Thursday, July 8, 2010

This post is so lame it doesn't get a title.

Tis the season once again for SuperFun PoolTime and backyard barbeques. It's time for Iowa corn on the cob and marshmallow roasting and waterlogged kids acting like lunatics until they burn off the sugar high.
Fresh corn on the cob is a summer treat for us and we got to enjoy that ritual recently. It's amusing to see/hear what goes into Corn Night. It's a lot of shucking and boiling and buttering, followed by:
*nibble nibble*
*gnaw gnaw*
*toothpick, toothpick*

Oh. I mentioned SuperFun PoolTime, earlier. Oh, yes. We do love that pool. We have a rule that the kids seem to be able to follow pretty well...to the best of my knowledge. That rule is NO PEEING IN THE POOL.
We don't require you to go inside to use the actual facilities, but we don't want to swim in your warm spot or or walk through your little puddle on the way back into the pool, so if you have to pee, do it in the side yard.

Poopers go inside.


And this:




...is why I'm glad I don't have boys.



Sunday, July 4, 2010

SugarPackets: The Meaning Behind The Name

((EDITED TO ADD: The blog name may have changed, but my love for Tamara hasn't. This story is still worth reading and very much worth remembering. Long live the SugarPacket!)

Did I ever tell you the meaning behind my blog name of SugarPackets?

I didn't think so. It holds a place dear to my heart. I share it now.

Tamara is one of the best friends I've ever had. I will tell you the story of how we met and became friends and you will fall in love with her and a little more deeply in love with ME (which is always important).
Years ago, I was a nail technician. I was working with a client and Tamara was having her nail appointment with the technician behind me. My client and I were chatting and laughing and having a lovely time. Tamara's tech was saying next-to-nothing and Tamara found herself eavesdropping on my conversation with my client. (This is easy to do, as my voice tends to project.)
She went home to her fiance, Kevin and told him...something.
She broke a nail two days later and came in to have it repaired...with me. Kevin came with her. In the course of our ten minute appointment, she kept looking back at Kevin and exchanging a "look" with him. I went to ring her up for her repair and when I returned I heard Kevin say, "Will you just ask her, babe?"
*serious look from Tamara*
"Erika? Will you be my friend? I think you're really awesome and funny and I'd like to hang out with you."
*jaw drop* How could anyone say no to that?! She's wonderful and she thinks I'm wonderful too!
That was...*counting*...fourteen years ago.

When Tamara and I talk, we have so much to say to each other that we have to be reminded of the stories we want to share. If we don't, our time together will come to a close and we'll have forgotten to share that super-incredible story of awesomeness and that just won't do.
We found a solution. Well, SHE did.
We were having lunch together...way back when we lived a mere twenty minutes from each other. *sigh* She lined up a few of the restaurant's sugar packets on the table in front of her. Each packet represented a tale. Sugar packets! It's ingenious!
We'd "ante" them up like poker chips when we needed to remind ourselves of a topic we wanted to discuss. It's become sort of a "thing" we do...and it's caught on here with a lot of friends. Of course, we don't always have access to ACTUAL packets of sugar at all times, so it's become a verbal placeholder over the years. My husband, my mother, friends and friends' friends as well, will now say, "Sugar packet", and when one story is finished or one topic exhausted, the Sugar Packet is retired back to the invisible caddy on the table and another "sugar packet" is ante-ed up. We don't have to interrupt or forget that we had something to say and if we happen to go off on a tangent, we come back to the Sugar Packet at hand.


And that, gentle reader, is the story of the origin of Sugar Packets.
Ooh! Sugar Packet! Remind me to tell you the one about Tamara and the garlic pizza!
See?

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Vegetable Torture: The Asparagus Story

I saw a friend's FaceBook status about broccoli this morning and I remembered the first time we tried asparagus. Because, you know, that's just how my mind works.

Asparagus. Yeah. It was canned. *bleck*

It was mushy. *double bleck*

I gave everyone a little taste on their plates at dinner. Sugar Daddy knew he wasn't going to like it and I think as soon as it touched his tongue he spat it back out never to allow that slimy green thing admittance to his mouth again.

The oldest and middle children definitely didn't care for it, but managed to choke it down with only minor grumbling.

Samantha, who was somewhere around 8 months old at that time, seemed to really like it. Most of her other food was of the same consistency as this canned monstrosity, so it stood to reason that she'd take to it better than the others.

After finishing her own helping of green muck, I offered her my share. That's when the reaction changed. She took a bite of the asparagussy goodness and then suddenly shrieked loudly for about twenty seconds. Whatever it was, fixed itself. So she took another bite.

More shrieking.

Another bite...more shrieks.

I thought, What the hell is with you, young lady?! I've never seen such a strange reaction to a vegetable in my life. She loved it, but she'd scream after each bite. What gives?!

It finally dawned on us later that evening that Mommy's Green Asparagus of Muck had PEPPER on it.

*headdesk*


Some Other Stuff I Wrote