in the words of dave matthews.... (who should credit the prophet Isaiah and King Solomon)

At the end of our summer here in Mississippi last year, well, our entirely red state was enticed into possibly believing in global warming.

It mightn't have been the hottest summer on record (thought it weren't far), but it was the longest one in my lifetime.  It dragged on and on and on clear through to November.  And then one day, it was Winter.

The Great Tortilla Test

One night last week, we had fish burritos.  I seasoned and poached the fish and tossed it with lemon juice; made a very yummy fresh salsa;  warmed some tortillas, created a sauteed onion, garlic, tomato,  bean dish for a side, along with a fresh green salad. 

It was good.
I was satisfied that I had created a meal that tasted good and nourished those I love.  You know, from scratch and all. 

It's Summer Time and the Reading's Awesome

Don't really click to look inside....

When I was in Fifth grade, my teacher, the excellent, awesome, and legendary Mrs. Polk, had us complete an exercise in encouragement.
Each child in the class got a sheet of paper and wrote down the name of every other child in the class.  Out beside each name, each child chose one thing about the person that they especially liked or just was generally great.  Mrs. Polk then took a piece of nice paper, wrote our name all big and pretty in the middle, and then wrote our encouragements around it in a cloud, laminated it, and gave it to us as a present.   I still have it.  Somewhere. 
I said she was awesome.

Menu 5/9/11 - 5/15/11

"But Mama...."

In general American culture in 2011, children are very much involved in every day life decisions.  They pitch fits, argue, bargain, whine, fuss, cry, etc. and then decisions are altered, because, heaven forbid, the baby/toddler/young child/adolescent is perturbed. 

Paul and I, and thankfully many of our fellow journeyers on the road, are trying to push back against this a bit.  We often don't let our children offer up alternatives to the plan we've laid out.  "No talking back.  No arguing.  No bargaining."  Tone of the child governs how much of this alternative-pointing-out is allowed, because some is, but by and large, they are Puerto Rico on the Floor of the House - occasionally can offer an idea, but no vote is counted. 

But, we have to be careful.... 

Tibi Gratias Ago

I've mentioned before that what we're doing for Ada for school right now is this weird, bizarre, awesome hybrid thing-a-majig.  For two days a week, she goes to Jackson Classical, and for the other three days a week, she's at home with me.  We find it to be an amazing balance for us.  She and I get the accountability of other authority figures for her (She cannot just not do her English because it is annoying both of us - she has to to it, because Mrs. Lewis is going to check it; similarly, I have to actually make sure she knows stuff because she's going to be tested at school). 

ze menu: 5/2/11 - 5/8/11

Monday, 5/2:   
Lunch -  Peanut Butter and Honey.  Peanut butter and honey is a magnificent thing.
Supper - Red Beans and Rice, Biscuit Bread  (I'm trying to get over my seasonal issue with Red Beans and Rice....Who ever said you couldn't eat it when it's hot?  My father in law, apparently, ate it every Monday evening for 20 some odd years.  And my grandmother-in-law more like 50 some odd years.  It's great stuff.

Eason, the pot, Collins, the kettle

My family has a few sayings that we throw around willynilly and, frankly, expect the whole world to understand.

Which is ridiculous.

Or maybe we don't expect them to understand - we just don't care if they do or not.

Which would be unkind.

Either way, we say things that sometimes are ridiculous.

Many of these sayings are abbreviations of saying that other people do understand.

My dad says, "Glass house, glass house" And what he means by that is, "People who find themselves in glass houses should not throw stones." (They shouldn't by the way, unless they are like me and feel trapped and want the house broken down so they can get out...)

swallowed by the Red Sea

Osama Bin Laden, confirmed dead, 1 May 2011.

(I learned this as I was being mocked at my window by an opossum, but that's a story for another day.)

The facebook statuses were all over the place.

There is a fairly sizable group of boot-in-your-ass folks celebrating with much glee. ("Sick Bastard- got what he deserved")
There are some more academic-minded people who are making note of the event merely because of its historical significance.
There are some people who would much rather go back to normal life and ignore the event, nearing offended that their television programming has been interrupted to broadcast this piece of news.
And then there is a group of people calling us to repent for being excited he's dead. ("True Christianity precludes us from being joyful about any man's death")

I don't know if I'm going to go there yet with the kiddos. Ada, my second grader, knows about September 11 and the twin towers. She has a vague notion of terrorism. She doesn't know the names of all of the guys involved.

But often we don't get to choose whether we go there. Children overhear conversations, radio news, read articles over our shoulders, etc. If we really, really want to protect them from something, we usually can, but Paul and I naturally tend toward explanation over sheltering.

(The Billboard promoting the Strip Joint on the Way to Church falls into the shelter category, however.)

So, since the little buggers may say to me, over the next week or so, "Who is this Osama character, and are we glad he's dead?" or some such, here we go:

a real woman

As soon as Ada's personality started to come out, it was clear that she was all girl. She wanted to sit and read books (and still does). She has always loved a good costume, and already elicited promises from me for when pierced ears, high heels, lipstick, mascara, boyfriends will be appropriate.

(for the curious and for when she tries to argue with me later: