunch at Logan's and Kenly didn't break anything, offend anyone, nor did she burn the joint down. She did locate the stash of napkins behind our table, blow her nose 45 times and discard the snot-filled trash into the booth next to us - but no one was sitting there so I'm not sweating that one. (I picked them all up, BTW). We came home and played in the water; complete with some wicked mud-pie making. (I must say that I am coming a LOONG way with my phobia of dirty children. I only had a mild panic attack when both girls plopped down in the middle of the mud-pit; this is progress.) The girls and I have done makeovers on one-another; Lala came by and watched a movie and ate popcorn with Ashlyn in her room, and for a solid hour we played a family game of hide-n-seek.

Also, Ashlyn explained to me (after having my makeover) that I needed to "walk like this (she then proceeded to very dramatically swing her hips) so that Daddy will notice how pretty you are and then he'll marry you." Bless her heart; she doesn't realize that the swinging of these Sonic-sized hips of mine; dramatically or otherwise, would lead to either serious injury or severe property damage.

Like I said; it was the perfect day.

Cookie Dough Blues

My severe stupidity often shocks me. Not that I find it shocking that I’m dumb; no, no – I’m well aware that intelligence isn’t exactly my thing. However there are times when I think or do something so completely and utterly dim-witted that I begin to question the contents of that space between my ears.

An example:
I recently decided to attempt a new cookie recipe, and on the eve of the experiment I shared my intentions with a few friends. This particular recipe was for “no-roll” sugar cookies and we were discussing how that meant the dough would end up a large blob from which you plucked smaller blobs to roll into small circles rather than a neatly rolled log of which you cut raw cookie slices. Fast forward to the making of said blob-dough and I begin to think about the “logs” of cookie dough you get from the grocery store. We purchase those footlong packages of heaven often around my house and the offspring and I make a huge mess with a few cookies to spare. It occurs to me that perhaps the log of pre-packaged cookie dough is meant to be sliced rather than plucked. (I know, I know… these are things I should understand by now.)

After discussing my thoughts with pretty much everyone I know I came to the conclusion that everyone slices the log. Everyone besides me, that is. There I am; pulling dollops of dough and rolling it into balls only to realize that I need more dough for the 1-inch diameter requirement, therefore forcing me to tug off another bit of dough and continue rolling-all the while having smallish dough pieces stick to my fingers and causing me to have a moral “do I lick it off and keep working and never tell those who will eat these cookies” dilemma. Had I anything besides protoplasmic goop (does that even exist?) in my noggin I might have realized much earlier that pre-made cookie dough was developed to make life easier, and as such there might be an easier way to get from log to cookie sheet. Oy.

Cheers!